My Precious Angel Turned Out To Be Deadlier Than Sin

"Welcome to Heaven Island, everyone. May tonight be one you'll never forget."

Surrounded by endless stretches of vast water, an electrifying auction unfolded beneath the island's lights.

At the center of the stage stood a golden cage, inside which a young woman reclined, her beauty bordering on the unreal.

Bare skin caught the glow of the spotlights as her thick, seaweed-dark hair spilled down her back, draping over her body like a silken curtain that concealed more than it revealed.

She looked like a master artisan's creation-delicately innocent at a glance, yet laced with a quiet, dangerous allure that tugged at the eye.

Dressed in a tailored tuxedo and a polished silver mask, the auctioneer lifted his microphone, his sharp gaze cutting through the crowd before he announced evenly, "Presenting the final item of tonight's event: one hundred milliliters of blood from the blood slave, to be drawn on-site. Bidding will open at ten million dollars."

The men below watched in hushed awe, their gazes locked on the breathtaking woman displayed inside the golden cage.

"To hell with the blood-I want the woman herself. Name your price," someone yelled hoarsely from the crowd.

With a measured smile, the auctioneer answered, "My apologies, gentlemen, but this is the first blood slave Heaven Island has successfully cultivated in five years. Her blood is extraordinarily rare-it can purge toxins, accelerate healing, and heighten physical potential. More than that, it ignites overwhelming desire in its recipient, and it has even been proven to restore virility to those long thought beyond help."

Well aware that selling the blood slave outright would sabotage their future gains, the auctioneer let the pause stretch before carrying on. "Tonight's winning bidder for the hundred milliliters of blood will also be granted a complimentary night in her company. She is a true virgin-flawless, untouched, and exquisitely rare, a treasure seldom seen even in legends."

The announcement sent a fresh wave of excitement rippling through the tiers of seats, voices rising and overlapping in frenzied bursts. Compared with vague claims of detoxification, the suggestion of renewed virility was what truly set their blood racing.

"Are you saying her blood could actually make a useless man whole again? Are you serious right now? That's insane!"

"I'm not convinced. She's just stunning, that's all. A few million for a night's amusement, maybe-but this kind of fuss feels ridiculous."

Hidden within an opulent, shadow-drenched private box, a masked man idly rolled a distinctive black ring around his thumb. An effortless confidence clung to him, and a trace of amusement flickered through his deep gray eyes.

What caught his interest was the woman confined within the cage, delicate and arresting, like a beautiful little kitten dropped into danger.

Men, after all, had always enjoyed the pursuit of women-especially one so breathtaking and untouched.

Down below, the crowd wavered between desire and doubt, tempted by the bonus yet unconvinced by the spectacle itself.

Catching the mix of skepticism and idle amusement, the auctioneer let out a knowing laugh and reached out to tap a control button.

At once, a towering iron cage began to rise beside the golden one, its heavy bars groaning softly as it emerged onto the stage.

Trapped inside were ten well-built, healthy female wolfhounds in heat, their bodies gleaming, along with a single elderly male-frail, cloud-eyed, and visibly spent.

As the only male present, he drew their relentless attention, the females crowding close, rubbing against him while sniffing and licking with restless urgency.

Despite the frenzy around him, the male wolfhound showed no response at all, his body slack and distant as he retreated to one corner, clearly stripped of both instinct and strength.

"Keep your eyes open," the auctioneer called out, his voice carrying as he stepped into the golden cage and calmly drew an entire vial of blood from the blood slave's arm.

With no attempt at concealment, he plunged the needle into the male wolfhound and injected the blood straight into its vein.

All across the hall, the audience went silent, breath caught as they waited for what would happen next.

Almost instantly, the male wolfhound shuddered, muscles jerking before it lurched upright with startling force. Cloudiness drained from its eyes, its spine straightened, and renewed vitality surged through its frame, even its tail lifting stiffly as if reborn.

Driven by a razor-sharp focus, the male wolfhound lunged into the pack, mounting the pheromone-soaked females with manic urgency. Blood stained the floor beneath them, yet he showed no sign of slowing.

