Only For You to Paint Eyebrows
"Something happened?" I jumped. "That's impossible—Sage said we wouldn't get caught!"
"We didn't get caught, but something else went wrong. Come with me."
He led me inside and opened a laptop, pointing at the screen. "See for yourself."
A bold headline dominated the page: "The Darkest Romantic Legend—Sin Hunters Return!"
What was going on?
I stared at the video in disbelief. It was shot from a first-person perspective, clearly filmed from the building opposite Victor Kane's location. The person recording was narrating as they zoomed in: "Accidentally spotted internet celebrity Victor Kane. Let me film this for you guys."
"Look—he's not an influencer anymore, he's delivering takeout now. Wait, who's that?"
In the footage, a masked Valerian appeared on screen.
The comments section exploded: "Holy shit! A Sin Hunter!"
"Sin Hunters got caught? How are they back?"
"Definitely a Sin Hunter! Ahhhh, I'm so excited!"
Not long after, the footage showed Adrian Cross subduing Valerian.
Then I appeared on camera. And not just that—the latter half of the video captured me pulling off my mask, my face fully exposed.
How could I have imagined that someone would be secretly filming that washed-up influencer Victor Kane?
Cassian Vance's voice was pure ice. "When the Sin Hunter system was first created, it caused endless trouble because it was too high-profile. After the first-generation Sin Hunter was caught, the new ones learned to operate in absolute secrecy. Do you know why we bring every body and every criminal back here? To stay hidden in the darkness. And you—you let the public discover that Sin Hunters are still active!"
I genuinely hadn't imagined things would spiral this far out of control.
I checked the view count—it was climbing at a terrifying rate.
Was I… famous now?
Cassian's phone kept flickering with incoming notifications. Other Judgment Tower staff were sending him new links, one after another.
"New Sin Hunter Surfaces! Linked to Multiple Disappearances!"
"People Who Vanished Mysteriously—Likely Targeted by Sin Hunters!"
"Female Sin Hunter's Identity Exposed! You Won't Believe Her Tragic Story!"
Every single headline was about me.
Cassian said coldly, "Your face has been seen. You no longer qualify as a Sin Hunter. Wearing a mask is a problem, and not wearing one is an even bigger problem."
I whispered, "I'm sorry. I never wanted things to end up like this. On the bright side, I'm already a wanted criminal…"
His anger was unmistakable, radiating off him in waves.
I started scrolling through the articles myself.
"My classmate went missing—he was kind of a jerk, but I suspect the Sin Hunters got him!"
"Posting to say my husband Harlan Duke disappeared. He was a wonderful father and a great husband. Our child is still in the hospital, and then he vanishes without a trace. Was it the Sin Hunters? That doesn't seem right—he was a good man."
"I hope the Sin Hunters target my ex-boyfriend! He's a degenerate who can't keep his pants on! I can provide evidence that he visits massage parlors—Sin Hunters, please kill that scum already!"
"Everyone, stop idolizing criminals. If Sin Hunters are responsible for those disappearances, we should be cautious! Good values matter. Sin Hunters are murderers—how can anyone cheer for them? I hope they're caught and brought to justice soon!"
"Sorry everyone, the person above is my idiot son. I accidentally let him out of his cage."
The more I read, the more uncomfortable I felt.
Fame is a dangerous thing—whether you're a person or a pig.
This kind of exposure could bring me serious trouble.
Cassian's voice cut through again, cold as a blade: "You're not just dragging yourself down now. You're dragging down every Sin Hunter along with you."
I said softly, "I really am sorry…"
He scrolled through the links with visible irritation. "Now everyone knows you're Maya Chen. Everyone's searching for information about you. You've made yourself a spectacular mess."
I couldn't have felt more wretched.
I hadn't meant for any of this to happen.
I knew perfectly well how bad this was, but what was the point of blaming me now? The damage was done. Beating me up about it wouldn't change anything.
Then Cassian's mouse stopped on a particular link: "Sin Hunter Maya Chen's Wardrobe Malfunction Moment!"
I blinked in confusion.
