Nighttime, apartment.
Catalina opened her eyes!
More than ten years of grueling training made her, the instant she woke, instinctively reach under the pillow.
The moment her hand found nothing, her heart sank.
Instinctively she glanced around—only to see a handsome Asian Youth lying beside her, still fast asleep.
Memories began to resurface.
Recalling the wildness of the past few hours, she couldn't help drawing a sharp breath.
"Tch, rumors really can't be trusted."
"They say Eastern men lag behind whites and blacks in every way..."
"Then what was that just now?"
Catalina knew her body better than anyone.
At twelve, her parents had been murdered before her eyes by henchmen sent by the Colombian Drug Lord.
She herself had nearly died at their hands.
Afterward, relying on her outstanding athletic ability, Catalina barely escaped.
Following her parents' prior instructions, she fled to America to live with her uncle.
For the next dozen years, driven by the obsession to avenge her parents,
she underwent the brutal training her uncle had prepared specially for her.
Only then did she gain her current top-tier assassination skill, able to take on a hundred alone.
Her physical condition and endurance
had long surpassed the average adult woman—and most men—reaching a limit of 430.
Yet even so, Catalina still felt she couldn't quite keep up!
"Damn bull!"
Seeing Hunter's arm draped to one side, she couldn't help pinching it.
No wonder the guy looked slim in clothes yet muscular out of them.
Only now did she notice the clearly defined muscles on his arm.
Not as conspicuous as gym rats who live on weights, but solid and powerful.
"Didn't notice before—he must work out regularly."
After squeezing his arm a few more times, she took the clothes she'd tossed onto the nightstand and put them on.
The instant she tried to rise, a wave of soreness hit her.
Remembering the madness of earlier, Catalina's cheeks flushed.
"Monster!"
She glanced again at the young asian painter she'd met only twice.
Cursing inwardly, she still couldn't resist planting a light kiss on his cheek before slowly sliding out of bed to dress.
Why she had suddenly wanted to come to his apartment, Catalina couldn't explain now.
It wasn't just that he was handsome and fit her taste.
But Catalina felt it was mostly because, while drinking in the bar,
the handsome asian painter mentioned his parents were gone, and she thought of her own parents, murdered by the Drug Lord.
For a moment, empathy born of shared sorrow surfaced.
Of course, she didn't deny
that, having just finished an assassination mission,
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