Chapter 2: Became Margot's Driver!

By the time Christian Yale finally let go of Abby Heyland, daylight had already broken. Abby lay curled in the corner of the sofa, bruises blooming across her skin. The fear in her eyes had long since curdled into something far uglier. Yes. She'd been beaten. She glared at Christian like she wanted to tear him apart, teeth grinding. "Christian Yale, just you wait… Elliot Casson won't let you off!" Christian tossed the riding crop aside and turned back to her. "Want another round?" Abby's face drained white. She snapped her mouth shut. Another round? She'd die. "Go change." Christian bent down, picked up a bath towel, and flung it at her. "Then you're coming with me to the civil affairs bureau." Abby froze. "What?" "Divorce," Christian said, voice flat. "Right away. Today." "You beat me and you still dare to divorce me?" Abby finally broke, outrage cracking through her shock. She'd never seen anyone so shameless. Christian drew a slow breath. "Don't want to sign?" "Fine. I'll print a thousand copies of your chat logs and plaster them all over your hospital, your parents' Residential Area, and that nightclub." "I'll make sure everyone sees how a medical student drugs her husband, how a sick freak plans murder and insurance fraud." "Let's see if you end up rotting in a cell." All the color fled Abby's face. "Don't… I'll do it. I'll sign." At ten in the morning, the two of them walked out of the civil affairs bureau. Christian released his grip on Abby's arm. "Get lost." "See you in thirty days." Abby shot him a venomous look, then limped to a taxi and disappeared. Christian lit a cigarette. He'd beaten her, sure, but the divorce still came with a thirty-day cooling-off period. He could wait. What he couldn't do was live without money. Since he was already out, he might as well sell everything Abby had ever given him. He didn't want to look at any of it again. Except… when he patted down his pockets and searched himself, he couldn't find a single thing worth selling. In five years, that woman barely seemed to have given him anything at all. In the end, he yanked the only thing he had, a plain little eyeball pendant hanging from his neck. Abby had given it to him at their wedding, claiming it had been passed down from her grandmother and would keep him safe. Back then, he'd been genuinely moved. At the thought of it, he felt sick. He walked into a pawnshop and set the pendant on the counter. "Boss, how much is this worth?" The old appraiser examined it carefully, then pushed his glasses up. "Fifty." "How… how much?" Christian blanked. "Fifty." The appraiser tapped the chain. "The charm's cheap junk. The chain's 925 silver, worth a bit, but fifty's the best you'll get." Christian stared. Fake. Again. Another damn fake. Some 'family heirloom.' Rage surged up his throat. He lifted his hand and slammed the pendant to the floor. "Crack!" The jade shattered, fragments skittering in every direction. He hadn't even gotten a curse out before a searing pain detonated in his chest. Christian tore open his collar and looked down. An eyeball pattern identical to the pendant's had latched onto the skin over his chest like a living thing, drilling inward at a speed he could see. The pain nearly tore a scream out of him. When it finally ebbed, a vivid black eyeball mark remained on the left side of his chest, as if it had been tattooed there. He scrubbed at it hard. It didn't budge. Instead, dizziness washed over him. Christian clutched his head as a torrent of information slammed into his mind. In the haze, an ancient voice echoed through his consciousness, low and distant. [Hou Tu governs yin and yang; life and death may be ferried across. She preserves peace in the living world, suppresses turmoil in the nether realm, and bestows this upon the fated.] Then the voice vanished. Christian's mind overflowed with new knowledge. So the pendant hadn't been ordinary at all. It had contained the Dominion Inheritance. And because he'd worn it when he went out yesterday, and because Margot Good had teased him… that was why he hadn't been impotent anymore. He steadied his breathing and began to absorb what the Inheritance had poured into him. Medicine, physiognomy, divination, feng shui, talismans, martial arts techniques, mystical arts, x-ray vision for appraising treasures… It was vast. Bottomless. But every time he used the Inheritance's power, it would disrupt the yin-yang balance inside his body. For a short time afterward, people around him would develop abnormal fixations or reactions toward him. The harder he pushed the ability, the worse the imbalance became. If he exceeded what his body could withstand, he would suffer backlash, and it could cost him his life. So he needed to temper and strengthen his body to endure the side effects, to unlock deeper layers of the Inheritance. And the only way to temper his body was… Use it more. "Damn. That's an endless loop," Christian