Ken sat on the edge of his spacious, luxurious bed, his gaze fixed on the medical report in his hands, his face expressionless.


    This mansion was his private retreat.


    His doctor, adjusting his gold-rimmed sses, said, “Mr.


    Lloyd, your wounds were treated with great care when you were first injured.


    There was no further damage, so your recovery is progressing smoothly…”


    Ken barely listened.


    The doctor''s words seemed like distant echoes, but each one seemed to hammer at the man kneeling at his bedside.


    Sherman Harrison, Ken''s longtime assistant, was kneeling in a posture of profound sorrow.


    He knew whose fault it was.


    When the doctor left, Sherman, his face full of shame, said: "I screwed up.


    I should have detected the danger earlier.


    .


    .


    "


    “That’s enough,” Ken cut him off, his tone sharp but controlled.


    The tension in the room was suffocating, and the weight of Ken''s presence made it difficult for anyone to stand firm.


    “The guy responsible has been caught,” Sherman exined, trying to get the conversation back on track.


    He’d been around Ken for years and knew that Ken never liked to bring up the past, but was more focused on seeking revenge.


    “He’s one of Hoyt’s, but no matter what we’ve done, he won’t confess.


    ”


    "Throw it into international waters.


    You know what to do.


    "


    Sherman replied, "I''ll take care of it.


    "


    Ken’s fingers idly traced the pages of the book.


    “There’s no doubt that my dear stepbrother’s skills are improving.


    However, I’ve heard that hispany’s finances aren’t looking so good.


    If there’s an audit, his cash flow could dry up.


    Bankruptcy isn’t far off.


    ”


    “I totally understand,” Sherman replied, taking the hint.


    Sunlight streamed through the window, filling the room with a warmth that Ken may have ignored as he stared out into space, lost in thought.


    Then, almost absentmindedly, he asked, “What have you found out about Allison rke’s time on the ind?”


    Sherman stiffened visibly, sweat forming on his forehead.


    “Nothing concrete yet.


    Everything seems clean on the surface.


    People saw her during those years, but there’s no trace of what she did.


    Her parents’ records are also nk.


    ”


    Ken wasn''t surprised.


    The woman was like a puzzle with half the pieces missing.


    Sherman, still kneeling, asked cautiously, “Should we take care of her… discreetly? After all, she saw you standing there…”


    Ken put the book aside and closed his eyes briefly.


    “No need.


    ”


    Sherman hesitated, confused.


    It wasn''t like Ken to leave loose ends.


    But Ken had his reasons.


    Without further pressure, Sherman left.


    In truth, Ken knew that Allison was not to be trifled with.


    She was cunning, calcting, perhaps even more dangerous than he was.


    While she was not an ally, she was not an enemy he had to deal with at the moment, either.


    More than anything, Ken wasn’t sure if Allison would be intrigued by the idea of ??coborating with him.


    “Allison.


    ” Her name slipped from his lips.


    “You’re quite the enigma.


    ”


    He remembered the time she had coldly squeezed his jaw and forced poison down his throat.


    Her image blurred with that of the shadowy figure from that night—both mysterious, both dangerous—and yet he found himself drawn to her, against his better judgment.


    Slowly, Ken raised a hand to his chest, where the memory of Allison applying the salve lingered.


    He could still feel her fingers, and he hadn’t forgotten the sting of her de.


    Meanwhile, the phone on the bedside table buzzed incessantly.


    Ken''s lips curved into a slight smile.


    Could it be that Allison had finally decided to side with him? Maybe she needed his knowledge for something.


    "Have you decided yet?" he asked calmly.


    On the other end of the line, the director froze, momentarily taken aback by Ken’s unusually rxed tone.


    He nced at the calendar out of pure reflex.


    It was a normal work day, so why was Mr.


    Lloyd in such an unusually good mood? “Uh… sir? It’s Adam.


    Adam Westwood.


    ”


    Ken blinked and was speechless.


    The manager''s tentative tone brought him back to reality and he nced at the phone, realizing that it wasn''t Allison calling after all.


    It was Adam Westwood, the CEO of thepany Carisma.


    “What’s wrong?” Ken’s voice changed, cold and controlled, with no trace of the warmth that hade before.


    “S-Sir, everything is ready as you requested,” Adam stammered, nervously wiping beads of sweat from his forehead.


    Ken’s unpredictable mood never failed to unsettle him, and now Adam wondered if he had imagined the earlier kindness.


    “We have organised all the journalists and media for the Perfumery Competition, and we have found the necessary investors.


    ”


    The Charisma Company had gone all in on this event, investing resources to make the contest an industry-defining spectacle.


    Adam had pulled strings, gathered media contacts, and sent out press releases designed to put Charisma front and center.


    “Our market value has been rising steadily this month, sir,” Adam added, scanning the financial statements on his desk.


    He knew that Ken’s participation in the International Perfumery Competition under the Charisma banner had catapulted thepany to stardom overnight.


    But despite the hype, Ken remained an enigma, never appearing on the scene.


    His absence from the public eye only fueled the media''s obsession with him, turning Charisma into a constant source of fascination.


    “Good.


    Make sure everything stays on track,” Ken replied, asking a few more detailed questions before hanging up.


    In fact, although the world knew him for his mastery of ceramics, his true talent had always been in the art of perfumery.


    He had received praise from all corners of the world, beating out countless rivals.


    But only onepetitor had ever defeated him.


    Scarlet Snake! Only that codename haunted him.


    An unassuming figure, supposedly in his sixties, had swept him clean in an internationalpetition, effortlessly iming the championship.


    Since then, Ken had been quietly investigating, desperate to learn more about this mysterious rival.


    But the strict confidentiality surrounding the contest had kept Scarlet Snake’s identity out of reach.


    Yet, for all his curiosity, Ken knew one thing for certain: given his former rival''s age, Scarlet Snake would not be a contender in this uing contest… or would he?