That delicate, impossibly soft sensation seemed to linger in Marcus's palm like phantom touch, residual nerve activation that refused to dissipate. Yet now his hand trembled for an entirely different reason—the sudden "reward" that had materialized in his consciousness.
So... just touching her shoulder earned me a point?!
Sleep became absolutely impossible. Those previous noble thoughts about being a "perfect gentleman" or simply "offering protection"—all that virtuous self-image instantly became pale, powerless, nearly vaporized when confronted with the overwhelming temptation represented by "+1 point" and "one hundred million yuan."
He fixed his gaze once more on Elena Nightshade, who appeared to be soundly asleep on the bed. His entire perspective had transformed completely.
He was no longer observing a dangerous yandere target requiring careful tactical management. Instead, he was looking at a walking, glittering gold mine—the literal key to his path toward billionaire status!
His gaze, which had initially carried clear appreciation mixed with protective instinct, gradually morphed into something far more fervent and acquisitive.
Want to... make contact. Want to touch.
Just... gently touch her shoulder one more time. She's sleeping so soundly—she wouldn't notice, right? Probably wouldn't even register...
Once that thought took root, it spread through his consciousness with the wild, unstoppable proliferation of invasive weeds.
Elena had actually woken far earlier—precisely at the moment she'd turned over and her shoulder had pressed down onto that unexpectedly warm palm.
Heat belonging to another person—sensation she'd genuinely never experienced before—had transmitted through the thin fabric of her nightgown, causing her entire body to tremble with visceral alarm, like confronting midnight terrors made manifest.
A wave of retrospective fear surged through her: How could I have lowered my guard? Allowed myself to sleep that deeply? Thank god I woke when I did!
She kept her eyes firmly sealed shut, but every other sense had heightened to maximum acuity. She could detect with perfect clarity that the shadow belonging to Marcus Chen had not retreated. It lingered close by, positioned not far from her face, apparently calculating... something.
The unknown represented the most terrifying element. Elena's muscles coiled tight with tension, her breathing became cautiously controlled, and the hand concealed beneath bedding clenched fractionally around that ring. Her delicate brows drew together involuntarily.
Suddenly, something warm descended gently onto her glabella—Marcus's fingertip making deliberate contact.
He applied gentle rubbing pressure, as though attempting to smooth away those worry lines locked between her brows. His voice emerged low and intimate in the silent darkness, carrying the husky rasp of recent sleep, positioned so close that his exhalations brushed her ear: "Why are you frowning even while sleeping..."
This sudden display of manufactured "tenderness" only intensified Elena's vigilant alarm. She resembled a leopard coiled to strike—muscles primed, ready to deliver fatal violence at the slightest provocation.
Marcus smoothed the furrow from her brow, but his fingertip seemed to crave additional contact, drawn by irresistible compulsion. It began traveling slowly downward along the soft contours of her face, finally coming to rest against her slender, vulnerably exposed neck.
Perhaps because this location provided greater surface contact area, the mental notification [Positive Value +1] made Marcus instantly reluctant to withdraw his touch.
Beneath the coverlet, Elena's fingers had silently pried open the gemstone ring's hidden compartment with practiced precision. A three-centimeter silver needle gleamed with cold menace, ascending gradually along with her wrist's subtle movement, orienting itself toward the exposed side of Marcus's neck with calculated intent.
Elena sneered internally with bitter satisfaction. I knew Marcus Chen was fundamentally rotten. I only have myself to blame—calculating every variable yet somehow failing to recognize I was inviting a predator into my own home. Nearly destroyed myself through my own machinations.
Indeed: the righteous path rises one foot, but demons climb ten! Fortunately, that viscerally real nightmare served as adequate warning. Otherwise... the consequences would have been catastrophic.
Marcus remained completely absorbed in the euphoric joy of watching his "points" accumulate with steady progression, utterly oblivious to mortal danger positioned mere centimeters from his carotid artery.
The notification chime [Congratulations, Host! Adding 1 point] rang through his consciousness like heavenly music, beautiful as angels singing.
He clenched his jaw muscles, forcefully restraining his internal ecstasy from manifesting in visible tells. His fingers escalated their exploratory behavior—the back of his hand gently caressing along Elena's chin with feather-light pressure.
[Adding 1 point.]
This is absurdly easy! Almost too good to be true!
Joy bubbled through Marcus like carbonation, though simultaneously he possessed clear self-awareness that his current behavior qualified him as an absolute shameless rogue. A complete scoundrel taking advantage of a sleeping disabled woman.
