Chapter 172

Chapter 172

I walked down the corridor, searching for Vincent's private lounge.

Just as I turned the corner, a tall figure suddenly emerged from the shadows, blocking my path precisely.

The air carried a scent of cool herbs and aged whiskey.

I stopped and looked up.

Jocelyn stood two steps away from me.

His hands were in his suit pockets, those gray-blue eyes appearing exceptionally deep in the dim corridor lighting.

He looked down at me from his superior height, showing no intention of moving aside. His gaze roamed brazenly across my face, carrying a suffocating sense of oppression.

The air in the corridor seemed to freeze.

Jocelyn stood before me, his gray-blue eyes locked onto my face.

That gaze was extremely aggressive, carrying a condescending scrutiny mixed with something that made me deeply uncomfortable.

I stopped, my spine tensing slightly.

The instincts honed from crawling through the slums gave me a natural sense for danger.

I didn't speak, just kept my expression cold and took half a step back, creating an absolutely safe distance.

My right hand dropped naturally, my fingertips already touching the edge of the micro Browning in my purse's hidden compartment.

Jocelyn noticed my movement.

His gaze lowered, sweeping over my purse, the corner of his lips curving into an extremely faint cold arc.

"You're very vigilant," he said, his voice deep with a pure British accent.

"When facing a complete stranger who deliberately blocks my way, vigilance is basic courtesy," I looked at him coldly, my tone flat. "Move aside, Mr. Rochester."

He didn't budge.

Those gray-blue eyes fixed on my face again, scanning inch by inch across my features, as if seeing someone else through me.

The dim corridor light fell on his profile, fragmenting the emotions in his eyes into something extremely complex.

"You really don't remember me?" he suddenly asked, his tone carrying a hint of probing and an extremely concealed suppression.

My brow furrowed tightly as I looked at him like he was a lunatic.

"Should I remember you?" I asked back without courtesy, my eyes full of bewilderment.

I'd never been to Europe, much less had any connection with the head of the Rochester family.

The way he looked at me, and the question he asked, made me instantly think of that mute old woman of unknown origin at the manor, and that test result marked "Rh-negative."

Were they all mistaking me for someone named "Selena"?

But I had no interest in playing some recognition game with an archenemy here.

I withdrew my gaze coldly and moved to walk around him.

The instant I brushed past him, Jocelyn suddenly reached out and grabbed my wrist.

His grip was extremely strong, clamping around my bones like iron tongs, his fingertips cold without a trace of warmth.

"Let go." My eyes instantly turned cold as knives. Without hesitation, I twisted my wrist sharply, using leverage to break free of his grip. Simultaneously, I stepped back and reached into my purse, gripping the gun handle.

Jocelyn looked at his empty palm, seeming somewhat surprised by my reaction.

He withdrew his hand, returning it to his suit pocket. That superior aristocratic demeanor didn't crack in the slightest from my counterattack.

"Cancel your engagement with Vincent." He looked at me, his tone certain, even carrying a condescending commanding tone. "He's a madman who rose to power through killing and underhanded methods. The Corleone family's foundation is too dirty. He's not worthy of you."

Hearing this, I almost laughed out loud.

I released the gun in my purse, crossed my arms, and looked down at him coldly.

"Mr. Rochester, did you drink too much whiskey? Is your brain not quite clear?" I mocked mercilessly. "I'm from the Lucas family. Who I get engaged to is none of an outsider's business. What are you to judge whether he's worthy of me?"

Jocelyn's expression darkened, a flash of anger passing through his gray-blue eyes. He looked at me, his lips moving as if wanting to say something, but the words stuck in his throat. His hesitant appearance made me even more certain he was hiding secrets about me.

"You have no idea who you are, or what kind of mess you've gotten yourself into," Jocelyn lowered his voice, his tone carrying a warning.

"All I know is you're overstepping." I cut him off coldly, not bothering to spare him another glance.

"Stay away from her."

An ice-cold voice thick with murderous intent suddenly rang out from the end of the corridor.

I turned my head.

Vincent strode forward. His black tuxedo seemed to merge with the corridor's shadows, his entire being radiating a bone-chilling ferocity.

He walked extremely fast, his leather shoes making almost no sound on the carpet, yet carrying an overwhelming sense of oppression.

Before I could react, Vincent was already beside me.

His long arm reached out, pulling me forcefully into his embrace. His rough palm gripped my waist so tightly it felt like he wanted to meld me into his bones.

The familiar cedar scent instantly surrounded me, blocking out the disgusting whiskey smell from Jocelyn.

Vincent shielded me at his side, turned his head, his deep black eyes like poisoned blades stabbing directly at Jocelyn.

"Rochester, this is my final warning." Vincent's voice was ice-cold, every word carrying unquestionable obsession and killing intent. "If I see you approach her one more time, I don't mind letting the Rochester family get a new leader tonight."

The pressure in the corridor instantly dropped to freezing.

Two men standing at the pinnacle of Europe's underground world faced off in silent confrontation across a few steps.

The air seemed to reek of gunpowder.

Jocelyn didn't back down. His hands remained in his pockets, his gaze pausing for a second on Vincent's hand gripping my waist tightly, then lifting his head to give Vincent a meaningful look.

"Vincent." Jocelyn suddenly smiled, that smile carrying extremely cold mockery. "Some things, no matter how you steal them or seize them, you ultimately can't keep them. We'll see."

With that, he gave me one deep look, then turned and walked away with composed steps down the corridor.

Even after Jocelyn's figure completely disappeared around the corner, the ferocity surrounding Vincent hadn't dissipated.

His chest heaved violently, his fingers around my waist continuously tightening, pressing painfully.

"Vincent, you're hurting me." I frowned, reaching to pry his fingers loose.