It was scorching. Why does it feel like I’m burning alive?

Charlotte Windt felt as though she had been wandering aimlessly through a barren desert for an eternity. Her throat was parched, her senses clouded by an unnatural heat.

Suddenly, a man’s icy lips captured hers. He devoured her with a hunger that provided a temporary, chilling respite from the fire in her veins. She reached out blindly, flinging her arms around his neck and responding to his touch with a desperate, greedy fervor.

Low moans and ragged gasps soon filled the room. On the opposite wall, their tangled shadows overlapped in a display of raw, burning passion.

In the dim, flickering light, Charlotte couldn't discern the man’s features. The only thing her haze-filled mind could register was his sheer, beastly intensity. He claimed her savagely, over and over, until the first grey streaks of dawn began to bleed through the curtains.

As the sun rose, he rose with it and left without a word.

Charlotte opened her eyes in a daze. Her vision was blurry, but she caught a final glimpse of the man’s retreating back. There, on the small of his spine, was a vicious tattoo—a howling wolf with its jaws stretched wide, as if ready to tear its prey to pieces. The sight of it sent a jolt of primal fear through her racing heart.

She fell back into a fitful sleep and dreamed she had turned into a fragile vine, entwined so tightly around a colossal, ancient tree that she could never break free.

When she finally regained true consciousness, her entire body was a map of dull, throbbing aches. Charlotte sat up, shielding her eyes from the light as she tried to soothe a splitting headache. Her gaze fell on the wreckage of the bed and a torn men’s dress shirt discarded on the floor.

Reality hit her like a physical blow.

At her engagement party last night, her fiancé had publicly betrayed her. On the verge of a total breakdown, her cousin, Luna White, had whisked her away to "Sultry Night" to drown her sorrows. Utterly wasted and screaming for revenge, she had demanded a man. Luna had immediately arranged a male escort.

Charlotte clutched her chest, her breath hitching. Oh God... I lost my virginity to a complete stranger.

She gripped her hair in frustration, her mind reeling. After what felt like hours, she snapped out of her trance and scrambled into her clothes. But as she rushed out of the hotel, she wasn't met with freedom—she was met with an ambush.

Dozens of reporters swarmed her, the blinding flashes of cameras accompanied by a barrage of cruel, rapid-fire questions.

"Ms. Windt! Is it true you spent the night with a male escort because the Sterlings called off the engagement?"

"Ms. Windt, are you aware that the man you hired is a notorious transvestite?"

"Ms. Windt, have you heard the news? Your father has gone bankrupt!"

"Ms. Windt! We just received word that Richard Windt has committed suicide! He jumped from the roof of the Windt Group building!"

Charlotte’s world tilted. It felt as if she had been struck by lightning. She tried to run, to get to her father, but as she lunged into the street, a car struck her, knocking her out cold.

The next morning, the headlines across H City were ablaze:

"RICHEST MAN IN H CITY, RICHARD WINDT, BANKRUPT; COMMITS SUICIDE" "HECTOR STERLING DUMPS FALLEN HEIRESS; CHARLOTTE WINDT SPENDS SCANDALOUS NIGHT WITH TRANSVESTITE ESCORT"

Overnight, the city’s golden girl had become its most despised pariah. She had lost her father, her fortune, and her reputation in a single stroke of fate.

Ten months later, the thin cries of newborns echoed through a small, unremarkable clinic in the countryside.

Mrs. Berry, the family’s loyal former nanny, hurried toward Charlotte with a bundle in her arms, her face glowing with exhausted joy. "Miss! Congratulations! It’s triplets! Two boys and a girl!"

Four years later. H City Train Station.

Charlotte stepped onto the platform, flanked by her children and Mrs. Berry. The once-glamorous heiress was now dressed in simple, worn clothes, a denim backpack slung over her shoulder. To any passerby, they looked like a struggling family from the provinces arriving to seek help from distant relatives.

"Get out of my way, you country bumpkin!" a woman in a garish fur coat snapped, shoving the luggage-laden Mrs. Berry aside.

Charlotte’s eyes flashed with anger. She was about to give the woman a piece of her mind when the screech of tires silenced the station crowd.

A fleet of black luxury cars swerved to a halt at the curb. Before anyone could react, dozens of elite bodyguards in crisp black suits stepped out, forming two perfect rows.

In unison, they lowered their heads in a deep, respectful bow. Their voices boomed across the station:

"Welcome back, Mrs. Sterling!"