As one exhausted female crumpled, he simply stepped over her and was already mounting the next.

What unfolded became a brutal, unnervingly exhilarating spectacle, each moment more ferocious than the last.

"Eleven million dollars!"

"Twelve million dollars!"

"Twenty million dollars!"

The room erupted. Shouts overlapped as bids rocketed higher, the crowd spiraling into chaos.

Faced with such a breathtaking prize, no man could pretend indifference-not with a night like that on the table, and certainly not with the priceless value of her blood layered on top of it.

Within the golden cage, the woman slowly shifted her weight and leaned into a corner, her thick hair spilling down to trace the elegant lines of her body, softening her silhouette with a dangerous, tantalizing allure.

Listening to the wild bidding below, she already understood the fate being carved out for her.

From the shadowed private box, Preston Kirk watched the chaos unfold, his brow tightening. "Mr. Ford, this has gone completely off the rails. It's already hit twenty million. Are we seriously not stepping in?"

After all, he and Charlie Ford hadn't crossed half the world just to sit back-they were here for the blood slave's blood.

Charlie said nothing, his inscrutable gray eyes fixed on the figure inside the gilded cage-not merely a woman, but a young woman whose quiet composure drew his attention even more.

With Charlie offering no reaction at all, Preston had no choice but to hold his breath and wait.

By then, the bidding had already climbed to a staggering fifty million.

A bald man with a cruel glimmer in his eyes spat a curse under his breath. "This is insane. The bid's gone through the roof. But once she's mine, I'll give her a night she won't forget."

Sweeping his arm outward in a show of reckless confidence, he barked out the next number without hesitation, "Fifty-five million."

At that price, the room wavered, the earlier fervor thinning as wallets-and courage-hit their limits.

Baring his teeth in a smug grin, the bald man straightened in his seat, convinced no one would dare challenge him for the fragile beauty he was already claiming as his own for the night.

Revulsion flickered across Charlie's eyes as he took in the bald man's leering posture, the contempt sharp and undisguised. With an offhand motion of his fingers, he signaled Preston forward.

Thrilled by the cue, Preston shot to his feet, lifting the bid card as he began, "Sixty..."

Before the number could fully leave his mouth, Charlie cut in, his voice low, steady, and calm with absolute authority, "One billion."

The word hit like a hammer. Preston froze, his breath catching as disbelief flooded his face. Had Charlie lost his mind? Was he really about to make himself the laughingstock of the entire auction?

In a single stroke, the bid leapt beyond reason, rendering the previous price irrelevant. A stunned hush swept through the hall, swallowing every whisper and gasp.

Crossing the billion-dollar threshold made even the wealthiest bidders hesitate, their confidence faltering.

A ripple of speculation swept the hall as curiosity fixated on the shadowed figure hidden inside the mysterious private room. Who was this man, tossing out a billion as casually as loose change, as if the sum meant nothing at all?

Even the auctioneer-seasoned by obscene displays of wealth-hesitated, momentarily stunned by the figure flashing on the board.

"One billion dollars, once. One billion dollars, twice. One billion dollars, thrice. Sold!"

The gavel came down hard, ending the frenzy without room for dispute.

"Congratulations to the gentleman in Private Room 001 for securing one hundred milliliters of blood from the virgin blood slave, along with exclusive rights to her first night this evening."

Without missing a beat, the auctioneer added, "We'll begin the extraction immediately, and she'll be delivered to your room shortly."

"Wait."

The low, authoritative command cut through the room, snapping every head in his direction.

From the room 001 stepped a tall, intimidating figure, dressed in an impeccably fitted luxury suit and a black mask. Only his gray eyes were exposed-cold, magnetic, and impossible to ignore.

He advanced at an easy, almost lazy pace, yet the pressure rolling off him was suffocating, the unmistakable presence of someone born to dominate without trying.

The bald man's muddy gaze locked onto Charlie, his jaw tightening with barely restrained fury-it was this man who had stolen the indulgence he'd believed was his alone tonight.

