Chapter 1

The thunderous roar of helicopter blades echoed above the city skyline. Genevieve Whitfield had just finished a secret operation in Section A and was piloting the helicopter back to base. As the aircraft cruised steadily over downtown, her gaze drifted downward when it passed Lambert Group's tower—the city's most recognizable landmark. One glance was enough to make her pupils constrict. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the CEO's office, Genevieve saw a man and a woman clinging to each other with fierce intensity. The man had his back to Genevieve, but she recognized him instantly. It was her husband, Zachary Lambert. And there, pressed against the glass, was a woman with an alluring side profile and a smoldering gaze. Genevieve clicked her tongue. Zachary's childhood sweetheart, Regina Sloane, had just returned, and she was already handing Genevieve a "gift" like this. With a straight face, she pulled out her phone and aimed her camera at Zachary and Regina before zooming in. She could clearly see Regina's pitiful face, flushed with an unnatural red, pressed against the cold glass. Her half-hearted resistance only made things more heated. A dry laugh escaped Genevieve's lips, swallowed by the deafening rotor noise. Without hesitation, she tapped on the button to record. "Perfect," she thought. Genevieve lifted her gaze, her expression calm and unreadable. She and Zachary had been married for only a year. The honeymoon phase was barely over, and she was already on the verge of having an ex-husband. Before Zachary's father, Malcolm Lambert, died, he had left a will stating that his children could inherit the family empire only after they got married. Yet, almost immediately after Malcolm's passing, his illegitimate son appeared. He had been born to a former bar hostess and was eager to claim his share of the inheritance. Zachary's grandfather, Raymond Lambert, flew into a rage. To protect his grandson's sole claim to the inheritance, he immediately forced him into marriage. However, Zachary had refused to marry anyone but Regina, his childhood sweetheart. Raymond immediately ordered an investigation, only to uncover Regina's hidden past. He acted decisively and sent her away. To spare Zachary the heartbreak, he even came up with an excuse to hide the truth. As for Genevieve, she had agreed to marry Zachary out of gratitude to Raymond for saving her mother's life. That same night, her devoted husband sped off in a frenzy to chase after Regina, only to crash along the way. It was only when Raymond begged on his knees that Genevieve intervened, bringing Zachary back from the brink of death. Over the next year, she softened her edges and played the part of a dutiful Mrs. Lambert. Zachary, too, had treated her with courtesy. He gave her just enough respect to maintain appearances. At one point, he had told her that the accident had caused lasting damage and that he could no longer perform in bed. Hearing him speak with such defeat, Genevieve had been overwhelmed with guilt. She had believed that her surgery had gone wrong, leaving Zachary with an impairment at such a young age. To her surprise… Genevieve watched Zachary on her phone, brimming with vigor, and the cold smile on her lips deepened. It wasn't that he was incapable. It just depended on who he was with. With that, she stopped recording and saved the video. The helicopter blades slowed, the roar fading like a retreating tide. For a moment, the entire city seemed to fall silent. On the rooftop, only the howl of wind remained. Genevieve stepped out of the cockpit, her expression calm, her movements crisp and decisive. She quickly stripped off the heavy flight gear, then tossed it into the helicopter. After all, if she was going to catch Zachary in the act, she had to look the part. Showing up like this would only make his supposed condition seem all too real. Genevieve headed for the door leading to the stairs, her mind still replaying the sensual images from earlier. Her expression remained icy as she pushed the door open, a hint of menace in her movements. Betrayal was unforgivable to her. A dim stairwell stretched ahead, the faint light barely reaching the bottom. Genevieve was distracted. All she could think about was how she wanted to slap Zachary. She stepped forward and suddenly tripped over an unseen obstacle. In an instant, she lost her balance and tumbled forward uncontrollably. "Damn it!" Genevieve cursed inwardly. Instinct took over at once. Her core tensed, and her hands shot out, trying to steady herself before slamming into the wall. Yet, the expected cold impact never came. Instead, her palms pressed against a warm, firm chest. Through the thin fabric, she could feel the solid muscle beneath. The next moment, her lips crashed squarely into something soft. It was warm and carried a metallic tang. Genevieve's mind went completely blank. She had lived through gunfire and bloodshed, through blades and explosions, yet nothing this absurd had ever happened to her. She recoiled instantly, stumbling back until her back slammed against the cold doorframe before she finally steadied herself. Moments later, she lifted her gaze and finally took in the scene before her. In the shadows of the stairwell, a tall, lean man slumped against the wall. Even in such a compromised position, he radiated a commanding presence. The dim light traced the firm line of his lips. It was the spot Genevieve had just kissed. Her heart skipped a beat as a strange heat rose to her cheeks. Genevieve drew in a deep breath, ready to speak. "I'm so—" But when her gaze fell on the man's abdomen, the words caught in her throat. Blood seeped uncontrollably through his fingers, soaking his white shirt in a horrifying red. Zachary's mess could wait. This man, however, didn't have that luxury. One glance at the savage wound told her that any delay would be fatal. She had already taken advantage of him, so she wasn't about to let him die here. Without saying another word, Genevieve turned to leave. She needed to retrieve the military trauma kit from the helicopter. Meanwhile, Tristan Hale leaned against the cold wall in the dim stairwell. His consciousness drifted between searing pain and rising waves of heat. He couldn't stop thinking about how he had just been used as a human cushion and taken advantage of in the process. Yet, after seeing him in such a sorry state, the woman hadn't even apologized before running off. The corners of his lips curled into a sneer as he said, "What a heartless woman." As soon as the words left his mouth, Genevieve returned. It wasn't until she crouched in front of Tristan and set down a dark green trauma kit that he forced his eyes open. In fact, she had clearly heard him call her "heartless". Genevieve glanced at him coolly, not bothering to react. Picking a fight with a man on the verge of death was beneath her. She unzipped the kit with practiced movements, quickly slipped on sterile gloves, then pulled out a pair of scissors. "Tough it out if you want to live," she said, her voice icy. The moment she tore open Tristan's white shirt, a deep wound came into view. Even then, Genevieve didn't flinch. She cleaned the wound, disinfected it, and stopped the bleeding with smooth precision. But the instant her fingers touched his skin, her movements faltered. Tristan's body burned with an alarming heat, far beyond what any normal infection could cause. Genevieve looked up and met his intense gaze. It was charged with aggressive desire. All at once, she knew that he had been drugged. The thought flashed through her mind, and she stepped back instinctively. But Tristan was faster. Before she knew it, a searing hand clamped her wrist. Pain shot through her as he yanked her down hard beside him. The distance between them closed in an instant. Tristan's hot breath brushed against the side of Genevieve's neck. He loomed over her, casting her entirely in his shadow. His nose almost touched her skin, as if he were trying to confirm something. This was the scent. It was the same one that clung to the person who had fought him earlier—the one who had gravely wounded him. Tristan's gaze darkened, and the desire in his eyes vanished instantly. Then, he gripped her chin and forced her to look up. "Who are you?" With her face tilted up, Genevieve met his scrutinizing gaze. And suddenly, everything became clear. She recognized him. This was Tristan, the illegitimate son of the Lambert family. The very man whose existence had made her ridiculous marriage possible. Life truly had a twisted sense of humor. A faint smile curved Genevieve's lips as she held Tristan's gaze. "I'm your sister-in-law," she answered.