My Beloved Has Risen from Death’s Embrace

A cold, deep voice called from inside, “Come in.”

Holding a folder, Hans entered the office. “Mr. President, you instructed us to intercept any negative media exposure concerning Miss Xanthea. Today, the company intercepted a set of photos, but I’m not sure if they qualify as negative news?”

At the mention of “Xanthea,” the man signing contracts behind the desk suddenly paused.

Orion slowly lifted his head, “What?”

Hans took out the photos from the folder, placing them neatly before him.

In the photos, Xanthea was seen giving Benjamin a gift, the two of them looking at each other and smiling: Benjamin courteously shielding Xanthea from a car door, careful not to let her bump her head; at a cast dinner, Benjamin making his way through the crowd, his gaze towards Xanthea filled with ambiguous affection, and more.

Orion picked up the last photo of the two sweetly embracing. His dark eyes brewed a storm, almost piercing a hole through the man’s silhouette in the photo.

“Have they been verified?”

the entire office seem encased

they have been authenticated by our tech department. The photos are unaltered originals, and the

man’s low chuckle was hoarse and terrifying, his fingers white–knuckled around

Sunset Hills Estates, apartment

47, when looking into

“Isn’t this too much?”

looked at the notebook full of “key points” she had written, tossed the pen away in despair, and slumped over

indeed harder

agree to

despondently muttering with her face down on the desk,

a lot of attention, but it’s not easy to excel–it

to excel; she just needed to

nce scene.