"This is great..." The words escaped as unconscious muttering, inner delight leaking through his verbal filters.
That low whisper triggered deafening alarm bells in Elena's mind. Great? What's great? What does that mean?
She swallowed with difficulty, ears seemingly filled with phantom buzzing as that humiliating, horrifyingly realistic nightmare crashed over her again in vivid detail—
Her sobbing pleas earning only brutal slaps from Marcus until consciousness fled entirely...
Fingernails dug deep crescents into her palm. Cold, deadly light flashed through Elena's eyes as she prepared to strike with the poisoned needle, muscles tensing for the killing blow—
Abruptly, the shadow enveloping her retreated completely.
"Alright, that's enough for today. We'll continue this tomorrow." Marcus muttered with obvious satisfaction, withdrawing his exploring hand. He wrapped himself snugly in his blanket, turned over onto his side, and within moments appeared to sink into genuine deep sleep.
Alright? Enough? What does that even mean?
Elena's mind churned with suspicion and confusion. This abrupt cessation of harassment left her even more bewildered, unable to parse his motivations or strategy.
An indeterminate period elapsed—time marked only by the gradual steadying and deepening of Marcus's breathing pattern until all movement ceased entirely. Only then did Elena risk opening her eyes to the narrowest possible slit.
Silver-white moonlight painted Marcus's face in chiaroscuro contrast. Disheveled hair obscured half his features, revealing only his straight nose and lean cheekbone. His sleeping expression appeared calm, even carrying traces of rare gentleness—making him seem like an entirely different person compared to the slick daytime operator or shameless nighttime opportunist.
He wore only a thin tank top, both arms exposed to ambient air. Muscle definition showed clearly through pale skin—smooth, functional lines. Veins stood out prominently across the backs of his hands, radiating contained explosive power.
Elena understood with cold clarity: in direct physical confrontation, she possessed zero chance of victory. His strength advantage was overwhelming and absolute.
Better to... strike now while opportunity presents itself!
Elena's eyes transformed instantly—acquiring the icy, resolute quality of a lone wolf surveying snowy mountains, predatory and merciless.
She shifted her body with absolute silence, inching incrementally toward the bed's edge. Her gaze locked with laser focus onto Marcus's neck, that vulnerable column of flesh exposed in moonlight's revealing glow.
There—the carotid artery pulsed visibly with each breath, full of vital life force yet simultaneously fragile beyond measure. Just one needle strike delivered with proper force and angle...
Her hand emerged trembling from beneath covers. Fingertip made delicate contact with the gemstone ring's mechanism. With a nearly inaudible tsing, the poisoned silver needle extended to full length, gleaming with fatal promise.
She raised her hand, aimed with surgical precision at that throbbing pulse point, prepared to drive the needle home with decisive force—
But then, still apparently deep in sleep, Marcus suddenly hugged his blanket tighter against his chest. His cheek burrowed unconsciously into the soft bedding, and indistinct words tumbled from his lips in barely coherent sleep-talk:
"Elena... don't be afraid... I'm here... came to protect you..."
Those slurred, mumbled syllables acted like invisible shackles, instantly freezing Elena's descending hand mid-strike.
The needle's tip hovered mere millimeters from his skin—close enough to feel his body heat radiating from the target. She remained frozen in that position, pupils contracting violently, staring with profound disbelief at that defenseless face sleeping peacefully under moonlight's cold illumination.
Protect... me?
In the darkness, the poisoned needle's cold gleam and the uncertainty churning in her eyes intertwined into oppressive, death-like silence.
Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!
Marcus was forcibly dragged from sleep by his system's aggressively cheerful notification chimes assaulting his consciousness—like an alarm clock had been surgically implanted directly into his skull and set to maximum volume.
[Host! The sun is literally scorching your posterior! Rise immediately and commence mission activities! The morning represents golden opportunity! The early bird secures the worm, and the early Host accumulates the points!]
Fortune's voice radiated inappropriately enthusiastic energy for whatever ungodly hour this was.
Marcus executed what could generously be called a "carp flip" maneuver—shooting upright from his floor bed while simultaneously rubbing sleep-crusted eyes and attempting to tame hair that had achieved impressive bird's nest architecture overnight.
Right! The mission!
Remembering that today represented another valuable day of point-grinding opportunity, consciousness flooded back with caffeinated intensity. He reflexively turned toward the actual bed—
Empty. Completely vacant. That psychologically unstable beauty had already vanished without trace.