He clicked on it, and I realized the footage showed the entrance to the supermarket right below my apartment building.
The store owner must have seen my face in the news and uploaded their surveillance footage.
In the video, I was just an ordinary person out buying groceries, wearing a knee-length dress. Then a gust of wind caught the hem. It flew up—just for a moment, not even a full second—before I pressed it back down. But that brief flash had been captured on camera, and now it was playing for the entire internet.
The video was drowning in comments.
Right at the moment the skirt flew up, a single comment blazed across the frame to cover it: "I am the mosaic."
The rest of the comments were a sewer of disgusting remarks.
"Nice legs! Love it, love it."
"Whoever put that mosaic over the comment is a coward."
"Why are you all being so gross? She's dressed perfectly normally. Why do you have to look at women with such perverted eyes? The person who uploaded this footage is trash."
The comments section was a battlefield of toxicity and occasional decency.
Cassian muttered, "Appalling. Absolutely appalling."
I said quietly, "It was really windy that day. And my dress was actually pretty long. Who could've predicted something like that?"
He clicked the video back to the moment my skirt flew up. Before that so-called "mosaic" comment appeared, he said coldly, "Look at how people talk about you. This is exactly why we stay in the shadows."
"I'm sorry…"
He clicked back again. The video reset to the same moment. "Morals have gone to hell. Look at these disgusting comments!"
I wasn't looking at the comments. I was watching him—watching him replay the same moment over and over.
He still hadn't noticed the change in my expression. "I'm done looking at the comments. Just seeing them makes me sick. Out of sight, out of mind."
He clicked to disable the comment overlay. The "mosaic" vanished—and then he clicked back to that same moment again…
I grabbed the back of his head and slammed his face into the keyboard, grinding it back and forth.
I snarled, "You think I can't see through your little act?"
Pervert!
This was exactly how he'd ended up sneaking into my apartment in the middle of the night and stealing my first kiss.
Men were all the same!
Lin Yun had been like that, too. I had two nightdresses at home—one ordinary, one with spaghetti straps. At home, Lin Yun would always "helpfully" volunteer to wash the spaghetti-strap one, chirping, "Honey, I'll wash and dry this for you, you go ahead and change into it." The strap dress got washed every single day for a month straight. But when it came to the ordinary nightgown, he'd suddenly develop an amnesia about the washing machine: "Honey, can't you wash your own clothes?"
Cassian took my physical assault without losing his temper. He just quietly moved the mouse and reported the video.
I stormed back upstairs, still fuming. The moment Major saw me, he came bounding over, tail wagging frantically, paws scrabbling against the floor.
I scooped him into my arms and stroked his head, sighing. "Major, you're the only one I can count on…"
He panted happily, whined, and trotted over to drag his food bowl to my feet.
I fed him, but my mind was elsewhere, churning with heavy thoughts.
My identity had been exposed. That was definitely a problem.
But I hadn't forgotten my primary objective: find out whether the fire that killed Lin Yun had anything to do with Cassian Vance.
I didn't care anymore. If uncovering the truth about my husband's death meant sacrificing everything, so be it. Let the world know who I was.
I cuddled Major a while longer, then heard a knock at the door.
I opened it, my tone sharp. "What do you want now?"
Cassian was standing there holding a large box. "You're famous now. I need to give you a makeover."
"A makeover?"
He set the box on the table. When he opened it, I stared at the contents in complete bewilderment.
It was full of cosmetics and skincare products—rows of bottles, jars, and palettes.
I picked up a jar of Helena Rubinstein and noticed it was half-empty. "Who did you borrow this from? It's been used."
Did he have another woman in his life?
Well, of course he did.
He'd been gone for years. That was perfectly normal.
He must really dote on her, though. Most women would consider receiving Chanel a kind of happiness, and here his girl had graduated straight to the top tier of luxury skincare.
Cassian began efficiently organizing the bottles and tubes on the table. "These are mine."
"You use Helena Rubinstein on your face? A grown man?"
"Correct. I wear a mask constantly. Skincare is non-negotiable."
"Since when do men need anything beyond Great Treasure SOD honey? That's premium enough for anyone."
