Forbidden Sex: The CEO's Revenge Lover

Night fell over Brightonfield, casting long shadows at the entrance of a secluded alley.

Catherine Levin pressed herself tightly against the wall, her eyes wide with fear. She wore a silver-gray dress, torn from her collarbone down to her waist, exposing a generous amount of smooth skin. Tears had smudged her makeup, leaving dark streaks across her delicate features.

The combination made her look both disheveled and, in her vulnerability, hauntingly beautiful.

Several men in gaudy shirts cornered her, their faces twisted with lewd smiles, their words filled with vulgar intentions.

"Waiting for us at this alley, beautiful?" one of them mocked.

"That face, that body—even prettier when crying," another added, stepping closer.

"Stay away! I'm calling the police!" Catherine's voice trembled with helplessness and fear.

The leader, with bleached hair, laughed harder. "The police? Go ahead! We'll wait."

He reached out, attempting to touch Catherine's tear-stained face.

She screamed, jerking away.

Just then, blinding headlights cut through the darkness of the alley as a black Rolls-Royce Phantom silently approached them.

Inside the car, the streetlights outlined the sharp features of the man in the back seat. Alex Grey, sitting in the passenger seat, frowned slightly as he observed the situation outside. He pulled the car to the curb.

"Mr. Foster," Alex said cautiously, "there seem to be some thugs harassing a lady up ahead. Should we intervene?"

Hearing this question, Philip Foster's gaze pierced through the glass window, landing on the woman against the wall. In the dim light, her tear-streaked face was beautiful, vulnerable enough to awaken any man's protective instincts.

Philip's eyebrow twitched slightly.

That face—it seemed familiar, as if he'd seen it somewhere before.

But the thought came and went quickly. To him, this was none of his concern.

At that moment, Catherine seized her opportunity.

As the bleached-haired man reached for her again, she pushed him away with all her strength and ran toward the black luxury car.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!" She desperately pounded on the cold window, her fingers turning red from the impact.

She displayed her most vulnerable, helpless side to whoever was inside.

The window lowered halfway, revealing the cold face of the man in the back seat.

Philip Foster—heir to the Foster family, and more relevant to her plan, the uncle of her boyfriend James West.

Catherine lowered her eyes, hiding the calculation that flashed through them, and spoke in a trembling voice.

"Sir! Sir, please, help me!" she begged. "They... they want to..."

Her voice was filled with fear and pleading, enough to soften the heart of any compassionate man.

Yet the man in the car merely stared at her silently, his exceptionally handsome face showing not a hint of sympathy.

Then, with an expressionless gaze, he looked away, his thin lips barely moving as he spoke.

"Drive."

Alex didn't dare hesitate, immediately restarting the engine.

The expression of fear on Catherine's face instantly froze.

Damn it! Was this man made of ice?

Not even a shred of compassion?!

She had spent two weeks tracking his route from office to home, and now he was driving away?

As the car was truly about to leave her behind, Catherine made a desperate move!

Just as the window was about to close completely, she yanked open the door and lunged inside, shocking both Philip and Alex.

The scent of roses instantly filled the car.

Catherine threw herself desperately into Philip's arms, wrapping her arms tightly around him, her entire body pressed against his.

Her soft form clung to him, and he could feel her trembling.

"Don't leave! Please help me!" Her voice was hoarse with fear. "They'll hurt me!"

The thugs in the alley were stunned for a moment before reacting, surrounding the car, pounding on it and cursing.

"Fuck! Get out!"

"Hey, don't interfere, or we'll beat you too!"

The bleached-haired thug even tried to grab the door handle.

The last trace of patience vanished from Philip's eyes.

A strange woman clinging to him so offensively left his expression showing nothing but extreme disgust.

"Let go."

Catherine acted as if she hadn't heard him, only holding on tighter, her cheek rubbing against his expensive suit, her tears soaking through the fabric.

"No... I won't let go... I'm scared..."

Her sobbing grew more pitiful, enough to evoke sympathy from anyone who heard it.

But Philip Foster was not "anyone."

His gaze turned completely cold.

"Bang! Bang!" The thugs pounded on the windows more forcefully, with someone trying to pull open the door.

Philip's eyes hardened with determination as he exchanged a brief glance with Alex.

Alex immediately understood, quickly pressing a button on the communication device.

In an instant, three or four men in black suits appeared as if from nowhere, their movements clean and efficient.

After a few precise strikes and painful screams, the once menacing thugs all lay on the ground, groaning in agony.

The entire process took less than two minutes.

The crisis was over.

Inside the car, Catherine looked up at him through tear-soaked lashes, her gaze filled with dependency and gratitude, her posture undeniably alluring.

That pitiful yet seductive look would have been enough to unsettle any man.

But Philip showed no reaction whatsoever.

He forcefully, mercilessly pulled her off himself.

"Your acting is terrible."

Philip didn't even bother to look at her again, methodically straightening the sleeve of his suit that she had wrinkled.

As if he had touched something filthy, his tone was filled with mockery and disdain.

"Next time, hire professionals."

Catherine froze when Philip ordered security to drag her out of the car.

"Drive," he commanded coldly.