My Groom Ditched Me, Now I Hunt The Secret Evil Syndicate

Natalie Alexander walked to the window and gazed out at London's stunning skyline, her back to him. Her voice was soft. “Marrying you wasn't Mrs. Hudson's idea.”

“Then whose idea was it?”

Natalie turned. Outside, neon light bled through the glass, haloing her silhouette and hiding everything but her eyes—eyes that glittered like shattered diamonds. “Remember four years ago, at the Swiss border? You were running for your life, and a woman saved you.”

Grey Ford went still, as if struck by lightning. Four years ago, he'd just taken over the family's secret business, had no idea what he was doing, and nearly died in the forests of Switzerland. Yeah, there was a woman. He still remembered the silver mask, the almost inhuman skill—how she'd taken out more than a dozen assassins alone, dragged him from a pile of bodies, and left him on a farmer's doorstep before vanishing. He'd been searching for her ever since.

“It was you?” His voice scraped out, hoarse.

Natalie smiled, dimples barely showing. “Who else would it be? Why do you think I agreed to marry you?”

Grey surged forward and grabbed her shoulders, his grip so tight his knuckles went white. “Why did you save me and then disappear? Why are you here now? What—”

“Shh—” Natalie lifted a finger and pressed it to his lips. “Don't ask so many questions. All you need to know is I married you to protect you.” She rose on her toes, her warm breath brushing his ear. “Grey Ford, the Double Dragon Society is after you. That shipment interception wasn't an accident. Someone's trying to lure you out. If you want to see another sunrise, you'll do exactly what I say.”

Grey swallowed hard.

Natalie stepped back, sliding out of his grip, and tipped her chin toward the bathroom. “Go shower. You reek.”

Grey didn't move. His chest rose and fell; then he exhaled and forced his fists open. He started for the bathroom but paused at the door and glanced back. “Natalie.”

“What now?”

“Goodnight.”

With that, he shut the door.

Natalie stood alone in the living room, listening to the water run, and let out a slow breath. She looked down at her right palm—a deep, old scar from saving a reckless man four years ago.

“Fool,” she muttered.

Outside, the London night was ink-black, the city lights stretching into a sea. Hidden from view, the undercurrents were already shifting. The Double Dragon Society was on the move.

The water ran for nearly forty minutes. Natalie had already made up the sofa bed, using the hotel's extra bedding and pillows. From her suitcase, she pulled out a pair of silk pajamas—emerald green, lace-trimmed. They looked made for comfort, but they doubled as a covert combat uniform, with hidden pockets for blades.

She changed into the pajamas, sat on the bed, and checked her phone. In Silver Wing's encrypted channel, Finley had messaged: ‘Double Dragon sent two operatives to London. Code name Green Snake—poison specialist. And Iron Head—notorious assassin, top twenty worldwide. They're in the country, but we're still working on pinpointing them.’

Natalie replied with two words: “Understood.”

Then she checked her sister Kaiya Johnston's social media. Her younger sister had posted a wedding collage, captioned, ‘My sister got married. Wishing her all the happiness.’ One photo showed Natalie in her flowing white dress, with the caption: ‘Sis was so chill today. Super envious of her easygoing vibe~’

The comments were savage: ‘Why wasn't the Ford family's third son next to the bride?’ ‘Heard Mr. Ford spent the whole night drinking with Jonah and the boys. Barely made the rounds.’ ‘Kaiya, where's your sister's dress from? Looks basic. Off-the-rack?’

Kaiya replied to them all with the same line: ‘Don't speculate. My sister just got back from overseas. She's not used to how things work here yet. She'll adjust~’

Natalie screenshotted it for later.

The bathroom door opened.

Grey came out with wet hair, a towel slung around his waist. He was built—not bulky, just lean and broad-shouldered, with defined abs and a V-line that disappeared into the towel. Water slid down his chest, making him almost... distracting.

He knew exactly what he looked like. Grey toweled his hair slow, on purpose, then stood over Natalie and looked down at her. “Seen enough?” He raised an eyebrow, like he'd taken back the upper hand.

Natalie looked up, gaze drifting from his abs to his face, expression flat. “Your towel's crooked.”

“What?”

Natalie reached out and gave the towel at his waist a light tug—and the whole thing dropped.