"What, are men's faces inherently inferior to women's?"
"I… I didn't mean it like that."
"Don't move."
He arranged the products in order—primer, concealer, foundation, setting powder—lining them up in front of me one by one like instruments on a surgical tray.
Then, without warning, his hand reached out. His fingers traced slowly from my forehead down to the bridge of my nose.
After that, he wiped his fingertips with a damp towelette and grazed my cheek, remarking in a clinical tone, "You're combination-oily skin. I'll start by applying mattifying primer to your T-zone—no need for extra moisture there—and then I'll cover your pores. But first, I need to cleanse your face for you."
I rarely wore makeup. Half his terminology sounded like a foreign language.
Cassian sat directly across from me. To evaluate my skin's condition, he'd drawn so close that even with the mask between us, I could feel the warmth of his breath on my face.
So close. Close enough that I could distinguish each individual lash behind the mask's eye openings.
The peach-blossom eyes beneath the bangs. The thin scar slicing across his brow. My heart ached with a sharp, familiar pang.
He must have been in so much pain when that wound happened…
My heart started thudding against my ribs, sounding a frantic rhythm I couldn't control. Cassian's movements were gentle, methodical—his long fingers occasionally grazing my skin as he worked, and each light touch sent heat flooding to my cheeks.
Had he… done this for many women?
I didn't know why, but the more I thought about it, the more a sour, uncomfortable feeling coiled in my stomach. It was especially acute when he started on my eyebrows—his eyes seemed locked on mine the entire time, focused and intense, as though the act of painting my brows was something deeply intimate. I couldn't stand it anymore.
"You're very skilled at this. How many women have you done this for?"
His voice was perfectly calm. Composed. "Only you."
"That doesn't look like 'only me' to me."
I grumbled under my breath, but a phrase surfaced in my mind, unbidden and insistent.
In this life, I only paint eyebrows for you.
What if he really had only ever done this for me?
My heart started racing all over again. I fought to steady it.
Stop it. This is ridiculous.
Would he even say something like that? He'd said he'd only done this for me. But what if he looked me in the eyes and said: "In this life, I only paint eyebrows for you."
My thoughts were spinning out of control. Cassian hadn't said any of that. I was projecting my own tangled feelings onto him.
Suddenly, he spoke: "Sin Hunters can't wear their masks in every situation. Some assignments require disguise and camouflage. It's not just me—Valerian and the others know how to do this too."
Oh…
I closed my eyes and let his fingers continue their work, feather-light across my face.
It was hard to breathe. My heartbeat was so loud I was sure he could hear it.
I tried to imagine he was Lin Yun—if I could believe these hands belonged to my husband, maybe the guilt would ease. But that only made me feel worse, like I was being unfaithful to someone, though I couldn't say exactly who.
He applied false eyelashes for me with practiced precision, then dyed my hair. When he finally set down his tools, I looked in the mirror and barely recognized myself. The woman staring back looked like someone from a magazine—striking and a little dangerous.
If what he'd just done counted as a makeover, then what I'd been doing to my own face at home was a toddler's finger painting.
He studied my reflection and asked, "Would you like me to curl your hair?"
I shook my head vigorously, speechless.
It looked amazing. I couldn't believe he'd made me look this beautiful.
Cassian said, "You look much better like this, don't you? Now, walking down the street, unless someone knows you intimately and examines you with deliberate attention, no one will recognize you."
His words struck a nerve, and my expression hardened.
I gave a cold laugh. "What do you mean, 'much better'? So you're saying I was ugly before?"
"That's not what I meant. I'm just saying the disguise changes your appearance."
"Changing my appearance means you're rejecting how I looked before? In your eyes I'm just unbearably hideous, is that it?"
"I didn't say that—"
"That's exactly what you meant. You think I'm ugly. You think I'm beneath you. Well, I'm so sorry—this ugly girl is crashing at your place, embarrassing the great Emperor. Should I fall to my knees and apologize?"
Cassian turned his head away. "You were already… captivating like this." He patted the box gently. "This one's yours. Keep it."
