Chapter 177

I held the tablet, watching Alberta's pathetic state in the video, a cold smirk tugging at the corner of my lips.

This level of humiliation was nothing compared to what she deserved.

Just as I was about to replay it, the screen flickered and refreshed.

"Sorry, this video has been removed by the publisher."

The trending topic vanished along with it, instantly replaced by several trivial entertainment news items on Twitter's hot search rankings.

The power of capital.

I tossed the tablet onto the table, unbothered.

At that moment, my phone on the table began vibrating.

The screen displayed an unknown Swiss number.

I pressed accept but said nothing.

"Elena." A deep male voice came through the receiver, carrying a pure British accent.

Jocelyn.

"I had the video taken down." His tone was calm, exuding an air of natural control. "I'll handle Alberta. The Medici family won't trouble you. I'm sorry—today's incident was my failure to manage things properly. I apologize for the distress it caused you."

Listening to his condescending, soothing tone, my disgust nearly overflowed.

"Mr. Rochester, do you have some kind of savior complex?" My voice was ice-cold, devoid of any warmth. "I don't need you to handle anything. If the Medici family wants to come looking for death, I'm ready anytime. Now, answer me one question."

I leaned back against the chair, my gaze sharp as a blade. "Why are you stalking me? Those misleading photos, and this inexplicably familiar attitude of yours—what exactly are you trying to do?"

Dead silence fell on the other end.

Only Jocelyn's slightly heavy breathing could be heard.

After a long pause, he finally spoke slowly, his voice laced with suppressed bitterness. "Have you... truly forgotten everything?"

That line again.

My eyes darkened, my patience completely exhausted.

"I'm warning you—stop playing these cryptic games with me." My tone turned glacial. "I've never been to Europe before, and I don't know you. If you continue harassing me with these mystifying excuses, I won't hesitate to start an all-out war between the Corleone family and the Rochester family."

Jocelyn fell silent again.

"Meet me in person." His voice carried a hint of pleading. "Tomorrow afternoon, at the lakeside café in Zurich. There are things I must tell you face to face—about your past, about..."

"I refuse." I cut him off without hesitation. "Whatever you have to say, say it over the phone right now. Otherwise, I'm hanging up."

"Elena, this can't be explained over the phone. You need to know—"

Before Jocelyn could finish, a hand with distinct knuckles suddenly reached over from beside me and snatched my phone away.

I looked up.

Vincent was standing behind me—I hadn't noticed when he'd arrived.

His face was grim, his deep black eyes churning with terrifying violence.

He brought the phone to his ear, his voice cold as a blade dipped in ice.

"Rochester, wasn't I clear enough at the gala last night?" Vincent's voice was laced with murderous intent, each word dripping with venom. "Stay away from her. If I catch you calling her again, or sending those blind mad dogs to disgust her, I'll blow up your Rochester estate. Get lost."

With that, he hung up without hesitation and immediately blocked the number.

He tossed the phone onto the table and turned to face me, looking down from his imposing height.

The air pressure in the dining room dropped to freezing point.

"Why did you answer his call?" Vincent braced both hands on the armrests of my chair, trapping me between his arms. His tightly clenched jawline radiated extreme danger, and the jealousy in his eyes threatened to drown me.

"I didn't know it was his number," I answered honestly, meeting his gaze without a trace of guilt.

"What did he say?" Vincent leaned in closer, his nose almost touching mine. "Did he ask to meet you?"

"Yes." I didn't hide anything, recounting the conversation truthfully. "He said he had the video taken down and would deal with Alberta. He also said there are things about my past that he must tell me in person."

At the mention of "past," the shadows in Vincent's eyes deepened.

What he feared most were the unknowns about me that he couldn't control.

"Did you agree?" His voice was hoarse, his fingers gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"I refused." I raised my hand, my fingertips gently smoothing his furrowed brow. "I told him if he had something to say, say it over the phone, or I'd hang up. Then you grabbed my phone."

Vincent stared into my eyes intensely, as if assessing the truthfulness of my words.

After a moment, his rigid body finally relaxed slightly.

"Elena." He suddenly reached out and lifted me from the chair in one swift motion.

I gasped, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck.

Carrying me, he strode out of the dining room with long steps, heading straight upstairs to the master bedroom.

"No matter what your past is, no matter what he knows, you're mine now." Vincent's voice was low and obsessive, brooking no refusal. "You're not going anywhere, not seeing anyone. I'm going to keep you chained to my side."

The master bedroom door was kicked open, then slammed shut.

Vincent threw me onto the wide double bed, his towering frame immediately pressing down on me.

He gave me no chance to speak, lowering his head to capture my lips in a fierce kiss.

The kiss was savage and passionate, carrying both punishment and his deeply buried insecurity.

He pried open my lips and teeth, plundering my breath without mercy.

His palm traced up along my waistline, radiating a tremor-inducing heat.

"Vincent..." I tried to push him away during a brief moment to catch my breath. "It's still daytime."

"I don't care." He bit my earlobe, his voice unbearably hoarse. "Elena, say you're mine."

"I'm yours." I sighed, abandoning resistance, threading my fingers through his thick black hair and actively reciprocating his movements.

My compliance completely ignited the violence and madness in his bones.

Outside the window, the sky gradually darkened. The cold Alpine wind battered the glass, while the temperature inside the room climbed steadily higher.

He was like a tireless beast, using the most primal method to brand me with his mark over and over again.

He wanted me to look at him, to call his name, to completely drown in his control.

This reckless torment continued until deep into the night.

The next morning.

I was awakened by sunlight streaming into the room.

I struggled to open my eyes, feeling as if my entire body had been run over by a truck. Even moving a single finger brought waves of soreness. My waist was so weak I could barely muster any strength.

Gritting my teeth, I tried to sit up from the bed.

The moment I moved, the muscle ache made me involuntarily suck in a sharp breath.

The bathroom door opened.