Alice was irritated

"Long story short, leave Queenie. You don't deserve her."

Alice didn't waste time. The moment John sat down, she cut straight to the chase. Her voice was sharp, her gaze unyielding.

John's expression twisted in disbelief. "But I love Queenie, and she loves me too! How could you just break up a couple like that?"

Alice scoffed. "Love? Don't insult that word."

She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "If you truly loved my sister with all your heart, you wouldn't be ogling other women at the same time."

"Ogling? That's not it at all!" John protested, flashing a roguish grin. "It's more like—love me, love my dog. I like Queenie, and you're her sister, so naturally I should like you too, right?"

Before she could respond, he brazenly reached out and slipped his arm around Alice's slender waist.

Suddenly—

A cold shiver raced up his spine.

Startled, John jolted back instinctively. Looking down, he froze.

A gleaming dagger had embedded itself into the cushion—exactly where his groin had been a moment earlier.

Holy crap.

Had he hesitated just a second longer, that blade would've castrated him.

He paled. What kind of woman is this?

More than fear, he was stunned. Her strike had been swift and precise—inhumanly so. No ordinary person could move like that.

He might've had power and influence—he controlled the covert operations of the Three-Six Department and, behind the scenes, the formidable Seventy-Two Intelligence Agency. If he wanted, he could dig up the hidden past of every woman he met.

But he hadn't.

He had principles. He respected the privacy of others.

So, he hadn't known that Alice wasn't just Queenie's sister or the attractive bar owner she appeared to be.

She had another identity.

She was the Night Rose—a cold, merciless assassin.

And fittingly, her bar was also named Night Rose. That was part of the brilliance. Who would ever suspect that the aloof killer and the elegant bar owner were one and the same?

Because no professional assassin would be foolish enough to name a business after their alias… right?

Back to the moment.

Alice was just as surprised as John. She hadn't missed a strike in years. Frowning, she yanked her dagger from the couch, her motions fluid and trained.

Without hesitation, she slashed again—this time a sideways arc aiming for John's neck.

But he was faster than she expected. He leaned back, tumbling over the back of the sofa in a smooth motion.

The blade grazed his cheek—just barely.

He landed on his feet, breathing steadily, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Alice stood, dagger in hand, her body taut with tension. "You're not an ordinary man," she said coldly.

She was right. The first dodge might've been luck. But the second? No amateur could avoid a strike like that.

Her eyes narrowed further. She sensed it now. This man was strong—possibly stronger than her.

"There's really no need for a lady to play with knives," John said lightly, brushing dust off his clothes. "You might hurt yourself."

As he spoke, he suddenly flicked his finger toward her with a casual snap.

A sharp crack rang out.

The dagger flew from Alice's hand as if struck by a gust of wind, clattering against the floor.

Alice's eyes widened in disbelief.

To a killer, losing her weapon mid-battle was as good as death.

Before she could react further, John moved.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her in a firm hug.

It was just a hug—simple and unthreatening.

But Alice didn't understand his motive. Her first instinct screamed: This pervert!

Her fury surged. She was going to rip this shameless man apart!

Then he whispered softly, his voice trembling ever so slightly—

"Alice… It's me. John. I'm still alive."

Alice stiffened in his arms.

What? Her mind reeled.

"What… what did you just say?" Her voice trembled.

Right then, the door swung open.

Queenie rushed in, breathless. "Alice, he's your younger brother—John! Not my boyfriend! We were just messing with you!"

She stopped in her tracks, stunned by the chaotic scene—furniture out of place, a dagger on the floor, tension crackling in the air.

Clearly, she hadn't expected an all-out fight.

Alice remained skeptical. Her eyes searched John's face, looking for the brother she'd lost so long ago.

John began recounting their childhood—memories only the real John could know. He mentioned the time they got lost in the mountains, the old treehouse, and the tiny black mole under her left breast—something only he would have seen back then.

She gasped.

Tears welled in her eyes.

It was him.

She threw herself into his arms and hugged him even tighter than he had before. Sobs wracked her chest.

John held her close, his hands trembling.

He could feel her heartbeat—warm, steady, achingly real.

No words could capture the profound joy of that moment.

When emotions finally settled, the three of them sat down and talked.

They spoke for hours, reliving memories, filling in the gaps of time lost.

Two hours later, Alice suddenly glanced at her watch and cried, "Oh no! I forgot about the appointment with Mr. Johnson!"

"What's wrong?" John asked.

"Mr. Johnson invited me to view his private collection of calligraphy and paintings at eight. It's already too late…"

She reached for her phone. "I'll cancel. I want to stay here with you."

Alice had always found peace in art. After every mission, she would retreat to brush and ink, letting painting calm her soul.

Not long ago, she'd met Mr. Johnson, a respected collector in the art world. He had invited like-minded individuals to view his collection tonight.

John suddenly said, "I'll go with you."

Alice looked surprised. "You're interested in painting and calligraphy?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Back when I was in the Taoist temple—from age five to fifteen—I had no entertainment. Drawing was my only escape."

Alice was silent for a moment, then smiled faintly. "Alright. Let's go together."

She called Mr. Johnson to say they'd be late. The old man, ever gracious, had no objections.

The three of them left the VIP room together.

John walked in the center. Queenie clung to his left arm. Alice held his right.

The sight was jaw-dropping.

For most men, walking arm in arm with either of these goddesses would've been a dream come true.

John had both.

People around them watched, speechless. Envy and disbelief mingled on every face.

More astonishing was Alice's sudden shift. When she had gone upstairs with John two hours ago, her expression was ice-cold. But now, she radiated warmth and intimacy.

What had happened during those two hours?

Speculation swirled.

And then… realization struck.

They had been alone upstairs.

For two whole hours.

A collective wave of shame swept through the onlookers as their imaginations ran wild.

John's "skills" had clearly exceeded all expectations.