Within the bedroom, a cozy warmth filled the air.

Contrarily, beyond the West Lake Villa, an icy, ominous presence Lingered.

Adjacent to the villa, a sleek black automobile had its window partially lowered.

Inside, a man donning a white porcelain half-mask, his left hand cloaked in a sleek black leather glove, wielded a unique device directed toward Raegan's upstairs bedroom.

This device could breach the delicate film of the window screen, distinctly observing the activities of the individuals indoors.

Upon witnessing their shared presence on the bed, the leather glove descended gradually.

"Bang!" A resounding rupture.

The man indeed fractured the vehicle's window using only his hand.

Fragments of glass promptly lodged into the leather glove.

The driver, startled and alarmed, exclaimed, "Sir!"

The man's mouth was tightly sealed as he removed the glove. As anticipated, his palm dripped with fresh blood.

Pallid skin displayed old, notably savage, and frightening scars.

The man casually adorned a new glove, showing no intention to address his injury at all.

The driver refrained from further utterance, merely observing the movement of the man's slender lips. “Let's go."

The car started.

Turning his gaze toward the bedroom adorned with billowing curtains on the upper level, the man's lips abruptly formed a chilling smirk.

Next, his lips silently moved. Barely perceptible, yet conveying a sense of ownership: They belonged solely to me!

In the warm bedroom, Mitchel, supporting his head, observed Raegan sleeping peacefully, harboring a bitter smile within. Her trust in him exceeded reasonable bounds. He remained undecided regarding the fortune of her excessive trust.

Slowly, he inclined, softly pressing his lips against her forehead.

Raegan slumbered peacefully, her tender and perfumed form enticingly intoxicating, each touch igniting an insatiable longing within Mitchel.