Philadelphia's media had already begun fantasizing about Iverson hitting a game-winner over the Knicks at Madison Square Garden.
Meanwhile, night had just fallen over Long Island, New York, more than a hundred miles from Philadelphia.
This was one of the most exclusive wealthy districts in the United States. Waves gently lapped against private beaches, while the sea breeze swept through lush pine woods, carrying the Atlantic Ocean's distinctive salty chill.
Inside a Tuscan-style estate spanning several thousand square meters, complete with a private dock and helicopter pad, Li Fei lounged on a leather sofa on the enormous terrace outside the master bedroom.
His towering 2.24-meter frame, as flawless as an ancient Greek sculpture, radiated suffocating pressure even when casually stretched out. At 120 kilograms, coupled with the terrifying muscle density the media had marveled at as "Titanium Alloy" grade, he looked like a prehistoric beast at rest.
Yet he also possessed a face handsome enough to put Hollywood's top male stars to shame. Deep-set eyes, a high nose bridge, and a jawline seemingly carved by blade and axe—his powerful, testosterone-laden good looks could transcend any border or aesthetic divide.
"Clink."
Two crystal-clear ice cubes dropped into a whiskey glass, producing a crisp chime.
A fair, slender hand with vintage red nail polish offered the amber Macallan single malt whiskey to Li Fei.
Following that hand upward revealed Monica Bellucci's breathtaking face.
The Italian national treasure hailed as the "Flower of Earth" was dressed in a wine-red silk nightgown. The smooth fabric clung to her lush, exaggerated curves like rippling water, while beneath the deep V-neckline was a dazzling expanse of snowy white skin.
Her long black wavy hair cascaded casually over her rounded shoulders, and her deep eyes seemed to hold all the most enchanting charm of Sicily.
Monica elegantly