Chapter 2

Isabella's POV

"When a serial killer selects victims, they look for specific psychological vulnerabilities."

I stood on the massive stage at TechNova, facing over two hundred pairs of eyes. Investors, media reporters, tech elites—all waiting for my analysis as an FBI behavioral expert.

"Take the Chicago Strangler, for example," I clicked the remote, and crime scene photos appeared on the large screen. "He specifically targeted single professional women between 25 and 35. Each victim experienced a three-to-five-minute strangulation process before death."

The audience fell silent. I was used to this reaction—when I described death details, normal people felt uncomfortable.

But my peripheral vision caught an abnormal reaction.

Marcus—my fiancé, sitting in the front row—when he heard "strangulation process," his tongue lightly licked his lips. That gesture again.

"Isabella's analysis is absolutely brilliant!" Applause from the audience interrupted my thoughts. I forced myself to continue the presentation.

"This type of killer often has strong control issues. They enjoy their victims' fear and despair. Death isn't the goal for them—it's an art form."

I stole another glance at Marcus. He was watching me intently, with a light in his eyes I'd never seen before. That light made me uneasy.

After the presentation, Marcus was the first to rush onto the stage.

"Baby, you were amazing!" He kissed me deeply in front of everyone, drawing good-natured laughter and applause.

But his lips were hot, his breathing somewhat rapid, as if he'd just experienced something stimulating.

"Marcus, you seemed very... focused just now," I said tentatively.

"Of course, watching my fiancée conquer the room—how could I not be focused?" He smiled brilliantly, but there was a flicker in his eyes.

The reception began. Marcus led me through the crowd, constantly introducing his team members.

"Isabella, this is Sophie Miller. She handles the psychological analysis module for our AI optimization." Marcus introduced a blonde girl around twenty-five.

Sophie looked nervous, her voice trembling. "Dr. Grey, it's an honor to meet you. Your presentation opened new possibilities for AI psychology applications."

"Just call me Isabella." I nodded, noticing her right hand trembling slightly.

"Sophie's work is excellent," Marcus's hand rested on Sophie's shoulder, and I saw her entire body stiffen. "She's very talented, aren't you, Sophie?"

"Yes... yes, Mr. Reed." Sophie said this almost trembling.

This reaction was too abnormal. Not respect, not admiration—fear.

The reception lasted three hours. I kept observing Marcus's interactions with others, especially the female employees.

"Tired?" Marcus whispered in my ear.

"A little."

"Then let's go home." His hand rested on my waist, natural and intimate. "Tonight's worth celebrating. My AI crime prediction system got FBI recognition, and you helped tremendously."

Back at his mansion, Marcus collapsed on the couch. He'd had quite a bit to drink tonight, his cheeks flushed.

"I'll make you some sobering tea," I said.

"Thanks, baby." He closed his eyes, looking exhausted.

I headed toward the kitchen but stopped at his study.

Marcus never let me into his study. For three years, he'd always said it contained company secrets, not convenient for outsiders. But tonight he was drunk, maybe...

I quickly glanced at the living room, confirmed Marcus was still on the couch, and quietly opened the door.

I scanned the study—nothing seemed unusual. Books were neatly arranged on shelves, some AI project files on the desk.

But wait—something was off.

On the right filing cabinet, one folder stuck out, not aligned with the others. I walked over for a closer look. All other files were pushed deep inside, just this one protruding.

It looked like someone had hurriedly searched for something that morning, then carelessly shoved it back. The folder's tab was bent, clearly handled.

I glimpsed "Behavioral Patterns" on the label.

Those words made my heart race. After years as an FBI behavioral analyst, I knew this was no normal business file.

Just as I reached out, I heard Marcus call: "Isabella?"

I jerked my hand back, turning toward the door. His footsteps were getting closer.

Damn.

The doorknob began turning. I frantically pushed some files from the desk to the floor, crouching down to pretend I was picking them up.

"Files fell on the floor. I'm helping you collect them."

Marcus stood in the doorway watching me. He'd been drinking, but those eyes were alert, studying my face.

"What did you see?"

The question was asked lightly, but I heard the threatening undertone.

"Nothing, just some AI data files," I lied.

Marcus was silent for several seconds, then suddenly smiled.

"Those are research materials, baby. I need these cases to train AI to recognize criminal patterns. You should understand."

His explanation sounded reasonable, but he spoke faster than usual.

"Of course, I understand." I smiled too, but something deep inside was screaming.

"It's getting late. Let's rest." Marcus extended his hand, naturally taking mine.

We walked to the bedroom together. After kissing the right side of my neck, Marcus fell asleep quickly, alcohol making him sleep deeply.

But I couldn't sleep.

I lay in his arms, feeling his steady breathing, but my mind kept wondering what was really in that file.

Why would he research these things? Was it really just for AI training?

Suddenly, Marcus talked in his sleep.

Gently, "Soon, you'll belong only to me..."

I froze.

That tone, that tenderness—it sounded like a doctor comforting a patient. But in this context, it sounded like...

Like a killer comforting his victim.

I lay in bed, staring at shadows on the ceiling. Marcus's sleep talk echoed in my mind.

At 3 AM, I could no longer bear this torment.

I had to go to his study—the place he never let me enter when awake. I had to find the truth.