America: The neighbor's wife is so incredibly hospitable!

The artificial lake behind Titan Manor.

A gentle breeze swept across the lake, bringing a refreshing coolness.

Inside that panoramic starry sky dome, which has a four-meter diameter waterbed and is transparent on all sides but has top-notch privacy and anti-peeping features.

A warm, yellow, invisible light source is flickering silently.

Chen An, wearing a dark blue silk bathrobe, leaned against the high-end wine cabinet next to the waterbed.

He had just poured himself half a glass of Louis XIII.

"Crunch."

The smart sliding door of the dome tent was gently pushed open.

Florence walked in, her bare feet, painted with burgundy nail polish, stepping onto the soft, thick New Zealand wool carpet.

In the dim light of the dome, her long black dress resembled the flowing night.

What's even more deadly is that as she stepped in, the original scent of iris, which even the most sophisticated chemical instruments couldn't replicate, instantly and domineeringly filled the entire space.

Chen An turned his head, his dark eyes scrutinizing her quietly, as if admiring the most perfect, top-quality white strawberries that had just ripened on his farm.

"It seems that the French have a pretty good sense of contract." Chen An took a sip of strong liquor, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, making an alluring sound in the quiet space.

Florence stood less than a meter away from Chen An.

Even at this moment, her dignity as a descendant of nobility still held her back, preventing her from collapsing easily.

"I've arrived, Chen An. I'm covered in essential oils, and I've brought the concessions you demanded."

She raised her swan-like neck, her azure eyes filled with stubbornness, while her chest heaved violently with nervousness and inexplicable anticipation.

"Lumière's top-tier offline channels throughout Europe are open to you unconditionally."

"And I... am standing here tonight. You win, and now you can talk about the next issue of controlling stake."

"Business?"

Chen An suddenly chuckled softly twice.

He put down his wine glass and walked towards her with unhurried yet extremely imposing steps.

Standing over six feet tall, exuding the wildness of a farm and the arrogance of a top-tier tycoon who doesn't care about money, Florence's aura was like a flame in the wind, teetering on the brink of collapse.

Chen An's large, warm, and broad hands, slightly rough from farm work, suddenly and without warning, caressed her slender waist, which was covered in essential oil.

Smooth, hot, and supple.

The luxurious perfume reached its peak intensity instantly under this friction.

Florence felt a jolt of electricity run through her body, and she almost collapsed, but Chen An held her firmly in his arms.

"Under the starry sky, in this tent, let's talk about romance, not numbers."

Chen An lowered his head, his thin lips pressed directly against Florence's earlobe, which exuded a strange, cold fragrance, and his burning breath almost melted away her last line of defense.

"Besides, I already warned you, Florence."

"In this territory, no proud swan can hold its head high forever, except when I nod."

"Since you are here to serve your king, you should have an attitude of dedication."

Chen An's hand moved upwards along the smooth waistline without any hesitation.

As he moved, Florence felt the last string in her brain called "aristocratic etiquette" snap completely with a "snap".

She clung tightly to Chen Ann's broad, steel-like shoulders.

She is no longer the female CEO who runs a luxury goods empire worth hundreds of billions of francs.

She is now merely prey in this wild estate, willingly shedding her feathers in search of refuge and ultimate pleasure.

"Ah... um..."

Under the witness of the starry sky, inside this transparent tent with open sides, no outsider could see a single detail inside.

But this proud French swan still sensed this utterly absurd contrast.

That kind of stimulation that shattered her decades of upbringing,

A tear slid down her cheek the moment the waterbed swayed.

But then it evolved into the most intense kind of demand, like moths drawn to a flame.

On this waterbed with a diameter of four meters.

The mutated iris essence, worth hundreds of thousands of US dollars per kilogram, was transformed into the most extravagant auxiliary agent tonight.

The artificial lake outside the gate reflected the moonlight in the sky, and the low howls of wolves, seemingly from nowhere, echoed in the distant mountains and forests.

Tonight, on the edge of this farm.

A queen who once controlled European fashion has officially fallen for him, becoming yet another stunning and submissive sight on the Titan King's path of expanding his territory.

After tomorrow, Lumière, this multinational tycoon, will be nothing more than a logistics and sales agent for this farm.

On a summer morning, a gentle bird song drifted over.

The enormous transparent glass wall of the panoramic starry sky dome tent changes color as the sun rises.

The intelligent light-sensitive coating gradually changed from a privacy-protecting deep black to a light blue that filters out ultraviolet rays.

The morning sun shone on the shimmering artificial lake, reflecting into the tent and making the black silk backless dress that had been carelessly tossed aside the night before shine brightly.

That custom-made waterbed was a full four meters wide.

The French socialite and current head of the Lumière Group—

Florence was lying unguarded among the disheveled sheets.

Her once meticulously combed platinum blonde hair was now scattered on the white pillow like a tangled ball of gold thread.

Her smooth back shone brightly in the morning light, but several conspicuous red marks were clearly visible on her swan-like long neck and shoulder blades.

This is the mark left by the Titan King.

"Stop pretending to be asleep now that you're awake; your eyelashes are trembling."

A deep, lazy male voice, full of wicked humor, came from the side.

Florence shuddered and resignedly opened her sea-blue eyes.

Her whole body still ached and felt weak, especially her legs. Even the slightest movement reminded her of last night on that damn waterbed.

What exactly was this one-sided "physical massacre" and "soul deconstruction" that they experienced?

Under the highest frequency of sensory stimulation, all business strategies and all European aristocratic etiquette were reduced to sobbing pleas for mercy and unrestrained demands.

She turned her head and saw Chen Anzheng leaning against the headboard.

He wore a dark blue silk bathrobe, revealing his strong, muscular chest.

He was slowly and deliberately holding a glass of mineral water with ice in his hand.

The sight of him looking refreshed and satisfied after his meal left the proud French female CEO both exasperated and unable to suppress her racing heart.

"List……"

When Florence opened her mouth, she realized that her voice was surprisingly hoarse.

She buried her face in the blanket with some shame, peeking out her eyes to look at him.

"Is this your 'negotiation style'?" She bit her lower lip. "It's like a barbarian in a suit..."

"Different people should have different negotiating tables."

Chen An put down the water glass, and a large hand reached into the quilt, covering her supple and incredibly smooth waist.

"For prey that likes to be high and mighty and throw billions of euros at people, this domed tent is the best meeting room."

Chen An used a little force to pull him in.

Florence let out a half-sigh of surprise and slid into his arms.

At the moment their skin touched, the faint scent of mutated iris essential oil still lingered between their body temperatures.

She had no strength to resist, or rather, subconsciously she had completely submitted to this domineering protection.

She rested her chin gently on Chen An's chest like a docile cat.