Bzzz— Bzzz—

  Arthur woke to the insistent vibration of his phone. His eyelids felt like they were glued shut, and every muscle in his body screamed in protest. He felt like he’d been run over by a freight train.

  "What happened? Did I go too hard last night?" he muttered, rubbing his face. "Or did I just sleep in a weird position?"

  Then, the memories hit him. The movement. The bed. The teeth.

  "Holy—!"

  Arthur bolted upright. His hands flew to his left ear while his eyes frantically scanned his naked body.

  His ear was there. Intact. No scars, no jagged edges. He checked his arms and legs—not a single mark. No puncture wounds from scythe-like limbs, no acid burns.

  The room was flooded with bright morning sunlight. The sheets were a pristine, clinical white. The polished floor reflected the soft glow of the ornate chandelier above.

  "What is going on?"

  His head throbbed. His memory was a tangled mess of gore and silk. He vividly remembered the monster. He remembered nearly being eaten alive.

  And Clara. Where was Clara?

  Arthur stared at the empty suite, his mind a complete blank. Did she sleep with me and then just bail? Is she ghosting me after... that?

  No. That wasn't right. Clara was the monster. The thing that had tried to consume him.

  But if that was true, why was he fine? He remembered blood geysering onto the floor, staining the bed a deep, horrific crimson. Why were the sheets brand new? He remembered his flesh being torn away. Why was his skin perfect?

  "Was it all a hallucination?" he whispered. "Right. Obviously. Monsters don't exist in the real world. That’s insane."

  He tried to rationalize it. Maybe she had drugged him? Some kind of high-dose hallucinogen slipped into his drink to mess with his head? He almost let out a relieved laugh.

  But then, his gaze locked onto the bedsheet.

  There, in the fabric, were several small, jagged punctures.

  Arthur swallowed hard. He remembered those scythe-like appendages pinning his limbs to the mattress. These holes were exactly where the monster had driven its blades through him.

  It wasn't a hallucination. Last night, Clara Sterling had really tried to eat him.

  He looked around the empty, silent room. So... where did she go? And what happened to the blood?

  The phone continued to buzz. It was Robert Ward. Arthur pushed his confusion aside and answered.

  "Hello? Robert?" "Good morning, sir. Are you free today? Someone wants to meet you—a government official. He says he has something left to you by your parents that he needs to deliver in person." "...Something from my parents?" "He didn't specify. He's arriving this afternoon. I just wanted to give you a heads-up." "I got it."

  Arthur hung up, his mind racing. His parents—the ones who hadn't even bothered to leave a will, leaving him to inherit everything through cold, legal default—had left something specific for him?

  He thought back to what the monster-Clara had said. She claimed her transformation was his parents' fault. She called them "demons."

  Clara was from Serenity, just like him. She knew his background. She knew his parents.

  Arthur took a deep breath, staring at the holes in the sheet. He was starting to realize that thanks to two people he had never even met, he was being dragged into something incredibly dangerous.

  At the front desk, Arthur tried to sound casual as he checked out. "The lady I was with last night... did you see her leave? When did she head out?"

  The receptionist gave him a look that could have curdled milk. "Is there a problem, sir?" "No, just asking." "Miss Sterling left at approximately 3:00 AM."

  The woman wore a standard professional smile, but her eyes screamed 'you absolute piece of human garbage.'

  Arthur was baffled. I was the one who was tortured and nearly eaten! Why am I the villain here?

  "Is there CCTV in the lobby? Can I see the footage from that time?" The receptionist’s gaze sharpened. Now she was looking at him like he was a predator. "I’m sorry, sir. Security footage is private unless there is a formal investigation."

  Arthur frowned, deepening his voice to sound serious. "I believe she stole something from me. If you can't show me, I’ll have to call the police and let them handle the request."

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  As expected, that did the trick.

  A few minutes later, Arthur was watching the ultra-high-definition feed. He found the moment Clara appeared.

  She was wearing an oversized hotel bathrobe, her hair matted and messy. Her skin was deathly pale, her lips cracked and dry. She looked incredibly frail, walking with a pronounced limp.

  On the screen, the receptionist approached her, saying something. "I asked her if she needed a ride to the hospital," the receptionist snapped at Arthur, unable to help herself. "She said 'no, thank you.'"

  She glared at him with pure disgust. "I know you rich types like to play rough, but that was over the line. Look at what you did to her. Throwing her out in the middle of the night in that state? You should be ashamed."

  Arthur didn't even hear her. He was staring at the screen, then back at the receptionist. The receptionist was about 5'3".

  In the video, Clara looked shorter than the receptionist. Clara was supposed to be 5'10", a tall, athletic woman with a full figure. The person on the screen was tiny, emaciated, and shrinking into the robe.

  A ridiculous, terrifying thought bubbled up in Arthur’s brain. Did I... eat her until there was only that much left?

  Ha. Impossible. I’m just a normal human. How could I eat a monster? It was supposed to be the other way around.

  Arthur’s Adam’s apple bobbed involuntarily. He caught himself, for a brief second, savoring a lingering aftertaste he couldn't quite describe.

