Contract Crisis: The Mysterious Bride of Howard

St. Moritz, Switzerland. The blizzard lashed the crystal glass windows of the five-star hotel, making cracking sounds. Standing in front of the French window, Elena Watson's fingertips almost dug into her palm. On the screen of her mobile phone was a selfie of her fiancé, Richard, and her stepsister, Sophia, on the wedding bed. The sending time showed it was three minutes ago. "Ms. Watson, are you all right?" The bartender pushed over the third martini. "You look very pale." Elena turned her phone face down on the marble countertop. The olive in the glass bobbed up and down in the amber liquid, much like her sinking life. "Give me another double whisky." She took off the three-carat engagement ring and casually threw it into the glass. The ring made a clear "ding" sound as it hit the glass wall, drowning out in the impromptu performance of "Requiem" by the bar pianist. Elena tilted her head back and gulped down the strong liquor. The burning sensation in her throat reminded her of the accident in the laboratory last week—when the tube of light blue solution splashed onto the back of her hand, it hurt just like this. "Your hand!" The bartender suddenly exclaimed. Elena looked down and found tiny blood beads oozing from the ring mark on the ring finger of her right hand. This wasn't right. The wound from taking off the ring couldn't be this deep. She instinctively reached for her portable medicine box but found nothing—she had left the medicine box in the laboratory. The dizziness came unexpectedly. A strange blue halo began to appear at the edge of her vision, and the piano music in her ears distorted into a sharp ringing. Elena staggered to her feet and out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the bright red hem of Sophia's dress in the corner booth, and the familiar silver medicine box in her hand. "Sister, Father said you should take your medicine on time," Sophia's sweet voice came through the noise. "But now, you'll never need it again..." Elena knocked over the high stool and rushed towards the exit. Behind her came the sound of breaking glass and the bodyguards' scolding. She stumbled and pushed open the door of the fire escape, and the cold air rushed in. The snowflakes scratched her face like broken glass, but the heat rising inside her grew stronger and stronger. She had to find the inhibitor! In her blurred vision, the elevator buttons glowed red. Elena used her last bit of strength to press the button for the top floor, leaving bloody fingerprints on the metal surface. When the elevator door opened again, there was a long, dimly lit corridor paved with a Persian carpet in front of her. On the carved door at the end, the brass doorplate read "Pandora Suite". This was the only presidential suite in the hotel, and it was also her last hope. Elena slammed into the door, but the gold-inlaid handle didn't budge. She trembled as she took out the universal room card—the last thing her father had given her before he fell into a coma. The door lock made a soft "beep" sound, and the warm air that rushed towards her was mixed with the smell of cedar and absinthe. "Get out." A deep male voice, filled with the richness of whisky, came from the depths of the darkness. Elena squinted her eyes and vaguely saw a tall silhouette in front of the French window. The red light of the cigar between the man's fingers was like the bloodthirsty eyes of a beast against the backdrop of the blizzard. Lucas Howard. The most dangerous financial hunter in Europe. "A girl from the Watson family?" He strode forward and crushed the cigar in the crystal ashtray. "Who sent you? The Rothschilds? Or your stepmother?" Elena wanted to explain, but her throat felt as if it was blocked by a hot iron. Her legs went weak and she fell forward, but she was caught by a pair of burning hot hands gripping her shoulders. The moment they made contact, Lucas suddenly took a sharp breath—under the bare skin of her neck and shoulders, the light blue blood vessels were glowing eerily. "The Pandora reagent..." His voice suddenly tightened. "Your mother's project?" The dizziness came like a tide. Elena's last conscious thought was of the man picking her up in his arms. The crescent-shaped scar on his left wrist swayed in front of her eyes, coinciding with the mark that had repeatedly appeared in her childhood nightmares... When Elena regained consciousness again, she found herself pinned down on a leather sofa. Lucas's body temperature was terrifyingly high, and there was a strange almond-like smell in the white mist of his breath. Elena suddenly realized—he had also been drugged, and it was a military-grade nerve toxin. "Listen," Lucas bit the tip of his tongue to stay conscious, and blood beads dripped onto her collarbone. "Either I call the security guards now, and tomorrow's front page of The Sun will be about the Watson heiress being thrown out after trying to sleep with someone; or..." He ripped open his shirt, revealing the holster on his waist. "Help me take out the bullet, and I'll owe you a favor." Only then did Elena notice that the blood seeping from his lower back had already stained his belt black. Her professional instincts overcame her fear in an instant. She deftly pulled out his military knife, and the light of the knife reflected the man's suddenly darkening eyes. "Turn around." She tore off a piece of her skirt and wrapped it around her palm. "There's no anesthesia. Endure it." The bullet was embedded in the muscle nearly two centimeters deep. When the tip of the knife dug into the flesh and blood, Lucas's muscles tensed all over his body, but he only let out a muffled groan. Elena suddenly noticed that the skin around the wound was an abnormal purplish-blue color—the bullet was poisoned. "Scopolamine mixed with snake venom," she wiped the sweat from her forehead. "You've got at most twenty minutes left." Suddenly, Lucas rolled over and pinned her down. His blood-stained fingers stroked her glowing blood vessels: "And you, my dear, are mutating." He lowered his head and sniffed at her carotid artery. "It's really interesting. The Watson family's serum can cure my poison, and my genes can stabilize your mutation." Suddenly, there was the sound of noisy footsteps and the clashing of metal instruments outside the door. Lucas's eyes flashed with a hint of alarm, and he pulled a woolen blanket over the two of them. "Reporters," he whispered in her ear, and the warm, humid breath sent a shiver down her spine. "A gift from your stepmother." Elena froze. Through the gap in the blanket, she saw Sophia's red high heels stop beside the coffee table, and on the coffee table were scattered the documents she had just taken out of the laboratory—the first page clearly printed with "Pandora Project Restart Plan". "Choose, little scientist," Lucas's hand slid down to her lower back. "Do you want to be disgraced, or..." His lips brushed against her earlobe. "Dance with me." The moment the door was violently broken open, the camera flashes poured down like a storm. Elena closed her eyes in the bright light and heard Lucas announce to the whole world in five languages: "Let me introduce you. This is my bride."