#Boom! Both Whitmore daughters kidnapped!#

#Boom! Real daughter Serena Whitmore rescued and rushed to the hospital!#

#Boom! Fake daughter Iris Whitmore confirmed dead! Deep condolences!#

Major platforms were exploding with news about the Whitmore Clan’s real–fake daughter scandal. Netizens couldn’t figure out who was who, and everyone was sighing over how twisted fate could be.

Meanwhile, miles away in a desolate mountain range, Iris Whitmore lay sprawled on the cold ground, her body torn and bloody. Her fingers clung desperately to a broken stick as she stared, terrified, at the wild grizzly towering before her. A chill crawled straight up her spine.

The massive beast lumbered toward her step by step. Its long fangs dripped saliva, and those pitch‑black eyes gleamed in the night—creepy and hungry, like it had already claimed her as tonight’s dinner.

Iris bit down hard on her lip. Her eyelashes trembled, and tears finally spilled over as she choked out, “D‑don’t… don’t come any closer…”

But of course a bear wouldn’t listen. Give it a minute and it’d either smack her into the dirt or swallow her whole.

She whimpered, helpless. She never imagined she’d end up dying under a bear’s paw. What a miserable way to go.

With a thunderous roar, the grizzly lifted one thick, deadly paw and swung at her.

Iris’s mind blanked. Her whole body felt like it had been tossed into an ice cellar. Despair swallowed her whole.

It’s over. I’m done. I’m actually going to die here.

Just as she braced for the impact, a sudden gunshot cracked through the air—followed by several more in rapid succession.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

For a split second, human and bear froze, tension snapping through the air like an electric wire.

Then the grizzly whipped around and bolted into the dark forest at lightning speed, clearly terrified of the hunter behind those shots.

Iris: “…”

She let out a shaky breath, barely hanging on. Forcing her head to tilt, she caught a blurry glimpse of a tall, cold‑faced man striding toward her, combat rifle in hand.

He knelt beside her without hesitation, quickly checking her injuries. A faint wave of his clean, masculine scent drifted over.

Somehow, that alone made Iris feel just a little safer.

Her nose stung, an ache swelling in her chest. Trying to confirm what the kidnappers had said about her adoptive father refusing to pay the ransom, she forced out, "Did my dad… send you to save me?"

The man’s hands paused mid‑movement. His brows drew together for a second, and he lifted his gaze toward her. In a low, steady voice, he said, "Don’t be scared. I’ll get you out."

Meeting those deep, razor‑sharp black eyes, Iris Whitmore felt her heartbeat trip, as if it missed half a beat before plunging straight down.

His strong arm circled her waist, lifting her effortlessly. He carried her up into the helicopter, and she slowly slipped into unconsciousness, her hand instinctively curling around something in her palm.

——

Five years later.

A black nanny van bounced along a dusty yellow hillside, the interior echoing with frustrated yelling.

"Did you get water in your brain or what? You actually took on a niche film like this? With your face alone, you could coast through the rest of your life! Why on earth would you run off to…"

Ms. Lynn jabbed a finger toward the barren, silent wilderness outside the window, her rant getting louder. "To a place where not even birds bother to poop! And you’re planning to come back looking three shades darker?"

"Come on, let’s just pay the penalty fee, okay?"

Failing to win by scolding, Ms. Lynn instantly switched to pleading mode, staring expectantly at the woman pretending to sleep.

When Iris slowly opened those shimmering fox‑like eyes, their naturally upturned corners hooked like a tease, with a tiny, sultry beauty mark resting at the tail, it was the kind of sight that could send anyone’s thoughts spiraling.

Turning her head lazily, Iris let a slow smile curve her lips. "Oh? Then how about you handle the ten‑billion penalty fee?"

Ms. Lynn: "!!!"

A beat of stunned silence—then an explosive shriek. "What! Are you out of your mind? Ten… ten billion?"

"Yep. My male god is appearing in this movie. So a penalty fee that high? Totally normal." She drawled the words with obvious pride, her red lips curling even higher.

Since it’s the place my male god appears, it basically counts as appearing *for me*.

As for the ten‑billion penalty fee—she’d set that herself, just to stop Ms. Lynn from backing out.

"Iris, which national award‑winning actor is your male god? Why didn’t you say so earlier…"

Iris knew Ms. Lynn wouldn’t try to block her anymore, assuming she had invested in some massive production.