muttered, frowning, then easing his expression. "At least the imbalance usually only lasts a few minutes. As long as I don't overdo it, it should be fine." He shook his head, joy swelling so hard it almost hurt. He'd thought Abby had tricked him again. Instead, she'd handed him a heaven-sent opportunity. Christian bolted out of the pawnshop, practically vibrating with excitement. The old appraiser watched him sprint away and sighed, shaking his head. "Another one gone crazy…" … Back in his rental, Christian followed the Inheritance's method, sitting down to meditate and regulate his breath. After cycling his energy through several rounds, it felt like he'd pushed open a door to an entirely new world. His whole body seemed to brighten, his spirit sharper, his senses cleaner. Only at dusk did he wake from his trance and hurry to the nightclub. "Christian Yale!" The moment he reached the front desk, the floor manager, Jeffrey, called him over. "Wilder's waiting for you in the Supreme VIP room!" Christian's face tightened. Wilder Zuniga wanted him? Wilder Zuniga was the undisputed king of Valia's underworld. Ruthless, well-connected, and equally at home with the law and without it. And Margot Good belonged to Wilder Zuniga. Elliot Casson was Wilder Zuniga's adopted son… So had Margot Good exposed what happened, or had Elliot Casson complained? He'd been so furious with Abby that he'd forgotten something this important. Still, the moment he remembered he had the Inheritance, the knot in his chest loosened a little. He stopped outside the private room and knocked. From within came Wilder Zuniga's low voice. "Come in." Christian pushed the door open. The room was thick with smoke. Wilder Zuniga sat in the center of the sofa, two bodyguards standing at his sides. On the coffee table, beside a fruit platter, lay a gun. Wilder Zuniga studied him for a moment, then smiled. "I heard from Margot last night. You drive pretty well?" Christian froze. Margot Good hadn't spilled their secret? Or… was this some new kind of interrogation? "Starting today, you're Margot's personal driver. Twelve grand a month." Before Christian could make sense of it, Wilder Zuniga tossed a set of Porsche keys at him. "She asked for you by name. Drive well." Christian caught the keys and quickly nodded. "Thank you, Wilder. I'll do a good job…" "Mm. Get out." Christian walked out still feeling like he was dreaming. But one thing was certain. Wilder Zuniga didn't know about him and Margot Good. So why had Margot Good specifically demanded him as her driver? A text alert cut through his thoughts. He opened it. [You can clock out today. Remember: tomorrow at noon, Yerlington Manor. Don't be late. -Margot Good] Christian shook his head and decided to stop trying to guess her intentions. He'd deal with it when it came. A twelve-grand monthly salary would ease his immediate crisis, and all he wanted was to get off work early. But as he reached the corner of the hallway, his steps abruptly stopped. Two unfamiliar men were half-carrying a woman, stumbling as they shoved her into a private room. The woman struggled weakly. When her profile turned toward him, Christian's heart slammed hard. Yasmin Yonwin. His high school Chinese teacher. Back then, Yasmin had come to teach right after graduating college. She was beautiful, gentle, and every boy's dream goddess. She'd also been Christian's first secret crush, the white moonlight he'd never dared reach for. She'd only taught for two and a half years. Then he'd heard she married the principal's son, and she'd vanished without a trace. What was she doing here? And she'd clearly been drugged. When the two men locked the door and walked away for the moment, Christian didn't hesitate. He rushed over, twisted the lock open, and slipped inside. The lighting was dim. Yasmin had collapsed bonelessly onto the sofa, consciousness blurred and drifting. She wore a cream-colored dress. The neckline hung slightly open, exposing delicate collarbones. The hem had ridden up to her thighs. Her long legs looked almost painfully pale in the low light, crossed weakly as if she didn't have the strength to move them… Christian's throat bobbed. He stepped in, supported her, and forced down the violent throb in his chest. Half carrying, half guiding her, he got her out of the room, avoided the hallway's line of sight, and hurried down the fire stairs. He buckled her into the Porsche's passenger seat. Only after the car merged onto the main road did his racing heart ease. Then reality hit him. He had no idea where Yasmin lived. With her like this, the only option seemed to be taking her back to his rental first. He was about to press the accelerator when- "Mmh…" Yasmin, who'd been limp and unconscious, suddenly stirred. Her eyes opened halfway, watery and unfocused. She turned and lunged toward him. Her arms slid around his neck like soft coils, and her warm lips landed messily on his cheek and the corner of his mouth. "Have me…"