Chapter 1
Latitude 64 North, Iceland, Black Sand Beach Prison.
This is the coldest, most isolated polar prison in the world, holding the planet's most brutal mercenary bosses, financial tycoons, and war maniacs who could spark local wars.
On this snow-covered wasteland where breath turns to ice, a custom bulletproof sedan plows through the snow, screeching to a sharp stop in front of the dark gray prison gates.
The car door opens, and a delicate foot in black stiletto heels with porcelain-smooth calves steps into the snow.
Evelyn, wrapped in a bright red coat, looks icy cold. Her stunning face cuts through the wind and snow like a suffocating blade.
"Ms. Thomas, this way please." The warden personally swings open the heavy alloy door, his forehead sweat freezing into ice particles.
Evelyn snorts coldly and slaps a fancy gold envelope onto the metal desk, "I'm here to call off the wedding. Get James Smith out here to see me and sign this agreement. "
She'd waited five years for this day.
Five years ago, the Thomas family hit rock bottom. The Smith family forced this arranged marriage on her, shoving their mediocre, broke playboy James—who'd even been kicked out of his family—her way. Then James went to prison, and she thought she'd be stuck with this shameful engagement forever.
"This..." The warden goes pale, not daring to touch the divorce letter.
"What? Think the compensation's not enough?" Evelyn narrows her eyes, "Tell him, after the divorce, I'll make sure he lives comfortably for the rest of his prison life. That's more wealth than he could ever earn."
"No, Ms. Thomas..." The warden's voice shakes as he points to the empty monitor screen, "Mr. Smith... he escaped half an hour ago."
"Escaped?"
Evelyn laughs like it's the most ridiculous joke in the world. She shoots to her feet, furious, "This is Black Sand Beach! Hundreds of miles of empty wasteland and broken ice all around. James, a washed-up family heir—how the hell does he escape? You guys slacking off?"
"Get every guard out now! Use radar, satellites, search dogs!" Evelyn snaps in rage. She's not worried about James's safety—she's pissed.
She wants the divorce, and James dares to run first? It's like a slap to her pride!
"Go! Full armed search!" The warden starts to give orders when the whole building shakes violently.
Shrill alarms pierce the sky, mixed with the sound of steel bars twisting under brute force.
"Riot! Block One, 'Demon Doctor' rebellion!"
"Block Two, 'Blood Axe' breaking through the barricades!"
"Warden, we can't hold them! The war criminals heard Mr. Smith left—they've all gone nuts!"
Evelyn watches the screens—top criminals who give world leaders headaches are charging like wild animals. Guards fall back under the tidal wave assault.
"Bunch of losers!" Evelyn grabs the intercom, voice sharp, "This is Evelyn, daughter of the Lunaris Thomas family. I order you to contact Interpol right now and issue an SSS-level manhunt! I want James wanted worldwide. Dig three feet underground if you have to—get him back to sign this divorce paper!"
The warden looks bitter, slumping into his chair, "Can't do it, Ms. Thomas. That manhunt order... it won't go out."
"Why? Money's no issue!"
"Because..." The warden points to a blank photo in the file, voice hoarse, "No one in this world has a clear front-face photo of Mr. Smith. Anyone who tries to look him straight on either ends up dead or doesn't qualify to record it."
Ten miles away, on the freezing edge of the Arctic Ocean.
A pitch-black super speedboat like a ghost races through the broken ice, its engine roar shattering the polar silence.
James steers with one hand, the other clutching a cheap bottle of hard liquor. He's in a thin black tank top, his bulging muscles steaming faintly in negative twenty-two degrees Fahrenheit cold—that's the sign of his qi at peak flow.
He wipes liquor from his mouth, glances at a family letter in his lap, tone helpless yet arrogant, "Old bastard, you set me up even on your deathbed? The illness was fake—you just wanted to trick me back for the wedding, right? The world out here's way more fun than this Icelandic jail."
He tosses the empty bottle backward casually.
Then, a faint buzz hums from the sky.
In the prison control room, Evelyn glares at the big screen. Their top recon drone, using thermal imaging, finally locks onto a speeding black dot on the sea.
"Got you!" Evelyn grits her teeth at the broad back on screen, "James, you can't run!"
On screen, the man senses something without turning. He just tosses something back casually.
A clear bottle arcs through the air casually.
The drone—flying at a thousand feet with stealth coating—flies straight into it like it's aiming for it. It explodes in a fireball.
The big screen goes to static snow.
"How... how is that possible?" Evelyn's body jolts, eyes wide in shock.
That's a drone going nearly two hundred miles per hour! A tossed bottle? That's beyond her understanding of martial arts.
Evelyn stands by the wrecked monitor, a nameless fire burning inside.
She rips the priceless divorce agreement to shreds, paper flakes flying like snow.
"James, you think you can get away like this? Heading back home? Fine, I'll wait for you in Lunaris! Let's see what makes a jailbreaker who turns this Icelandic prison upside down worthy to stand next to me, Evelyn!"
Just then, the riot noise outside stops dead.
An eerie silence sweeps the island.
Evelyn and the warden step onto the balcony. Below, three thousand eight hundred death row inmates—who could make the world shake—are kneeling in perfect rows in the snow.
These killers and bosses who slaughter without blinking stare at the deep blue sea with fanatical, humble eyes.
A roar like thunder shakes the sky, cracking the clouds, "Send off the boss!"
"Send off the boss!"
The cheers roll like waves, echoing between glaciers, refusing to fade.
Evelyn stands frozen in the cold wind, red skirt like fire, heart inexplicably trembling.
Boss?
What terrifying status does this James—shunned by everyone, exiled by his family—hold in the dark world?
