Jun Mulin stared into the sulfurous mist, disbelief curdling into outrage. A peaceful soak—then skyfall! The girl who'd crashed into his springs now sank like a stone, dragging his dignity to the murky depths.
Bai Heran grasped blindly in the churning water—her hand closing around something soft that hardened under her grip. They sank together, her eyes widening as a young man's amethyst gaze pierced the steam, fury burning like dragonfire. Gods be good—I've seized his—
"—Crown jewels," he choked out, pain lancing through him. Her frantic kicks churned the water as she sputtered, drowning his curses. To save himself, he must first save her—a decision more agonizing than any battlefield command.
He hauled her upward. She broke the surface gasping, "Tha—" only to swallow another mouthful of sulfur-laced water. Three gulps of the foul brew left her retching, tears mingling with thermal brine.
Jun Mulin retreated, thighs clenched like fortress gates. "By what madness—" he began, hand raised to strike.
"Swat me!" she croaked, turning her back. "Harder! Finish the job!"
He obliged. A thunderous clap between her shoulder blades sent water gushing from her lungs—followed by twin shrieks:
"Agony!"
"What sorcery?!"
Jun Muling stared at his blood-smeared palm, pupils contracting to dagger points. "What venomous thorns pierce your back?"
*
The Poisoned Heiress**
Needles buried deeper in flesh—yet Bai Heran's anguish ran colder. The Bai Venomous Lineage , she reflected bitterly, last torchbearer of five ancient clans. Guardian of millennia's accumulated poisons in dust-covered manors. How often had she stared at cobwebbed ceilings, longing for death's sweet release?
Her blood defied all toxins—a curse masquerading as gift. Countless self-poisonings ended in failure, leaving only the hollow echo of teacups clinking in silent laboratories. A gilded cage, she'd thought, with poison-laced bars.
Until the gunshot.
That blissful leaden kiss to her heart—freedom at last! Yet here she stood, reborn in steam and scandal, facing a violet-eyed nobleman whose very gaze made her traitorous pulse quicken.
*
Noble Standoff**
She met his amethyst glare, noting the sharp blade of his brows, the ice-edged set of his jaw—a sculpture of wrath and aristocratic grace. "You'd swat me like a fly?" she challenged. "Then strike true, my lord. Half-measures only prolong the suffering."
His hand flexed, knuckles whitening. "What manner of lady carries poisoned needles in her flesh?"
"One who knows death's embrace," she whispered, the steam coiling around them like a shroud.