The indie film Blue Sky Heroes was shooting part of its scenes at the border military base, and Director Azrael planned to use the chance to put the cast through some real military training.

The car rolled to a stop at the entrance of the restricted zone. Iris Whitmore stepped out, and a blast of scorching wind smacked her in the face, hot enough that she had to squint.

She slipped on her oversized sunglasses, lowered her head, and glanced at the obsidian stone in her palm. Cool, smooth—her only token from that year.

For so long, she’d thought what she felt toward him was just gratitude. She’d thought he’d show up to find her someday. Thought that once she got famous, he’d recognize her.

Turns out, the man had been waiting for *her* to track him down, one step at a time.

“Iris Whitmore, I’m giving you one last warning,” Ms. Lynn said as she jumped out of the car, anxiety written all over her. “Your scandals are already a mess. You’d better keep your distance from your so‑called dream guy, got it? Don’t let the movie be a flop while your gossip blows up the internet.”

Iris lifted her eyelids lazily, then let out a soft laugh. With a teasing, honey‑sweet tone, she said, “I finally get to see my dream guy again. Of course I’m gonna work a little harder for myself. Otherwise this whole trip would be pointless~”

“You’re sabotaging your own career!” Ms. Lynn nearly choked, looking like she might drag Iris back into the car any second.

Iris curved her lips in a careless smile. “Without him, there wouldn’t be the me you see today.”

With that, she grabbed her purple suitcase, waved at Ms. Lynn with her back turned, and headed straight toward the gate.

After checking in, she was instructed to follow a soldier in camouflage who would take her to report in.

The whole way, the soldier kept his posture stiff, not even daring to sneak a glance at her as he led her toward the training field.

But her sudden appearance caused a ripple of commotion. People nearby couldn’t help looking over.

She was wearing a short purple dress, collarbones elegant and bare, long legs smooth and striking, her fair skin glowing under the blazing sun.

And that tiny waist—just one look at how she walked was enough to make anyone’s heartbeat go off rhythm.

“Wait—why is Iris Whitmore here? She’s literally top‑tier.”

“No way! The mystery guest is my goddess?! This is insane!”

A few male actors with some fame spotted her and instantly looked like overeager puppies, itching to rush over. Their eyes practically glued themselves to her.

One female celeb, however, took one look at Iris’s stunning figure and her dramatic last‑minute entrance, and jealousy flooded her face. Her voice dripped venom.

“Tch. Showing up dressed like *that* for training? Please. She’s obviously here to seduce people. Shameless.”

“The fake heiress of the Whitmore Clan finally got exposed. Of course she has to rely on those flirty tricks just to stay relevant. Otherwise, who would bother giving her any resources.”

The two actresses didn’t bother lowering their voices. It was obvious they wanted Iris Whitmore to hear every word.

Iris instantly recognized the woman in front—Shirley Lancaster. Born into a wealthy family, mediocre acting skills, temper like a landmine, and a track record of offending half the industry.

As Iris walked closer, the air around them froze. People nearby pretended to mind their own business, but their eyes were full of gossip and anticipation.

“Shirley,” Iris said slowly, sliding off her sunglasses and revealing those naturally seductive fox eyes, now sharpened with a cold edge, “so you climbed up to third-tier status just by clinging to the Lancaster family, huh? Looks like your family isn’t that impressive after all.”

Everyone knew Iris wasn’t someone you could just bully. Say whatever you want behind her back, but you’d better not run your mouth right in front of her.

“Shirley, she’s literally trash-talking your whole family!” Vivian Anderson added fuel to the fire, her voice dripping with fake outrage.

Shirley’s face twisted, her chest heaving with rage. She screeched, “Who do you think you—”

The word “are” never made it out.

A sharp, icy command cut through the tension from a short distance away. “What’s going on here? Just arrived and already causing trouble? If you don’t want to train, get out. Now.”

Everyone turned toward the approaching group of men in camouflage. Each one stood tall and straight, their serious expressions enough to make anyone stiffen.

Iris’s whole body jolted. Even her fox-like eyes forgot how to be charming. She just stared, stunned, at that familiar handsome face.

It was him. The man she had been searching for, thinking about day and night for five long years—Captain Kingsley.