Chapter 1 The Showdown Begins - "Touch Her, and You Die"
# Chapter 1: The Showdown Begins - "Touch Her, and You Die"
Whitney McDaniel's eyelids fluttered open to the soft glow of crystal chandeliers. The banquet hall's marble floor felt cold against her bare shoulders, disorientation clouding her mind as she attempted to piece together how she'd arrived at what appeared to be an abandoned luxury event.
Her respite lasted mere seconds before shadows converged from all directions. Five men—each distinct in their menace—formed a tightening circle around her, backing her against the ornate wall. Their expressions ranged from cold calculation to unhinged obsession, but all shared one commonality: murderous intent focused squarely on her.
Robin Mills, the steel-eyed CEO whose empire stretched across continents, reached her first. His manicured fingers gripped her jaw with practiced precision, forcing her gaze to meet his. The sleeve of his bespoke suit rode up slightly, revealing the cold gleam of handcuffs secured around his wrist.
"The drug in my drink last night," he whispered, his voice carrying the quiet danger of a man accustomed to absolute control. "That was you, wasn't it?" His thumb traced her lower lip with possessive familiarity.
Before Whitney could respond, Justin Horton—the entertainment industry's golden boy with fifty million followers hanging on his every word—yanked her wrist from Robin's sphere of influence. His perfectly styled hair couldn't hide the storm brewing in his eyes as he thrust his phone screen before her face.
"You promised you were only following me," he hissed, displaying a screenshot of her alternate account's activity. "So why are you leaving heart emojis on Ted's posts at 3 AM?" His grip tightened, celebrity charm replaced by raw jealousy.
A cold metal circle pressed against her exposed lower back, making her spine stiffen. Ted Alvarez, whose name was whispered in fear across underground networks, leaned close enough that she could smell expensive cologne masking gunpowder residue.
"My safe held one thing that mattered," he murmured, his accent thickening with rage. "Those blue diamonds weren't just worth millions—they were my insurance." His free hand reached up to touch her ear, where a fresh earring hung. Blood trickled from the newly pierced lobe. "Interesting choice of jewelry today."
"The bidding just reached eight figures," came a measured voice as Professor Jackson Sims adjusted his glasses, the lenses catching the light to momentarily obscure his calculating eyes. He turned his tablet toward Whitney, displaying a live auction. "My life's research—the algorithm that took fifteen years to perfect—is being sold to the highest bidder." He tilted his head. "The account receiving payment matches yours down to the last digit."
Before Whitney could process this fourth accusation, a childlike laugh cut through the tension. Albert, his medical scrubs partially visible beneath a designer hoodie, twirled a surgical scalpel between his fingers with disturbing dexterity.
"Big sister," he crooned, using the pet name that had always made her skin crawl, "when you harvested my kidney yesterday..." He pulled up his shirt to reveal blood-soaked bandages. "It was still beating in your hands. Did you enjoy the warmth?"
The five men closed in further, each staking their claim on her betrayal. Whitney's head spun as fragments of memories—drugging Robin, stalking Justin, stealing from Ted, selling Jackson's research, and Albert's operation—flashed through her mind like disconnected film strips.
Suddenly, a mechanical chime sounded inside her head, followed by a robotic female voice:
【Heartbreaker System activated. Current favorability rating: -100%. Death countdown initiated: 72 hours remaining.】
Whitney blinked rapidly, the system interface materializing in her peripheral vision—complete with status bars, relationship metrics, and a pulsing red timer counting down to her demise.
She needed to act fast. Feigning weakness, she stumbled forward, deliberately brushing her lips against Robin's exposed throat in what appeared to be an accidental touch. The CEO's momentary shock was palpable.
Justin noticed the contact and yanked her backward with such force that Ted's gun discharged reflexively, shattering the chandelier above them. In the same chaotic moment, Jackson lunged forward with a syringe—likely containing a sedative—only to miss Whitney and plunge the needle into Albert's neck instead.
Glass rained down as security personnel rushed toward the commotion. Whitney seized the moment of confusion, grabbing the microphone from the abandoned DJ booth.
"Everyone," she shouted, her voice echoing through the hall's perfect acoustics. "I need your attention because I'm actually pregnant with—"
A notification flashed before her eyes:
【Choose your strategy:
① Faint to trigger protective instincts
② Slap Justin to assert dominance
③ Tear dress to reveal mysterious scars】
Whitney stared at the floating options, fury building within her. With a sudden movement that surprised even herself, she grabbed a bottle of vintage red wine from a nearby table and smashed it against her own forehead.
"System," she growled through the pain as blood and wine mingled down her face, "crawl back to hell!"
The world tilted as she collapsed. Through her blood-blurred vision, she saw five hands reaching for her simultaneously, each man determined to claim her first.
From the second-floor balcony, partially concealed by velvet curtains, another Whitney—identical yet somehow harder, older—raised a silenced pistol and squeezed the trigger.
