Mr. McCain’s Assassin Wife

The sun blazed mercilessly from above, with the vast yellow sand stretching endlessly below, devoid of even the slightest hint of moisture. Evelyn sat on a branch of a mesquite tree, resting her chin in her hand, her obsidian-like eyes coldly observing the scene below. This place was known as "Purgatory," the secret base where Dornish government executed its Project Black Veil. All manner of hardened criminals were thrown into this place, where they were forced to carry out covert missions that could never see the light of day. If they died, no one would shed a tear. Suddenly, the roar of an engine thundered overhead. "Attention, everyone!" "This time, we have an Eclipse-level mission. Tomorrow, at the financial summit, you are to assassinate Frederick Weston, the head of the Weston Corporation! Complete this task, and you'll earn your freedom from Purgatory!" Frederick Weston. The moment that name was spoken, the surroundings fell into an almost immediate silence. No one dared to speak another word. For five years, Purgatory had dispatched hundreds of assassins after him, but not a single one had returned alive. Evelyn's brow twitched imperceptibly as she lifted her gaze towards the hovering helicopter. Freedom... Each of the inmates wore a specialized bracelet rigged with explosives - if they attempted to flee, the devices would be immediately detonated, turning them into nothing more than a bloody mess. If she could secure a legitimate identity, she could finally leave this place and settle the blood debts owed to her. "If no one volunteers, I'll make the choice myself." A casual yet deep voice broke the silence. The man descending from the helicopter had narrow, fox-like eyes and wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched on a perfectly straight, refined nose. Despite his scholarly appearance, even the most hardened criminals—those who lived by the blade—felt a chill in their hearts. Alexander McCain, barely in his twenties, already controlling the entire economy of the nation as CEO of McCain group of companies. Even the military and political elite didn’t dare cross him! He slowly walked towards Evelyn, his long, slender fingers gripping her chin as Alex examined the woman before him, a glint of amusement in his eyes. She wasn’t the type Alex would typically consider "beautiful." Her face was covered in dust, obscuring her features, with only a red scar visible, stretching from her left cheek to the corner of her mouth. With a curious smirk, Alex asked, "You, ugly one, what's your name?" Evelyn looked at him but remained silent, her eyes appearing vacant yet strangely captivating. "Mr. McCain, this woman came to Purgatory on her own six years ago." The man who had earlier announced the mission quickly chimed in, offering a fawning smile. "No one’s ever heard her speak. She might be a mute.” "A mute, you say?" Alex’s lips curled into an enigmatic smile. "Impressive! A woman who can survive in Purgatory for six years is quite something." His gaze settled back on Evelyn, "Then let's choose her." Alex released his grip and casually tossed aside his dust-covered glove. "You little mute, ready to go?" His tone was indifferent, but there was a cold, deadly glint in his eyes. If this oblivious woman had the audacity to refuse, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. Evelyn's eyes flickered slightly before she nodded. Alex smiled, though even his thin lips seemed to carry a chill as he signaled for his bodyguards to escort her onto the helicopter. The others present watched with an almost haunted look in their eyes. That woman had just accepted a mission—for the first time in six years! With her skills, maybe she really could... The helicopter touched down at a sprawling, luxurious estate. Servants stood at attention beside the helipad, their eyes filled with respectful anticipation, waiting for instructions. Alex glanced at Evelyn, his sharp brows furrowing in clear distaste. "Clean her up, prepare a gown for the banquet, and give her a proper identity. Bring in the best stylist—she can't stay like this." The butler nodded repeatedly and escorted Evelyn into the main building. "Miss, you'll be staying in this room. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call me." Evelyn nodded before stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. She took a quick shower and then lay down on the bed, casually picking up the newspaper from the nightstand. The headline on the front page prominently featured the VIP list for the upcoming financial summit. When her gaze landed on one particular name, Evelyn's eyes instantly turned cold. James Group of Companies. Now, it was considered one of the top players of the industry in a country like Dorne. But people had forgotten that eighteen years ago, it was still under the name of Arden Corporation! That was the legacy of her mother and grandparents! The painstaking effort of generations of the Arden family! Memories of the past flooded her mind once again. Evelyn Mercer, the eldest daughter of the Mercer family. Her mother passed away from illness when she was just two years old. She was then cast out of the Mercer family and sent to live in the countryside, only to be brought back seven years ago. She had initially thought her father was finally showing some familial affection. But she soon realized the truth—her return was only because her half-sister had been diagnosed with leukemia and needed a close blood relative to serve as a blood bank! Why is she her elder sister? Because her father had married into the Arden family solely for their wealth. He had been colluding with his other mistress the entire time, and they already had a daughter together. When that woman eventually found a suitable donor, Evelyn lost her value. She would never forget the sharp metal shard embedded in the heel of a shoe, slashing a deep gash across her face, the feeling of warm blood soaking half her face. The pain was excruciating, as if she were engulfed in flames, the fire slowly consuming her. At that moment, a dark shadow began to approach her. It was him… Instinctively, she clung tightly to the person in front of her, as if that person might be taken from her in the very next moment. Don’t leave me! You cannot die! “What the hell!” A cold, angry voice suddenly jolted her awake. Her wrist was seized by a rough hand, yanking her away and throwing her onto the bed. "What the hell is wrong with this ugly thing?!" Alexander McCain… Evelyn slowly lifted her gaze, meeting the man’s refined yet furious face. His sharp, hawk-like eyes lingered on her face for a long time, unabashedly revealing his disgust and scrutiny. After a moment, he let out a mocking laugh and spoke, "People from Purgatory are certainly different. But what I need is an assassin, and you're not even worthy of being in my bed." Evelyn lowered her gaze, remaining silent. "Take her to get made up. I don’t want to see this disgusting ugly face." The man’s voice was cold as he turned and walked out of the room. That ugly face irritated him, but her eyes—they were striking, so clear that they stirred an inexplicable sense of familiarity within him, one that made him restless. Yet, she didn't speak, didn't resist, like a puppet waiting to be manipulated by others—pathetic and pitiful. “Miss, please choose a dress.” The stylist entered nervously, pushing racks of intricate and elegant gowns, but Evelyn didn’t spare them a single glance. Seeing Evelyn remain silent, the stylist hesitated before selecting a red gown on her own. “Let’s go with this one, then. I’ll help you change and do your makeup.” Evelyn allowed herself to be handled like a doll, her expression blank and vacant the entire time. Half an hour later. “You look absolutely perfect, Miss! If you were to have scar removal surgery, your beauty would stun everyone around you!” The stylist rubbed her hands together, her voice filled with excitement. “You’ll be the most striking woman at the banquet!” Alex, passing by the hallway, paused when he heard the exclamation. He let out a scoffing laugh and casually pushed open the door to the dressing room, but his eyes suddenly froze. The woman in the red gown sat in front of the mirror, her scar meticulously concealed by the stylist’s work. For the first time, he noticed that her features were so strikingly beautiful that it was hard to look away—cool, refined, with a hint of subtle allure, like a freshly bloomed orchid. Why does she look so much like…