Caught off guard, Grey cursed and scrambled to cover himself. Natalie had already turned away and tossed a pillow at him. “Get dressed. There's a robe in the wardrobe.” Her voice carried a grin. “Nice body. That leg hair, though?”

Grey went red.

He yanked on the robe, stormed over, and pulled the pillow off Natalie's face, teeth gritted. “Natalie, was that on purpose?”

Natalie lay back, hands behind her head, dark hair fanned across the pillow. She blinked up at him with fake innocence. “You said we'd live separate lives. I was just fixing your towel. Did you want a bigger show?”

Grey: “...”

For once, he had nothing to say.

This Alexander girl, educated overseas, had a tongue sharper than he'd expected.

“Fine.” He exhaled hard and dropped onto the couch. “You take the bed. I'll take the sofa. Happy?”

“Very.” Natalie pulled the quilt up and turned away. “Goodnight, Mr. Ford.”

Grey lay back and stared at the ceiling.

Logically, he could get under her skin—blast the TV, raid the minibar, video-call Jonah at some ungodly hour. But her words kept echoing in his head: she'd saved him. The Double Dragon Society was after him. And she'd married him for ‘protection.’

Protection?

Since when did Grey Ford need protection from a woman?

The thought ate at him more and more. He turned to face the back of the sofa.

Then another thought hit him—how did Natalie know about Switzerland? The shipment. The forest. The assassination attempt. Only a handful of people in his family knew those details. A young woman educated in the UK—how could she—wait. Her knife.

The woman from four years ago had an unmistakable knife style—every move lethal, the blade vanishing in a flick. He remembered the silver feather earring peeking through her dark hair when she'd checked his injuries.

He glanced at the bed.

Did Natalie have a pierced earlobe?

He distinctly remembered that her ears had been bare after she changed out of the dress...

Outside, a faint click sounded.

So faint it would've gone unnoticed by most. But years in the underworld had sharpened Grey's ears.

His body went tense. His fingers slipped under the sofa cushion for his tactical folding knife.

Natalie sat up in bed.

She moved like a shadow. Grey barely saw her leave the bed before she was at the window. She pulled the curtain aside, peeked out, then motioned for him to stay quiet.

“Don't move,” she whispered.

Grey kept his grip on the knife and went still.

The click came again, followed by the friction of wire—someone rappelling from the roof. Clearly heading for their floor.

Natalie crossed the carpet barefoot, silent, and pulled a long black whip from her suitcase. Its silver-capped tail caught the moonlight and flashed cold.

She glanced at Grey and mouthed, ‘Stay put.’

Then she leaned out—not into the room, but through the window.

Grey's eyes widened.

A second later, Natalie's foot found the window ledge, and her body flipped outside at an impossible angle.

The curtain fluttered in the wind. Then came a dull thud and the scrape of metal.

Grey couldn't hold back. He rushed to the window and yanked the curtain open—

Nothing.

Just darkness, city lights far below, wind howling at eighty-eight floors up.

He looked down. The wall was smooth—no ropes, no figures, nothing.

He spun around.

Natalie stood in the bedroom doorway, black whip in hand. Blood dripped from its tip onto the carpet, blooming into a dark stain.

She pressed her earring and spoke softly. “Clean it up. Two on the rooftop. Alerting the hotel is a no-go.”

Then she smiled at Grey.

“All clear,” she said. “Had an unexpected guest. Sent him packing.”

Grey's temple throbbed. “Sent him packing? You're eighty-eight floors up, and you sent him packing?”

“Relax. He had a parachute.” Natalie flicked blood off the whip. “He was a pro.”

“Who are you, really?”

Natalie walked over, circled him once, then climbed back into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. “Your wife,” she yawned. “Get some rest. We have Grandma's formalities tomorrow. And maybe avoid the sofa by the window tonight. There might be a second wave.”

Grey stood by the bed, watching her slip into sleep—long lashes, lips slightly pursed, breathing soft, like a harmless cat.

If he hadn't seen it himself, he wouldn't have believed she'd just taken out an assassin eighty-eight floors up.

He was silent for a while. Then he accepted reality, walked to the bed, lifted a corner of the blanket, and climbed in.

The space between them was at least half a meter.

“Natalie.”

“Hmm?”

“Did anyone ever tell you I'm a heavy sleeper?”

“...No.”

“You should've asked,” Grey said, facing away. “I sleep like a rock. And I kick.”

Natalie paused, then let out a soft chuckle. “Bring it.”

