His Wicked Obsession (Archer and Virginia) novel Chapter 488

Archer didn't reply. His unfathomable gaze remained locked on the figure downstairs.

Just then, a man navigated through the crowd and stopped beside the woman.

He was tall, dressed in an impeccably tailored navy-blue three-piece suit, with a pair of rimless gold glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

His sharp, deep-set features carried an innate coldness and restraint—the effortless intimidation of a man accustomed to absolute power.

This was Dominic Harrington, the titan who held Chicago in the palm of his hand.

Dominic leaned down slightly to whisper something to her, and the harsh lines of his face visibly softened.

Then, he reached out naturally, wrapping her smaller, slightly cool hand in his own. He gave it a gentle squeeze before reaching up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

The gesture was incredibly intimate, reflecting a profound bond that left absolutely no room for anyone else.

*Crack.*

The champagne flute in Archer's hand shattered.

Shards of glass pierced his palm, and bright red blood mixed with champagne dripped from his skin, yet he acted as though he couldn't feel a thing.

Zachary jumped in shock. "Mr. Vanderbilt, your hand..."

Archer casually dropped the bloodstained glass onto the floor, pulled out a handkerchief, and roughly wiped his palm. Then, his long legs carried him straight toward the stairs.

On the ground floor.

Archer stopped just a few paces away from the couple.

He stared intently at the woman's profile, his eyes hungrily tracing her flawlessly sculpted features.

This was the face that had haunted his dreams through countless sleepless nights. Every detail was permanently etched into his soul.

The words "Neuro-Inhibitors" suddenly flared in his mind.

That maniac Liam's taunts echoed mercilessly in his ears: *Memory wipe. If she forgets everything... will she still love you?*

Unwilling to accept it, Archer stared at her intently and abruptly reached out to grab her wrist for confirmation.

"What are you doing!" Startled, the woman quickly took a step back.

"The wrong person?" Archer's throat bobbed as he fought to suppress the tremor in his voice, speaking word by word. "I am Archer Vanderbilt! You despise wearing bright colors. You're allergic to dairy, and you hate seafood. On the inside of your left wrist, you have a half-inch scar!"

Kian Shaw had told him that scar was a remnant of one of her PTSD episodes...

The woman froze for a second and instinctively touched her left wrist.

There was indeed a scar there.