Inside the golden cage, the woman sat quietly, a curtain of thick, seaweed-like hair spilling over her shoulders to shield her chest and the most intimate parts of her body.

After a pause, her lashes lifted, and her gaze rose to meet Charlie's as he drew closer, his expression carefully arranged into something gentle and unthreatening.

When their eyes locked, he caught the contrast at once-she looked lost and harmless on the surface, yet there was an unguarded, dangerous beauty swimming in her eyes, one she clearly didn't recognize herself.

His throat tightened, Adam's apple jerking before he could stop it.

Stopping before the cage, Charlie bent his knees and lowered his tall frame until he was level with her, his presence suddenly intimate rather than imposing. With a lazy curl of his finger, he beckoned her over, his voice soft, coaxing, as though calling for a cherished pet. "Come here."

She flicked a brief glance at him, then moved without resistance, crawling forward and slipping her left hand through the bars to place it obediently in his open palm.

Everything about her compliance carried a quiet, rehearsed ease.

Her skin felt impossibly soft against his, so delicate that he didn't dare close his fingers around it, afraid that even the slightest pressure might crush the fragile bones beneath.

A subtle arch of Charlie's brow betrayed his surprise; faced with something this pretty and breakable, even he hesitated over what he planned to do next.

"How exactly do you plan to prove her blood does all that?" He directed the question at the host, yet his gaze never left the blood slave in the cage.

Sensing the crowd's doubt, the auctioneer wasted no time and launched into an explanation. "If a poisoned person drinks it, the toxin is neutralized. If the wounded drink it, their injuries heal. If someone on the brink of death drinks it, their life is extended by years. Please wait a moment, sir. I'll find a suitable subject for the test."

Charlie lifted his brow again, a spark of interest flashing through his eyes.

"I won't wait," he declared with steady voice. "I'll test it myself."

Without warning, a sharp knife flashed into his hand. Before anyone could react, he moved with ruthless precision, the blade slicing across the woman's slender arm in one clean stroke.

Dark crimson spilled down her delicate wrist, the vivid contrast shockingly intimate, almost obscene in its beauty.

She had no chance to dodge; the cut was already there.

Her gaze snapped upward to the man looming before her, terror surging as she took in his handsome, unreadable face.

Pain flooded her nerves, tears blurring her vision as they spilled over despite her effort to hold them back. Years of experimentation had sharpened her body to a cruel edge, every nerve trained to respond too keenly. To her, any stimulus-agony or pleasure alike-multiplied itself without mercy. That shallow slice therefore tore through her like a blade of fire.

Instinct drove her to shrink away from the man before her, yet Charlie held her hand fast, his grip unbreakable.

With calm precision, he lowered himself onto one knee, slipped off his mask, and bent toward her wrist. His tongue traced the wound slowly, reverently, as though tasting something precious and rare.

The moment the blood touched his mouth, warmth surged through his frame, soothing the faint, persistent aches buried deep in his bones.

A dangerous light flickered through his gray eyes as he straightened, casually swiping the crimson from his lips, arrogance and cruelty curling together in his expression while a low chuckle slipped free. Ah. Sweet.

There was no longer any doubt-the blood truly worked.

A strange tingling crept along her arm, followed by a slow, unfamiliar heat that seeped into her veins. Disbelief flooded her luminous eyes.

With a fingertip roughened just enough to feel real, Charlie brushed the tears from her lashes, slipping back into the role of a flawless gentleman as he murmured in a low, coaxing tone, "Easy now-seeing you cry like this really does hurt me."

While the words lingered, he produced a silk handkerchief worth a small fortune and wrapped it carefully around her wound, his movements deliberate, almost tender, as though concern truly guided him.

At that moment, the bald man shoved his way forward, his presence crashing into the space like a blunt threat.

Heavy muscle packed his frame, oily sheen clung to his flushed face, and the ferocity in his eyes warned that he was not someone to provoke lightly.

All around them, the audience leaned in, fascination crackling through the room as they eagerly watched the tension sharpen.

The auctioneer rushed forward to stop the chaos, but he never got the chance to speak before the bald man's fist sent him sprawling across the floor.

