When Allison returned to her apartment, Lily had transformed the entire living room into a "sexual warfare training ground." Red silk, leather restraints, and bottles of ambiguously scented essential oils glowed with a sinister sheen under the floor lamp. Her best friend was leaning against the sofa, swirling a Bloody Mary in her hand, a mischievous smile curving her lips.
"Darling, tonight you'll be Caleb Black's prey." Lily coiled a thin chain around Allison's wrist. "But remember—prey sometimes hides fangs." She suddenly tore open Allison's shirt, her icy fingers grazing the woman's collarbone. "He'll test your obedience on the yacht. You must make him believe you belong to him completely… at least for those few hours."
Allison looked at herself in the mirror. The silk nightgown Lily had chosen was as sheer as a second skin, leaving her curves exposed without reservation under the lights. She recalled the force with which Caleb had gripped her chin in the office, the blinding numbers on the chemotherapy bills. The faint hum of her mother's ventilator echoed in a phone recording—her last bargaining chip, and the reason she could not afford to lose.
"Teach me," she clenched the chain in her palm, the metal's chill grounding her. "Teach me how to tear off his mask before he rips me apart."
Lily's lessons were cruel and efficient. She made Allison practice feigning weakness with her eyes, igniting desire with her fingertips, maintaining elegance in restraints, and hiding calculations behind pain. When essential oil dripped down Allison's spine, Lily's voice coiled like a snake: "Remember, Black wants more than sex—he wants conquest. Let him think you're addicted to his control while… secretly hunting for his vulnerabilities."
At nine o'clock that night, Manhattan Pier. As Allison walked toward Caleb's private yacht in high heels, the sea breeze lifted her skirt, revealing the "battle armor" Lily had forced her to wear—beneath the near-transparent silk, only a lace bra remained. Bodyguards scanned her for recording devices before letting her pass. On the deck, Caleb leaned against the railing, a whiskey glass in his hand reflecting the moonlight like a bead of ice waiting to devour its prey.
"Miss Jones." When he turned, his gaze slashed across her body like a blade. "You understand better than I thought how to arouse a man." He yanked her wrist, the force making her stumble, but caught her waist with his other hand the moment she fell. The deck suddenly tilted, forcing her against his chest, where she heard his heartbeat—faster than a king in full control should have.
Inside the cabin, lights were dimmed to an intimate scarlet. Caleb pressed her onto a leather sofa, his knee between her legs, fingertips tracing the seam of her nightgown. "The rules are simple." He bit her earlobe, his breath scorching. "For each question you answer, remove an article of clothing. If your answer displeases me…" He tugged down her strap, letting the silk slide to her elbows, "I'll inspect your loyalty more directly."
Allison's palms trembled, but Lily's recorded voice looped in her mind: "Let him think you're afraid, but keep a hunter's excitement in your eyes." She met his gaze and suddenly smiled. "Mr. Black, you seem to have forgotten—during a hunt, prey also observes the hunter's weaknesses." Her fingers glided to his belt, twirling the metal buckle. "For example, was your mother Anna Black's death truly the 'accident' the media reported?"
Caleb's pupils shrank abruptly. His grip on her throat made breathing difficult, but Allison didn't flinch. In the gap of his fury, she withdrew the encrypted USB drive Victor had secretly slipped her the night before—containing records of Obsidian Capital's illegal dealings with a Southeast Asian politician. The metal burned in her palm; she'd gambled and won: the rift between Victor and Caleb ran deeper than it seemed.
"You're provoking the wrong person." Caleb suddenly released her, tearing off her nightgown and flinging it into the corner. As he leaned in, the scorching heat of his skin against hers made Allison tense, but she whispered in his ear: "But maybe… provocation is your only way out." When his lips crashed onto hers, she tucked the USB drive into the sofa crack. The aggression of sex and the temptation of power intertwined. As he hissed questions in her ear, she gave vague answers between gasps, every syllable a hidden trap.
At three in the morning, when Allison was thrown into the guest room, she wore only the "second weapon" Lily had prepared—a diamond necklace capable of covert recording. Curled in the sheets, she listened to Caleb's encrypted call with Victor in the adjacent cabin. The moment the recorder activated, she finally smiled—this hunt, she had quietly bitten into the first piece of flesh.