Cui Zaiye nodded and strode into the villa alone.
About a dozen subordinates tacitly scattered and stood guard at the entrance.
A little boy around four or five years old who had been playing with toys in the living room immediately stood up and ran over happily upon seeing Cui Zaiye.
Cui Zaiye, a man with countless sins, showed an incongruously tender and indulgent smile, crouched down and caught the little boy who was running towards him, then picked him up.
The little boy wrapped his arms around his neck, laughing innocently and brightly.
The woman who had been playing with the child stood up, her sexy figure undisguised.
"How do you have the time to come here?"
Her voice was seductive and magnetic, with wavy long hair, and long, tight legs. Even though she was no longer young, the charm of a mature woman was something a young girl couldn’t match.
If time could be rewound by ten years, most Koreans would probably not be unfamiliar with her face.
She had starred in many films and was extremely popular back then. In terms of status in the entertainment industry, she was once superior to the current Kim Joohyun.
What was inconceivable, however, was that she suddenly retired at the peak of her fame. Although she never announced her withdrawal from the entertainment industry, she never appeared in public view again.
Look at the scene in front of you.
Those fans who couldn’t forget her would probably never imagine that the goddess they admired in their youth now actually had a child.
"I had some business in Longshan Village and stopped by to see you on the way," he said.
Cui Zaiye sat down on the sofa with his child, absent the ruthlessness he had outside, playing and laughing with the child like any ordinary father.
It was true that he had lost a son.
But few knew that he also had an illegitimate child.
A man strives for a lifetime for nothing but power, wealth, and pleasure.
Back in the day, he took one glance at the tempting female protagonist on television and naturally used his power and influence to claim her for himself.
A promising movie starlet thus had to retire from her acting career and became a forbidden pleasure.
Holding his son, Cui Zaiye’s furious mood finally began to settle.
He was nearly fifty years old – losing a son at this age could be considered a great tragedy in life, but fortunately, he still had a son and his lineage was not completely cut off.
After playing with his child for a while, Cui Zaiye let the nanny take his son away.
Han Zhenxi, whose feminine allure grew stronger with age, snuggled obediently in his arms.
"Did something happen?"
"Don’t ask about things you shouldn’t ask about."
Cui Zaiye embraced her, stroking her long hair.
Han Zhenxi dared not ask further, "Will you stay for dinner?"
Cui Zaiye grunted affirmatively and the hand that had been stroking her hair began to slip lower, sneaking inside her collar to grasp that once lusted-after fullness.
Han Zhenxi slightly frowned and petulantly slapped his chest.
Cui Zaiye turned a deaf ear, merciless and uncontrolled, not only lacking tenderness but squeezing even harder, as if venting, his fingers clenching tightly, kneading ruthlessly.
Han Zhenxi revealed pain in her furrowed brows, her breaths faint and sweet, lying in the arms of the man who was more than a decade older, like a tool made only for pleasure, not daring to resist.
Through the thin, loose home clothes, one could vaguely see a hand persistently moving.
"Shouldn’t we... go upstairs... the servants will see..."
The fate of this actress, who differed from Kim Joohyun, whether forced or resigned, worried needlessly.
The villa had five housemaids, all quick-witted, entirely preoccupied with their own tasks, not glancing toward the living room at all.
"So what if they see?"
Cui Zaiye remained unmoved, his actions as aggressive as ever, one hand not satisfied, moving towards the other.
Han Zhenxi, as if boneless, collapsed on him, her brows tightly knitted together, yet her cheeks were flushed as if drunk, her eyes moist as if holding back tears.
In her thirties, she was in the prime of her womanhood.
Moreover, since Cui Zaiye didn’t visit often, with the loneliness of an empty bed, how could she not have desires?
A typical mistress might have been unable to resist seeking an affair, but who was Cui Zaiye? No matter how hard it was, she had to suppress her desires, not daring to step out of line.
