Alexander Kane's arrival hit the penthouse like a lethal blizzard sweeping across a frozen plain, instantly freezing all chaos and noise within the suite. The prior commotion—the smashed door, Lady Lydia's sharp accusations, Isabella's helpless trembling—was instantly replaced by a deeper, more terrifying silence the moment he stepped inside.
He stood in the center of the disordered living room, tall and imposing like a fortress, radiating an icy fury that seemed capable of chilling the soul. His gray-blue eyes were no longer the usual bottomless, cold pools; they had become twin cores of ice, ready to unleash destructive energy. Slowly, they scanned the room, and the very air seemed to drain under his gaze.
First, his eyes fell on the forcibly breached alloy door, a flash of lethal intent crossing his features. Then, they shifted to Lady Lydia, her face flushed red from anger and a hint of fear, supported by her attendants.
"Mother," he repeated, his voice low and smooth, each syllable like an ice blade scraping across glass—harsh and dangerous. "I need an explanation regarding your destruction of my door, the terror you caused my people, and…" His gaze finally landed on Isabella, curled into herself on the sofa, nearly fainting. Seeing the stark repair patch on her neck and her ashen face, the storm in his eyes escalated. "…this pitiful farce."
Lady Lydia felt a chill as his gaze pierced her, but her long-cultivated arrogance and deep disdain for Isabella allowed her to stiffen her spine. She shrugged off her attendants' support, pointing at Isabella, her voice quivering with agitation yet sharp as ever:
"Explain? Alexander! You should ask that little treasure hiding in the tower! See what she's done! Not only has she bewitched you to the point of losing your senses and forcing you to act against her, sullying the Kane family's reputation! She's been spying on our absolute family secrets!" She raised her voice, full of excitement and fear, "That tablet! That interface! That symbol! I recognize it! It's from your father's long-forbidden—damned—'Stardust' project! Who sent you? The Norton family? Or one of those other vile enemies wishing us dead?!"
"Stardust" — the word hit Kane like a rusty gate cutting into the depths of his memory. It was indeed a reckless project his father had once obsessed over, later sealed and abandoned for being too dangerous and uncontrollable. All related materials had long been destroyed. How could it possibly be connected to this woman before him?
His eyes sharpened instantly, like a hawk spotting prey. They snapped to the tablet in the corner, still glowing with its complex star-map interface. There, a small, ordinary UI icon indicating internal data flow caught his attention.
A trivial icon. Yet, under Lady Lydia's hysterical accusations and the trigger word "Stardust," its significance was immediately warped and magnified.
Kane's rational mind screamed that this was ninety-nine percent a ridiculous misunderstanding. He had thoroughly investigated Isabella's background; she had no connection to any corporate espionage, and certainly no access to a long-buried, abandoned project.
But —
That tablet did record her strange, patterned interactions, seemingly responding to external signals. She really had been watching space technology documentaries. And there were indeed unexpected elements about her presence that defied complete control.
Once planted, a seed of suspicion grows rapidly, especially in a state where one has just experienced pheromone loss of control, forced marking, and heightened sensitivity and extreme defensiveness. Kane's icy fury began to intertwine with a new layer—critical, evaluative suspicion.
His gaze toward Isabella shifted. It was no longer just possessive or controlling; it carried a lethal, assessing sharpness.
Isabella felt her insides freeze under his suddenly altered gaze, blending anger and suspicion. She shook her head desperately, tears streaming, her voice broken and pitiful:
"No… it's not… I didn't… I was just looking at the stars… I don't know any project… really, I don't…"
Her plea, fragile under immense fear and pressure, seemed utterly powerless.
"Looking at the stars?" Lady Lydia sneered sharply. "Give me a break! Who looks at stars and needs a forced mark to be restrained? Alexander! What are you waiting for? This mysterious, deceitful thing must be dealt with immediately! Are you going to wait until she destroys the Kane family?!"
The words "deal with her" struck Isabella's heart like an ice spear, completely draining her of strength. She slumped limply onto the sofa, left only with despairing sobs.
Alexander Kane's expression was so dark it seemed to drip with shadow. His mother's stupidity and incessant noise irritated him beyond measure, but the suddenly mentioned "Stardust" project and her seemingly absurd yet precisely targeted accusations against Isabella were like a poisoned thorn, piercing the deepest recesses of his vigilance.
He needed to remain calm; he could not let his emotions and his mother's foolish words dictate his actions.
He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the faintly rising pheromones stirred by the chaos of this incident. The new regulator was still effective, but the intense emotional fluctuation was clearly a test.
"David." His voice returned to its extreme coldness, as if it could freeze blood.
"Yes, sir." David immediately stepped forward, bowing slightly, his face still expressionless, as if nothing had just happened.
"Please have the lady and her… attendants," he deliberately emphasized the second word, full of contempt, "go to the adjacent conference room to 'rest.' No one is to leave without my permission." This was a form of soft confinement.
