Chapter 1

Isabella's POV

Another exhausting afternoon.

I dragged my heavy steps out of the FBI building, still clutching the killer case analysis report. Three months, and we still hadn't caught that psychopath.

"Damn job," I muttered under my breath, pulling out my phone to text Marcus.

"Baby, I'm almost home."

Almost instantly: "I'm waiting for you at home. Everything's ready."

Seeing that message instantly lifted half my exhaustion. This was our third day living together, and Marcus's charm had me completely captivated—he always knew exactly what I needed.

After my parents died, he was the only one who made me feel loved.

The moment I pushed open the front door, the familiar scent of aromatherapy candles hit me. Marcus stood in the entryway wearing a navy blue shirt, his perfect face filled with concern.

"Baby, you look exhausted." He immediately took my laptop bag and gently kissed my forehead.

"The case still isn't making progress," I leaned into his embrace, feeling that long-lost sense of security.

"You have to believe in yourself." Marcus's hand gently stroked my back. "Come on, I've prepared a hot bath for you, and your favorite red wine."

I looked up at him, warmth flooding my heart: "How do you always know what I want?"

"Because I love you, silly." He leaned down to kiss me. "In a week you'll be my wife. Taking care of you is my responsibility."

Marcus's hand habitually caressed that spot on the right side of my neck, where I always felt the most tension. His touch instantly relaxed me.

"Your hands are magic," I closed my eyes, enjoying this care. "This is the life I've dreamed of."

"Then never leave me." He whispered in my ear, his voice low and magnetic.

After my bath, I walked to the dining room in my robe. Marcus had already prepared a lavish dinner: my favorite pasta, fresh salad, and that bottle of 1996 wine.

"Why are you being so romantic today?" I sat down, enveloped by this feeling of being cherished.

"I want to be romantic with you every day." Marcus poured my wine. "Especially when I see you working so hard."

Just then, my phone buzzed. An email—my medical test results were in.

I casually opened it and scanned the data. Most of it was normal, but one small line made me frown.

"Trace sedative metabolites?" I read aloud, confused. "Strange, I haven't taken any sedatives."

Marcus glanced at my phone screen and immediately explained: "You've been under so much stress lately, probably residue from anti-anxiety medication your doctor prescribed."

"But I clearly didn't..."

"Baby," Marcus gently interrupted, bringing over a steaming bowl of soup, "your memory has been a bit off lately. Maybe your body's metabolism is having some minor issues. Here, I made this chicken soup especially for you."

He thoughtfully picked up a spoon to feed me, and that feeling of being cared for made me instantly forget my earlier doubts.

"You're really too good to me." I opened my mouth, letting him feed me the soup. "I thought about it, maybe I really did forget something."

"Of course, I know your body better than you do." Marcus smiled with satisfaction, continuing to feed me. "Drink more, it's good for you."

The soup was indeed fragrant, with a faint herbal taste. After drinking it, I felt warm all over.

"After we're married, you won't have to work so hard." Marcus set down the empty bowl, gazing at me lovingly. "I'll take care of you, give you a real life."

"But I love my work," I instinctively objected.

Marcus's expression immediately turned serious: "Baby, I just feel sorry for you. Watching you deal with those dark cases every day, coming home looking completely drained. I want to give you a safe home."

His words made my eyes well up. Never in my life had anyone cared about my feelings like this.

"I know you mean well," I was too moved to speak. "Having you is so wonderful. I never imagined someone could love me like this."

Marcus stood and walked to my side, pulling me into his arms: "I'll always protect you, never let you get hurt."

I hugged him tightly, completely immersed in this sense of protected security. This was what I wanted—someone to love me, care about me, willing to take on everything for me.

After dinner, we sat on the living room couch watching TV. I rested comfortably against Marcus's shoulder as his hand gently stroked my hair.

"Dear viewers, we now bring you breaking news." The TV anchor's voice was serious. "Another murder has been discovered in the city, the victim a 27-year-old professional woman..."

I immediately sat up straight. Professional habit made it impossible for me to ignore this type of news. Marcus started to change the channel, but I stopped him.

"From the crime scene evidence," the anchor continued, "the victim suffered long-term psychological control and mental torture before death. Police suspect this is connected to several previous cases..."

I began analyzing: "This killer is very patient. He enjoys the control process more than the killing itself. This type of person usually..."

I suddenly noticed Marcus's reaction.

He swallowed hard, his smile fading, eyes flickering. Stranger still, he unconsciously licked his lips.

That expression... I'd seen it at work. It wasn't fear or sympathy, it was more like... excitement? Satisfaction?

"What kind of reaction is that?" My professional instincts sensitively caught this anomaly.

But the next second, I shook my head, denying my own suspicion. How was that possible? How could Marcus be interested in this kind of case?

Marcus noticed my stare and immediately returned to his normal expression: "These cases are so terrible. Good thing you have me to protect you."

He reached out to hold me tighter, his voice full of concern: "I would never let anyone hurt you."

I nodded, but couldn't completely dispel the doubt in my heart. That expression had been too strange.

Late at night, we prepared for bed.

Lying in bed, I suddenly remembered something and turned to Marcus: "Marcus, are you afraid of losing me?"

Marcus immediately pulled me into his arms. In the darkness, his voice was gentle but firm: "I never lose what belongs to me."

"What belongs to you?" This phrasing made my heart skip a beat.

Why not say "the person I love"? Why "what"?

Marcus seemed to sense my stiffness and immediately added: "You're my most precious treasure. I'll always protect you."

He gently kissed the right side of my neck, like our nightly ritual. But this time, his kiss inexplicably frightened me.

That spot... why did he always kiss there? Why always the same place?

I tried to relax, telling myself it was just work stress. Marcus loved me—there was no doubt about that.

But...

Several scenes from tonight kept flashing through my mind: the sedatives in the medical report, his strange expression watching the news, and that phrase "what belongs to me."

Was I really overthinking this?