  Arthur left the hotel, pushing the impossible questions to the back of his mind for now. He climbed into his luxury MPV and headed to the office of his private counsel.

  Robert Ward was a middle-aged elite—thirty years in the law, a massive network, and the kind of sharp mind that specialized in protecting people with too much money. In a world full of people trying to "boss fight" Arthur for his new fortune, Robert had successfully secured the spot as his right-hand man.

  Arthur noted that Robert’s success was likely tied to his hair. A man with a receding hairline that formed a perfect, aerodynamic 'M' was a man who had clearly stressed over every billable hour.

  "Sir, the villas are ready," Robert said, handing over two property deeds with a fawning smile. "Two estates, right across from each other as requested. One for you, one for Miss Sterling. They’re fully furnished. Shall we head over?"

  Hearing Clara’s name made Arthur’s ear throb with phantom pain. Even if the injury was gone, the memory of being bitten was becoming clearer by the hour.

  "Hold off on that for a second." Arthur paused. "I need you to run a background check on Clara Sterling. I want everything—from her birth certificate to her high school transcripts."

  Robert’s smile faltered. "Ah... well, sir, I’m an attorney. Legal disputes, asset management—I’m your man. But private investigation isn't really my forte." "You saying you can't handle it? Should I find someone else?" "Of course not! What I mean is..."

  Robert’s smile turned suggestive as he leaned in. "Sir, perhaps you should consider hiring a 'Lifestyle Secretary'—someone to handle these... intimate details. I happen to have the perfect candidate in mind."

  He gave Arthur a knowing wink. "A young, successful man of your stature deserves a secretary who is as 'capable' as she is 'striking.' You catch my drift?"

  Arthur understood perfectly. Honestly, he wasn't interested. After the horror show last night, his interest in "interpersonal recreation" had dropped to zero. He felt like a monk who had suddenly attained enlightenment—or more accurately, he was just terrified of anything in a skirt.

  "I don't care how she looks. I care about competence. I do need a personal manager." "Understood, sir. Completely understood. She is beyond capable. I guarantee it."

  Robert quickly placed a resume in front of Arthur, watching his reaction closely.

  Penelope "Penny" Ward, 27.

  The photo showed a woman who wasn't traditionally "beautiful" in a Hollywood sense—she was striking, wearing glasses, with a sharp, no-nonsense look.

  But as Arthur scanned the resume, his eyes widened.

  In the physical stats section, the measurements were listed in bold, oversized font: 42-27-42.

  Arthur didn't really grasp what that meant at first. He kept reading. The education section was a wall of text.

  Master’s in Finance, Master’s in Management, Master’s in Psychology, Master’s in Journalism, Juris Doctor (Law), Master’s in Computer Science...

  The certification column was even worse. CFA (Chartered Financial Analyst), CPA (Certified Public Accountant), WFA (Wilderness First Aid), Bar Certification, Medical License, Nutritionist...

  This woman was not even thirty, and she held eight degrees and over twenty professional certifications.

  "Incredible," Arthur muttered. He had always been an academic overachiever, a "grindset" king. Seeing someone who out-hustled him so thoroughly earned his genuine respect.

  Moments later, Penny Ward stood before him. She wore a crisp, charcoal-grey pencil skirt suit, half-rimmed glasses, and her hair was pulled back into a severe, elegant ponytail. She stood there like a steel nail driven into the floor—expressionless, radiating the aura of a high-level corporate predator.

  However, none of that was the most striking thing about her. Arthur stared at the straining buttons of her blouse and the exaggerated curves of her silhouette. She looked like she had stepped out of a comic book or a high-end fitness magazine.

  He finally realized what those three numbers on the resume meant. 42-27-42. Where on earth did Robert find this person? Clara was in great shape, but compared to Penny, Clara looked like a house cat standing next to a tigress.

  Arthur’s gaze lingered a second too long, and he realized he was being rude. He looked away, but he was fascinated.

  Penny Ward frowned slightly, clearly disliking the scrutiny, but she maintained her composure. She stepped forward, placing a tablet in front of Arthur.

  "Mr. Vance," she said, her voice a cool, professional alto. "I’ve been briefed on your situation. I will be handling your daily affairs from here on out."

  She tapped the screen. "Here is the dossier you requested on Clara Sterling."

  Arthur blinked. "Wait. I just asked Robert for this an hour ago."

  He had assumed the investigation would take days. But Penny had the results ready before they even finished the introductions. Can you really find anything in less than an hour? he wondered, looking at the data.

  It was exhaustive. Year of birth, parents' names, vaccination records, every award from elementary school, every competition in middle school, every lab project in university.

  Penny had not only completed the task; she had exceeded his wildest expectations in record time.

  Once Arthur finished skimming, Penny spoke in a flat, clinical tone.

  "Of course, these records are just records. I've checked each of them carefully, and now I have some bad news for you, my boss."

  She looked Arthur dead in the eye.

  "I can tell you with all due responsibility，The person known as 'Clara Sterling' ，did not exist."