He said nothing else.

Five minutes later, he was out cold.

Natalie opened her eyes and turned to study his silhouette in the dark.

Asleep, he looked relaxed, his features softened, younger—like a typical spoiled rich boy.

But she knew he was anything but typical.

A man who sent money every month to an orphanage on the Swiss border, secretly ran arms routes, had the Double Dragon Society watching him... was anything but ordinary.

She turned away and shoved down whatever personal feelings tried to surface. Silver Wing's missions had demanded that from day one.

At 6:30 the next morning, Natalie woke on the dot.

The first thing she noticed was an arm wrapped around her waist, her back pressed to a warm chest, his breath tickling her neck with a faint hint of mint—even though he hadn't used mouthwash last night.

Grey was wrapped around her like an octopus, one leg thrown over hers, head tucked against her shoulder, dead asleep.

Natalie stared at the ceiling for three seconds, expressionless.

Then she bent her leg, knee—Then she bent her leg, drove her knee squarely into his lower abdomen, and twisted—

Grey went tumbling off the bed, blanket and all, hitting the carpet with a muffled thud.

“What the hell—”

Grey jolted upright, his hair sticking out like a bird’s nest. It took him three full seconds to realize what had happened.

Clutching his aching waist, he looked up and saw Natalie sitting on the bed, calmly straightening her pajamas.

“I warned you,” she said, getting out of bed and slipping her feet into his slippers before heading for the bathroom. “I kick in my sleep. You brought that on yourself.”

Grey sat on the carpet and stared at her back for a long moment. Then he lowered his head and let out a muffled laugh.

Realizing what he was doing, he quickly wiped the smile off his face.

By the time Natalie came out of the bathroom, Grey had already made the bed. His technique was rough, but the blanket was folded into a perfectly square block, which was more than she had expected.

“Grandma’s expecting us at eight.” He leaned against the bathroom doorframe, already dressed in a fresh suit, his hair neatly dried and styled. “What are you wearing?”

Then he added, “Don’t show up in jeans and a T-shirt again. The old lady really will get mad.”

Natalie opened her suitcase and took out a dusty-pink modernized gown.

It was made of silk, with a mandarin collar and knotted buttons, and the hem fell just above her knees. She paired it with nude low-heeled shoes.

The outfit was simple and understated, but it made her look gentle and elegant, as though she had stepped straight out of a vintage poster.

Grey glanced at her, then turned his face away.

“Not bad.”

Natalie pinned a silver feather hair clip beside her ear, checked herself in the mirror, and picked up her handbag.

“Let’s go, Mr. Ford.”

The Ford family’s ancestral residence stood in the western suburbs of London and occupied most of a hillside. Traditional gray-brick courtyards were connected by modern glass corridors, the old and new blending together seamlessly.

As their car passed through the gates, Natalie noticed two rows of ginkgo trees lining the road, their leaves glowing brilliant gold.

Mrs. Hudson lived in the main courtyard. She had already prepared morning tea, and the table was covered with pastries and hot porridge, all traditional local dishes.

“Natalie, you’re here. Come, sit down.” The old lady looked full of energy. Her silver hair was combed neatly into place, and she wore a dark purple traditional jacket. A translucent jade bracelet gleamed on her wrist.

Natalie sat as instructed, lifted the teacup, and offered it to her.

“Grandma, please have some tea.”

Mrs. Hudson accepted it and took a sip, then pulled a thick envelope from her pocket and pressed it into Natalie’s hand.

“Good girl. You’ve been through a lot.” She paused and shot Grey a glare. “He didn’t give you a hard time last night, did he?”

Grey touched his nose and sat down beside them. “Grandma, I behaved myself and slept on the sofa all night.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Natalie answered. “He slept on the sofa. I took the bed.”

Only then did Mrs. Hudson nod in relief. Suddenly, she leaned closer and lowered her voice.

“Natalie, that sofa is terribly hard. You two are young... Why don’t you share the bed tonight? You know—”

“Grandma!” Grey broke into a coughing fit.

Natalie remained perfectly composed. “All right, Grandma. I’ll think about it.”

Grey glared at her.

Mrs. Hudson cheerfully served them food, and the atmosphere around the table was surprisingly harmonious.

Just then, Grey’s phone rang.

He glanced at the screen, his brows knitting almost imperceptibly. Instead of answering, he immediately declined the call.

But the screen lit up again.