Obsessive Devotion Ice-Cold Tycoon's Calculated Proposal

"You better not beg for mercy later!"

Before the words were even out, the man bared his teeth and lunged forward, aiming to strike when Daniel least expected it.

Unfortunately, he miscalculated.

Daniel's movements were swift—he sidestepped the attack effortlessly, leaving the would-be assailant to miss completely.

In the blink of an eye, Daniel raised his right leg, driving the tip of his foot into the man's back with a brutal kick to his solar plexus. It was the kind of kick Daniel often practiced in his martial arts training.

The scene shifted in an instant. The man, who had been so cocky just a moment ago, was sent flying several feet through the air with the force of the blow.

An amateur faced with a professional. The outcome was inevitable.

The man slammed onto the floor, his jaw crashing against the carpet with a sickening crack, dislocating his jaw. If it weren't for the thick carpet, he would've lost his teeth right then.

He coughed, blood rushing into his mouth, and spewed it out, the metallic taste souring his throat.

"F*ck…" he groaned, still trying to get up. But Daniel wasn't done. He pressed the tip of his shoe into the exact spot where the man had been kicked, pressing down hard with his foot, intensifying the pain.

The man's body was writhing in agony, sweat pouring from his face as Daniel stood over him. "How can you swear like that? Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"

The man tried to say something, but before he could, Daniel delivered another flying kick, this time knocking half of the man's face into the ground. His face struck the baseboard with brutal precision, and the skin on his nose and mouth was scraped away in patches, blood mixing with flesh. It was a grotesque, horrifying sight.

Before he could even attempt to rise, Daniel pressed his foot down on the man's face, like squashing a piece of garbage.

"Oh, I forgot to mention," Daniel muttered to himself. "Maybe you didn't have a mother."

He pressed harder, his heel sinking into the man's skull. The man struggled, gasping for air, but there was no way he could breathe under the pressure. Daniel didn't stop.

Lawrence, who had been Daniel's friend for years, had never seen him like this.

When he arrived, the man on the floor was barely clinging to life, blood staining the silver-gray carpet in deep crimson splotches.

The blood had coagulated, forming clumps. The scene was unnervingly gruesome.

"Stop! You're going to kill him. Let's check on her first," Lawrence said, his voice tight with concern.

It wasn't that he didn't want to help Vivian, but it was clear that Daniel had already lost all restraint and control. Whoever dared touch Vivian was as good as dead.

When Daniel got this furious, no one could stop him.

The mention of "Vivian" seemed to act as a switch, snapping Daniel out of his rage-driven frenzy. He took a deep breath, his body still trembling with anger.

But not yet satisfied, he kicked the man once more, watching him squirm like a worm in its death throes. "Make sure he doesn't die," Daniel ordered his bodyguards, who were standing nearby.

The bodyguards, having never witnessed Mr. Smith act in such a manner, were too terrified to speak, quickly nodding their heads in compliance.

Vivian was still unconscious, her body held in Daniel's arms as he carried her back to the presidential suite of the Rosewood Hotel on the 68th floor. By the time they arrived, his private doctor, Sophia, had been waiting for some time.

When Dr. Sophia arrived by helicopter, she found herself standing in front of the most bizarre sight she had ever witnessed.

Mr. Smith, bloodstained and disheveled, was holding a woman tightly in his arms. No matter how much she squirmed, he held on to her as though he had lost his mind.

Vivian's entire body felt like it was being scorched, her skin burning with fever. It was as though she was walking through an endless desert, the scorching sun above her. Her body was parched, desperate for water.

Her clothes were now a hindrance, adding to her discomfort.

It was too hot. She needed to take it all off—everything.

It felt like she was holding onto a cold pillar, the sensation strangely soothing. She pressed her face into it, sighing as she did so.

Her usual well-fitted shirt now had three buttons undone, her body pressed against Daniel's, her chest tightly in contact with his, seeking something more.

That feeling—damn, it was tempting.

Sophia was highly professional, and though she had seen plenty in her time, she refused to look at anything that wasn't her responsibility.

"Mr. Smith, this young lady has accidentally ingested Obedient Water," Dr. Sophia explained.

"Obedient Water?" Daniel's voice was steady, even as his hand casually lowered Vivian's shirt, ensuring that nothing inappropriate was exposed.

"It's a type of aphrodisiac."

As if to confirm Sophia's words, Vivian's hands were already running across Daniel's body, undoing his shirt, frantic to feel his skin under her touch.

Sophia, ever the professional, remained calm and didn't look twice. "This substance has only become popular in Southeast Asia in recent months. Initially used in the adult entertainment industry, it gradually found its way to less savory areas. In the red-light districts, when a woman refuses to obey, they force her to drink this. It takes less than ten minutes for the effects to take hold, and the woman becomes docile, completely at their mercy."

Sophia's explanation made it clear what had happened.

Daniel's gaze darkened, his voice a low growl, tinged with regret. "Does it cause lasting harm? I don't know how much she ingested."

There was a slight tremor in his voice, almost imperceptible, as he realized the gravity of the situation.

Sophia, Daniel's personal doctor for years, had witnessed many urgent situations, but nothing quite like this.

Daniel, though young, had achieved great success. He wasn't one to shy away from harsh measures, a trait that had earned him a reputation for ruthlessness, one that only added to his mystique. Most of the rumors about him were wildly inaccurate, but he never bothered to defend himself. He didn't need to.

At his young age, he was calculating and guarded, never allowing his emotions to show. Few knew what he was truly thinking.

The only woman in his life had been Vivian—and even she had remained largely unaware of his complexities.

He cleared his throat, his fingers rubbing against his chin, as he observed the way Vivian was clinging to him like a drowning woman desperate for air. She was restless, her hands moving downward, reaching for his abs.

This time, Daniel was quick to stop her, pinning her to the bed before she could continue.

Her breath caught, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe himself.

Sophia, ever so composed, looked at the woman in Daniel's arms. She was slender and tall, exuding an aura of a sophisticated woman—definitely not the soft and innocent type.

She had no accessories, her clothing simple, but elegant in its own way.

Without a second glance, Sophia addressed Mr. Smith's concerns, her voice steady. "Don't worry, Mr. Smith. As long as the antidote is administered in time, there will be no lasting effects."

However, Sophia knew, looking at the way Mr. Smith was holding Vivian, that their relationship was far from ordinary. The affection he displayed for this woman was unmistakable.