But at this moment, Cui Zaiye’s roughness shattered her long-standing restraint like a dike breaking under floodwaters, unleashing her pent-up desires with abandon. She actively lifted her beautiful face, eyes closed, offering her red lips.
But Cui Zaiye paid no attention, and the ravaging hand inside her clothes also stopped.
Han Zhenxi, limp as mud, opened her eyes in confusion.
Cui Zaiye withdrew his hand and stood up indifferently.
Han Zhenxi felt a blank in her mind as though she was about to get into character but was abruptly cut off. A strong sense of loss surged in her heart, and with it came embarrassment.
She was like a pet with no status at all, at the mercy of her owner, his disregard for her feelings complete, even trampling on her dignity with ease.
From the moment she chose to submit those years ago, she was fated to accept such a destiny.
Han Zhenxi forced a smile, suppressing the stirrings of desire she’d just felt, tidied her clothes properly, and stood up.
Cui Zaiye had ultimately decided to stay.
About ten subordinates were divided into two shifts to take turns guarding.
Some slept in the cars.
A few chatted idly at the villa’s entrance.
After all, this was a rich district in Seoul; there was naturally no need for excessive vigilance.
These black market forces, relaxed due to their environment, had not noticed the cold eyes watching them from the shadows of distant trees.
The child had already been soothed to sleep by the nanny.
Once tagged as sexy, Han Zhenxi knelt on the spacious bed, her hair a mess, crying out unrestrained.
The nearly fifty-year-old Cui Zaiye looked fierce, the leather belt in his hand wrapping around Han Zhenxi’s neck as he yanked it, lashing forcefully.
Whether out of loneliness or to please, Han Zhenxi’s screams grew increasingly shrill, almost hysterical.
Fortunately, the villa’s soundproofing was excellent, otherwise the noise would surely have woken the child.
Han Zhenxi’s head was tilted back high, her back arched, her flushed face showing a look of asphyxiation, sweat incessantly trickling down her rigid body, the bedding long since soaked.
Cui Zaiye, breathing heavily, released one hand from the belt and unwrapped it from Han Zhenxi’s neck.
The swinging dark silhouette was cast upon the wall by the light.
Han Zhenxi clutched the mattress tightly, her cries growing increasingly miserable.
A sickly madness appeared on Cui Zaiye’s face as he gripped the belt tighter, lashing with even more force.
"Gentler, please, gentler..." she begged.
The pleading sounded like a lament.
At the entrance of the villa.
The guards who were chatting had already slumped to the ground.
The few who were napping remained lying on their backs, their eyes wide open, devoid of life.
The villa’s front door was already silently ajar.
Because Cui Zaiye was staying overnight, the nannies had already retired to their rooms to rest early.
The villa was dimly lit without lights.
The barely discernible sounds seemed like illusions.
Several shadows blended perfectly into the darkness, moving up the stairs soundlessly.
"Let me go, let me go, I can’t take it anymore, save me..." Han Zhenxi’s screams were now completely pitiful, the cries leaking from under the door along with some faint light, unable to be held back even by the good soundproofing.
The shadows stopped, exchanging glances.
The shadows dispersed.
Inside the master bedroom.
Han Zhenxi was covered in bruises, the lash marks horrifically crisscrossing her smooth, tender back, grotesque like a beautiful piece of art cruelly defaced.
"Scream! Louder!" Cui Zaiye’s brutality was fully on display, devoid of any pity for beauty, and he prepared to strike with the belt again.
An earth-shattering, low sound abruptly rose.
Cui Zaiye, whose alertness far exceeded that of an average person, spun around, his mind racing with shock.
An individual in tactical gear stood at the doorway, their eyes unflinching behind the black mask, even in the face of the unspeakable scene within the room.
Cui Zaiye immediately scrambled toward the bedside.
But he couldn’t reach the bedside table in time.
The bullet, muffled by a silencer, nearly grazed his scalp.
The bedding exploded into shreds.
Cui Zaiye, in a vulgar and pitiable pose, froze in place.