Was she dreaming?

The man’s breath came fast and uneven, warm puffs brushing against Jade Whitmore’s cheek, itchy and hot. At some point, his hand had slid onto her waist, steady and burning.

Jade instinctively grabbed that hand, trying to stop him from moving around.

Then his low whisper brushed past her ear. “I… want you. Is that okay?”

He sounded like he was holding back with everything he had.

The air carried a faint pine scent, mixed with something on him she couldn’t quite describe, warm and dizzying. That tingling feeling shot down her spine in waves.

A dream, right?!

If it was a dream, why bother stressing?

Jade bit down on her lip, a strange heat surging through her veins, restless and wild. Somehow, the man in front of her felt like the only thing keeping her grounded. Her hands, which she’d meant to use to push him away, slipped around his solid waist instead.

“Mm…” A muffled groan escaped his throat. Sweat rolled down his bronzed skin in thick drops as he fought to keep himself under control.

Moonlight leaked in through the torn curtain, casting a dim glow across the shabby room. Jade, half-conscious, squinted at him. His features were sharp, his muscles solid and hard under her palm—no doubt trained for years. She didn’t know where she got the nerve, but she suddenly rolled over, pressing him down and kissing him first.

Seriously… what kind of dream was this?

Had she been alone too long back in that ruin of a world?

In that place full of danger and betrayal, she never trusted anyone. She hid, ran, survived on her own. Forget it. No point thinking too much.

Since she was already in the dream, might as well enjoy the ride.

Her hand moved on its own, brushing across his firm abs.

Holy…

The texture was unreal…

This dream felt way too lifelike.

Moonlight spilled across the room, brightening everything in a soft glow.

Jade Whitmore looked like some little sprite who’d slipped into the mortal world by mistake, her skin pale to the point of glowing, long black hair spilling open down her back, the whole person carrying a kind of quiet pull that was hard to explain.

The man let out another low grunt and suddenly rolled over, pinning her beneath him. His eyes had darkened to the point of being unreadable. His movements were urgent, almost shaky, but he still tried to be careful. He knew damn well he’d been drugged, and judging from the woman beneath him, she wasn’t any better off.

If they forced themselves to sit still, they’d probably end up in worse trouble. That pent-up heat, pressed down for too long, exploded the moment the drug pushed against instinct.

The air in the already cramped room shot up in temperature, hot enough to make breathing feel like work.

Right when everything was about to tip over, the man suddenly froze. His voice dropped low as he said, “Trust me. I’ll take responsibility for you.”

Jade didn’t respond. She simply leaned up, catching his lips again, her hand wandering recklessly across the firm lines of his waist.

It was just a dream anyway. Who needed all that talk about responsibility?

Might as well enjoy it.

Her kiss was quiet but clear as a signal, and Zachary Pierce’s gaze grew even darker. His calloused fingertips brushed across her lips with a slow, deliberate gentleness.

Night settled deeper around them.

Jade’s hair was damp with sweat, strands sticking to her smooth skin, making her look even more breath-stealing without her realizing it.

No one knew how much time passed.

Jade only felt limp and sore all over, like her bones had been taken apart and put back wrong. She didn’t have an ounce of strength left.

The man lowered himself, pressing a soft kiss to her swollen lips, his voice quiet and warm. “From this moment on, you belong to me, Jade. Wait for me.”

Jade was exhausted beyond words. She couldn’t even lift her hand. How could one man wear someone out like this?

He lifted his hand and brushed his thumb along her sweat-damp cheek, murmuring, “Wore you out, didn’t I.”

His voice was low, threaded with something tender that almost hurt. He still had things he needed to deal with, so he had to leave, but he pulled the limp woman in his arms a little tighter, like he wished he could tuck her right into his chest.

Jade shifted uncomfortably and then knocked out cold.

A sharp hiss escaped her.

Jade’s eyes snapped open. Her whole body ached and throbbed, and when she reached out on reflex, her fingers brushed against coarse, scratchy cloth instead of anything warm.

This wasn’t the apocalypse camp?

The sheet under her was that rough, scratchy, slightly moldy kind they used in rundown places. She looked up and saw a ceiling patched with straw, already speckled with mildew. The walls were bare mud bricks, and a big cobweb drooped in the corner.

Where on earth was this?

A wave of dizziness hit her, and suddenly a whole set of memories that clearly didn’t belong to her slammed into her mind.

She… actually crossed over?

And landed inside some retro‑era novel, becoming the unlucky side character who even shared her name—Jade Whitmore.

In the book, this Jade was a quiet, honest girl who’d been engaged to Leopold Blake—yes, the handsome, capable platoon leader from the compound—since childhood.

Her stepsister Serena Whitmore had always been jealous that she could marry someone like him. So Serena set her up, making sure she’d get caught in a room with some “random man.”

Because of that so‑called “indecent behavior,” Jade was dragged out, forced to wear a broken‑shoe sign, and paraded through the streets.

Her grandma, her dad, her stepmother Meredith Whitmore, Serena, and even her half‑brother—every single one of them joined the crowd to spit on her name.

After round after round of humiliation…

She eventually killed herself.

“No way!” Jade shot upright, heart pounding. When she looked down, the marks on her chest—those faint, intimate traces—were impossible to ignore.

Last night, Serena had pretended to be kind and brought “her” a bowl of sweet soup. It was obvious now that something had been added to it. And right when the drug took hold… that’s when she crossed over.

She glanced again at those marks, and a few vague images flashed through her mind—like a man’s strong waist… and those defined abs…

So it wasn’t a dream?!

Everything that shouldn’t have happened—happened.

Her face went bright red.

Right—where was that man?

She quickly looked around the room. No one else was there. Good. That man was long gone.

And thankfully, he hadn’t left any “evidence” behind.

No time to dwell on it. She remembered the book only mentioning it briefly: that man was an enemy of Leopold Blake, and when Leopold set her up, he dragged the guy down with her. Just a few lines in the story—both were caught right on the spot, the man’s mission was ruined, and to make up for it, he volunteered for a dangerous job. In the end, he never made it back alive.

Footsteps outside grew louder and heavier. Jade Whitmore hurriedly grabbed the patched blue jacket hanging by the bed and slipped it on, just enough to hide the marks on her skin. Her hands moved fast as she yanked the bedsheet off and stuffed it into the torn quilt, folding everything neatly.

The door was suddenly kicked open. A middle‑aged woman with sharp cheekbones planted her hands on her hips in the doorway.

"You useless girl! Look at the time! Still lazing in bed?" That was her stepmother, Meredith Whitmore.

Without waiting for a reply, Serena Whitmore rushed inside.

"Huh—where is she? Where’d she run off to?"

Serena darted around the nearly empty room, poking her head everywhere, looking like she wished she could check even the mouse holes.