Lady Lydia's face changed: "Alexander! You—"
"Mother," Kane interrupted her, his gaze icy as it swept over her, "you had better pray that your accusations have solid evidence. Otherwise, trespassing on the penthouse, destroying property, frightening and slandering my people—this matter will not be so easily dismissed." His tone was calm, yet carried a threat that sent chills down the spine.
Lady Lydia was struck by the cold intent in his words and dared not retort. Her two attendants fell completely silent.
With a wave of his hand, several top-level security personnel immediately stepped forward and "politely" but firmly escorted Lady Lydia and her attendants out. The chaotic living room temporarily regained order, leaving only the broken door, the lingering pheromone scent, and Isabella on the sofa, looking like a sapling battered by a storm.
Kane stepped toward the sofa, his tall figure casting a vast shadow that completely enveloped Isabella. Looking down at her, his gaze scanned her pale face, swollen eyes, trembling body, and the mark on the back of her neck, like a scanning machine analyzing every detail.
He did not speak immediately. That silent scrutiny was more terrifying than any reprimand.
Isabella, terrified, stopped even sobbing, only able to stare with her fear-filled, desperate green eyes, as if awaiting the final judgment.
Finally, he spoke slowly, his voice devoid of any emotion: "'Stardust' project. Where did you hear that term from?"
Isabella shook her head desperately, tears flying: "I didn't… I've never heard of it… It was the lady… she just suddenly…" Her words were incoherent; fear left her barely able to form sentences.
"That tablet." Kane's gaze shifted to the offending device. "The software in it—you were just using it to look at the stars?" His tone was flat but carried immense pressure.
"Y-yes…" Isabella replied, trembling. "Those documentaries… and that simulation software… I was just… clicking around…" She dared not mention any of her attempts to respond to abnormal signals, as that would only make things worse.
"Clicking around?" Kane repeated, a cold, humorless curve forming on his lips. He bent down, picked up the tablet, and with his fingers quickly swiped the screen to bring up the encrypted log he had stored, recording all her "abnormal actions."
He turned the screen toward Isabella, dense with data and highlighted anomalies, stabbing at her eyes like countless daggers.
"These 'clicking around,'" his voice suddenly became deathly cold, "can you explain these? These seemingly random operations hide low-level repetitive patterns. What are they? Hm?"
Isabella's face instantly turned transparently pale. He knew. He always knew. He was watching her like a mouse struggling in a maze, observing all her tiny movements!
A flood of despair and coldness engulfed her. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
Seeing her reaction, Kane's last sliver of doubt seemed confirmed. Even if the "Stardust" project accusation was his mother's accidental blunder, Isabella's attempts to connect with the outside world were undeniable.
The sense of betrayal, and the fury of losing control over what was his, surged over everything else!
He violently threw the tablet aside with a loud crash, then reached out, gripping Isabella's chin, forcing her to lift her head and look directly into his storm-ravaged eyes.
"Tell me, Isabella," his voice was low and dangerous, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue, "who exactly are you? Who sent you? Those little actions of yours—who were they meant to transmit information to?"
His fingertips were cold and firm, gripping her jaw painfully. His pheromones, stirred by anger, became intensely oppressive again. Though not as violently uncontrollable as before, they were colder and more terrifying, like a tightening noose.
"I… I wasn't sent by anyone…" Isabella cried, tears streaming from her pain, struggling in despair. "I just… I just wanted to…" She wanted to say "I just wanted to ask for help," but the words could not escape her lips.
"Just wanted to what?" Kane pressed, his gaze sharp as a knife, attempting to cut through all her pretenses.
At that moment, Kane's personal communicator suddenly vibrated urgently, emitting a top-priority encrypted alert tone!
The sudden interruption made him pause, his brow furrowing sharply. At a moment like this, who could it be?
He temporarily released Isabella, took out the communicator, and glanced at it. The scrolling code made his pupils constrict slightly—it was an urgent report from the special team monitoring "deep-space network anomalies"!
They appeared to have tracked certain traces of that signal source, and the preliminary analysis pointed in an extremely sensitive direction!
Work and a potential real threat instantly pulled part of his rationality back from the clutches of emotion.
He looked at Isabella on the sofa, trembling like a startled bird and near collapse, then at the emergency report, a complex calculation passing through his eyes.
In the end, icy duty and vigilance against external threats temporarily overpowered the internal interrogation.
He put away the communicator, his gaze once again cold and decisive.
"David!" he called sharply.
David appeared immediately, like a ghost.
"Take her back to the bedroom and lock it. Without my order, she is not to step out, and must not access any electronic devices." His command was ruthless, as if handling a compromised object. "Also, have Dr. Thorne come immediately. I need to assess the stability after the pheromone marking."
Having said this, he did not look at Isabella again. Holding the urgent report, he strode toward the study, leaving only one chilling phrase hanging in the air:
"Our matter is far from over."
The bedroom door was locked silently.