Chapter 1

The rain poured relentlessly.

The black Rolls-Royce Cullinan struggled along the rugged mountain road, its wipers swinging frantically against the downpour. A dull thud suddenly jolted the car, and the man in the back seat, who had been resting with his eyes closed, snapped them open.

The dim interior light outlined his sharp profile—deep-set eyes, a straight nose, and thin lips pressed into a firm line. Adjusting his suit cuff, he spoke in a low voice, "What happened?"

"I'll check right away, Mr. Sullivan."

The trembling driver stepped out, opening a black umbrella to shield the man from the rain. Long legs emerged, polished shoes sinking instantly into the mud. He frowned at the trapped wheel, rainwater tracing the line of his jaw.

"At least we didn’t hit anyone..." The driver exhaled in relief—until—

"Move."

A cold female voice cut through the storm.

The driver nearly jumped out of his skin, stumbling as he turned. Under the headlights stood a slight figure in an oversized raincoat. A yellow hard hat shadowed a pale, mud-streaked face.

But what sent chills down his spine was the shovel in her hands.

Dark red liquid streaked the metal, diluted by rain as it dripped from the blade. The driver’s legs wobbled, horror movie scenarios flashing through his mind.

"W-what are you doing here?" His voice shook.

The girl wiped her bloody hand across her wet face. "Burying something."

The driver sucked in a sharp breath, instinctively edging closer to Ethan Sullivan. A girl with a bloody shovel in the middle of nowhere, in a storm, talking about "burying something"—what else could it be?

Yet Ethan remained unfazed, his gaze sweeping over her. She was painfully thin, the raincoat swallowing her frame, her wrists so fragile they looked ready to snap. But her eyes—unnervingly calm.

"Burying what?" Ethan asked mildly, though his sharp gaze betrayed his suspicion.

The girl scowled impatiently. "A cat."

She pointed to a small mound nearby. The rain had eroded the soil enough to reveal a striped tail poking out.

The driver exhaled—then tensed again. "Our car—"

"Is stuck," she interrupted. "This road collapses all the time. If you don’t leave now, you won’t make it."

She strode to the vehicle, bent down, and—to their shock—lifted the car out of the mud with one hand.

"Get in." She shook mud from her fingers and yanked open the back door. "Take me to Skywater Villa No. 3."

A flicker of interest crossed Ethan’s eyes. He slid gracefully into the seat, studying the drenched girl. "Your name?"

"Evelyn Laurent."

She leaned back and closed her eyes, wet hair clinging to her face like a soaked kitten. Ethan noticed a fresh cut on her hand, still bleeding.

The car rolled forward through the storm. No one saw the small grave behind them, now washed open by the rain—revealing far more than one animal’s remains.