Chapter 651

Rosalind froze mid-step, her emerald eyes narrowing into slits as she took in the two shadowy figures blocking her path. "Release me this instant!" she demanded, her voice laced with venom.

The men tightened their hold, their faces obscured by the dim alley's darkness. "Bad timing, princess," one growled. "We've got orders to make sure that pretty face of yours never sees daylight again."

Rosalind's breath hitched. Someone had actually hired assassins to disfigure her?

"Who sent you?" she spat, struggling against their iron grip. "Tell me!"

The second man chuckled darkly. "Wouldn't you like to know? Just know your modeling days are over."

She twisted violently, but their strength was overwhelming. One clamped a gloved hand over her mouth as she screamed.

"Feisty little thing," the first muttered. "Hurry up—slice her up good before someone hears."

A glint of steel flashed as a blade was drawn. Rosalind's pulse skyrocketed as the cold metal neared her cheek.

Adrenaline surged through her veins. With a sudden jerk, she drove her knee into one attacker's groin. His agonized yowl echoed off the brick walls as he crumpled.

Seizing the moment, she bit down hard on the other's hand. He howled, loosening his grip just enough for her to wrench free.

"Bitch!" they snarled in unison as she sprinted down the alley. "You're dead!"

Rosalind's lungs burned as she fled, their pounding footsteps closing in. "HELP!" she shrieked, her voice raw with terror. The deserted street offered no salvation.

Then—impact.

She collided with a solid wall of muscle, stumbling back with a gasp. Looking up, her blood ran cold.

A masked figure loomed before her, his face completely concealed by black fabric. Only his piercing eyes were visible beneath the hood.

The thugs skidded to a halt behind her. "Back off, freak!" one brandished his knife. "This doesn't concern you!"

The blade arced toward Rosalind's face—

A blur of movement. The masked stranger's boot connected with the attacker's ribs, sending him flying into a dumpster with a sickening crunch.

"Last chance," the savior's voice was a velvet growl.

Something about that timbre sparked recognition in Rosalind's mind. Those broad shoulders, that commanding presence... Had they met before?

The remaining assailant lunged. The masked man moved like lightning—one fluid motion, and the would-be killer was sprawled unconscious on the pavement.

As he turned toward her, Rosalind caught a glimpse of sharp jawline beneath the mask. Whoever he was, danger radiated from him like heat from a furnace.

And yet... she'd never felt safer.