Without sparing the fallen man a glance, the bald man fixed his sneer on Charlie and jeered, "Look at you-barely out of diapers and already useless in bed?"

Laughter exploded through the hall, sharp and merciless, rolling over Charlie like a wave of ridicule.

"Tall, refined, looks like old money-and still can't get it up. What a joke."

"I'd pay just to take a look at that pathetic little dick of his. Bet it's no thicker than a sewing needle."

"Men built like that are always a disappointment. They're useless when it actually comes to fucking. Nothing but hollow muscle."

"Now it makes sense. Throwing around a billion like that-he's probably desperate to fix his penis. Isn't that hilarious?"

Basking in the ridicule, the bald man puffed himself up even further, rolling his shoulders and flexing as he loomed toward Charlie. "Don't test my patience," he barked smugly. "Give her to me, and I'll let you walk away untouched today."

Not once did Charlie spare him a glance. With unhurried precision, he focused on the woman in front of him, fingers steady as he finished wrapping the bandage around her wound.

That deliberate indifference cut deeper than any insult could have.

Fury flashed across the bald man's greasy face when he realized he was being ignored, and he lunged forward without another word, fist tearing through the air.

At the exact moment the bandage was tied off, Charlie reacted as though he had anticipated the attack all along-his hand snapped out, locking around the incoming punch and wrenching it aside. Rising smoothly to his feet, he drove a brutal kick straight into the bald man's chest.

A dull, sickening thump echoed as the bald man was launched off the stage, crashing to the ground below and coughing up a mouthful of blood.

Before he could even struggle upright, a shoe came down hard on his face, pinning him there without mercy.

Agony flooded through him, cold sweat bursting across his skin as his twisted features locked in place.

From above, Charlie stared down with glacial indifference, his tone stripped of warmth. "Did you really think you could pull that kind of stunt in front of me?"

Rage burned in the bald man's eyes as he spat through clenched teeth, "I'll... fucking kill you..."

The threat never fully formed-Charlie calmly lifted his foot and brought it down with brutal precision between the bald man's legs, ending it in one merciless strike.

A shrill, gut-wrenching scream tore through the auction hall, and moments later, the bald man collapsed into unconsciousness, broken by the pain.

Charlie flicked a dismissive glance at the unconscious body, a thin, glacial sneer curving his mouth as his frostbitten eyes swept the room.

That single look made the surrounding spectators suck in sharp breaths, finally grasping just how merciless the striking man truly was. Whether the rumors about his impotence were true or not no longer mattered-no one dared to jeer again, each person snapping their mouth shut to avoid drawing his attention.

With a measured breath, he drew his oppressive presence back in, restoring the polished, aristocratic calm he wore so effortlessly.

As he turned, he caught the young woman staring straight at him, unflinching, her gaze clear and bold rather than afraid.

What a fascinating little thing!

Curtains of long hair veiled her smooth skin, yet they couldn't hide the elegant length of her legs, a quiet provocation all their own.

One brow lifted as Charlie closed the distance, his fingers catching her cheek in a light pinch while his tone dipped into something perilously inviting. "Come with me?"

There was no real reason to decline; spending a single night in his company didn't sound like a loss, especially given his looks. And if the rumors about his impotence were true, then there was nothing for her to dread.

She answered at once, dipping her chin in a quick, unhesitating nod.

Caught in an unusually indulgent mood, Charlie unlatched the golden cage, bent down, and drew her straight into his arms.

The disparity between their bodies created a vivid, almost cinematic contrast-her lush, heavy hair spilling over them both, wrapping the moment in a dark, forbidden allure.

His broad palm tightened around her narrow waist before drifting lower, settling possessively against the curve of her hips. Mouth brushing her ear, he murmured with a teasing, unapologetic grin, "Put a girl like this in front of any man, and you're asking for trouble."

The words carried the easy insolence of a practiced charmer, yet his movements remained controlled, polished, almost restrained.

A faint shiver passed through her as she realized he was both impeccably refined and quietly warped, elegance and danger coiled together in the same man.