Then he left the room without another word.
My face burned.
Why did he have to turn away when he said that?
Why use that word—captivating?
I shook my head, fighting to dispel the fog that had settled over my mind. My priority was investigating Lin Yun's death. Not this. Not tangled romantic feelings I couldn't afford to indulge.
I didn't have the luxury of thinking about love. All I wanted was justice for the man I'd lost.
I studied my reflection one more time and decided to test whether the disguise actually worked. I changed into a spaghetti-strap dress that was the polar opposite of my usual style, found a wig in the box, and put it on. Then I left without announcing myself and headed to the apartment building.
When I knocked on Valerian's door, it opened almost immediately.
Valerian stood in the doorway, studying me with puzzled eyes—then, with an air of exaggerated charm, said, "Hello, may I ask who you're looking for?"
I froze.
Because his voice was wrong.
He'd deliberately lowered his register, giving himself an artificially deep, sonorous quality that was painfully, transparently rehearsed.
I matched his energy and dialed my own performance up to match, pitching my voice soft and sweet. "Hi there, I just arrived. Could you tell me how to get to the cafeteria?"
He smiled—a precisely calibrated, studied smile that was probably supposed to look effortless.
"This way, I'll take you."
He walked beside me, angling his face at what he clearly thought was a rakish 45 degrees, his lips slightly pouted as he blew a strand of hair away from his forehead. But I noticed his eyes—just barely, almost imperceptibly—darting toward my neckline every few seconds.
Men who steal glances always think they're invisible. But the women they're looking at can feel it every single time.
A few Sin Hunters walked past and called out, "Hey, Brainless—how come Miss Smart isn't with you today?"
"Heh, you jest. Always joking around…" Valerian gave an easy, airy laugh, then turned to me. "Don't mind them. They just like to give me a hard time. Sin Hunters live on the edge—sometimes that makes us a little undisciplined. I never hold it against them."
I asked, keeping up my act, "Who's Miss Smart?"
"My girlfriend. She's a really cute girl. Maybe one day you two will be good friends."
Not bad. At least the kid had a moral compass beneath all that ridiculousness.
If he'd told me he was single, I'd have thrown him out a window and spat on his corpse on the way down.
Even though he'd just praised Goji Berry's cuteness, his eyes had dropped to my chest again.
I said casually, "You seem really close with the others. Are you one of the top Sin Hunters?"
"Top or not, we're all doing our part to sweep the darkness from the world. Truth be told, I've never applied for Celestial rank…" Valerian said, pressing the elevator button with exaggerated gallantry. "I've stayed at Earthly rank all this time. Because, you know—"
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to that rehearsed baritone: "People always want to chase whoever's strongest. But they forget—someone has to do the small things, too. That's where I belong. Whether the work is big or small, as long as it upholds my convictions, I'm satisfied. Maybe that's why I never pursued a promotion."
I murmured, "How noble of you."
"Overrated. By the way, what should I call you?"
"Dandelion."
"DANDELION!?"
Valerian's eyes went wide as I seized his chin and squeezed hard. "Like what you see? A man with a girlfriend, ogling other women's chests every chance you get?"
"It's pretty…"
"Oh, so you admit it?" I squeezed harder.
"OW OW OW—" Valerian thrashed in my grip, pleading. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Dandelion, where's the scar on your shoulder?"
"Foundation and concealer."
I shoved him against the elevator wall, then checked my reflection in the mirrored doors. "You really can't tell it's me?"
Valerian rubbed his jaw, looking aggrieved. "I can't tell at all. I thought you were a new recruit."
"Do I look good?"
"You're asking about my face this time, right? You look amazing. I had no idea you could look like this."
I let him go, satisfied. "Since you're such a sweet-talker, I won't tell Goji Berry that you were staring at my chest."
"Thank you, Dandelion! You're a saint!"
I pulled out my phone and texted Goji Berry: "Dog, when are you getting off work? Valerian keeps staring at my chest. I've caught him at least twenty times."
"THAT BASTARD! JUST WAIT, HE'S DEAD!"
I tapped the screen off and smiled.