Chapter 75: Assassin’s Blood and Secrets

Chapter 75: Assassin’s Blood and Secrets –Sophia– The door burst open—clean, hard, like a warning shot. The slender assassin was faster than I expected. He came at me with all the grace of a shadow. I flicked a dagger toward his neck—reflex—but he deflected it with a Bichwa. Smooth. Too smooth. What I didn’t expect was the paper that sliced his throat instead. He froze mid-step, the surprise still etched on his face as he dropped to the floor like a puppet with cut strings. Blood gushed from the deep slit, spurting like a ruined fountain over the elegant floral-motif floor. "Oh, fuck," I muttered under my breath just as Kai rushed to my side, gripping my arm tightly. "You’re not hurt, right?" he asked, breathless. I nodded coolly. "Perfectly fine. But seriously... who the hell’s cleaning that up?" Francis pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "I’ve already called the team." I crossed my arms. "Lovely. Still doesn’t explain why they’re after me this time." My phone chimed from the side table. I picked it up and tapped the screen. Livana. Of course. Livana:By the way, I put the compass in your purse... I’m just testing something. I shut my eyes and sighed deeply. Of course it’s that again. Livana:Sorry, babe! ❤️ Seriously? They’re trying to kill me... because of a compass? I unzipped my duffel and rummaged until I pulled out a Louis Vuitton purse. Seriously? I never bring LV during ops. So why in the hell would she plant this in my luggage? And how? Her possessive husband barely lets her out of bed. I turned sharply to Francis. "How exactly does your team operate?" "Security. Disposal. We clean... a lot of things," he said flatly. "Hm." I made a mental note. That might come in handy. A knock interrupted us. Francis left the room to handle it while I approached Kai, holding the purse out to him. "Nope." He held up his hands. "Livana told me I can’t touch it." "What’s in it?" I asked. "Logan didn’t say. I’m just here to make sure no one gets it." Classic Livana. Loves puzzles, loves putting people in complicated messes. My phone rang. I let it go for five seconds before answering. "Livana," I growled. "Why the hell am I?" "Because I trust you," she chirped, far too cheerily. "Oh, and make sure they don’t get it. Buy me some time." I was silent. Of course she wants me to stall. "Dr. Andersson’s checking on me tomorrow," she added. "Don’t worry about a few things." She’s planning to meet with her mother’s old contacts. The Pentagon? I could feel it. I didn’t need confirmation. Why? She knows it’s dangerous. She’s being impulsive. Curious. Reckless. I let out a soft laugh and shook my head. "Impulsive. Whatever. Just don’t get yourself killed." I hung up and turned to Kai, who was ushering the clean-up crew into the room. "I need a place to crash. Where’s your room, Kai?" He grinned slowly, cocky. "Happy to oblige." I grabbed my duffel and followed him. Once we were inside, I tossed the bag onto the floor. Kai made a show of checking the windows, corners, even under the bed. I raised an eyebrow. "What?" he asked, flashing that grin again. "I’m being cautious." "Really?" I stepped closer. "Or are you trying to seduce me, Kai?" From the corner of my eye, I saw Francis glaring from the hallway like some jilted lover. Oh, please. Jealous now? That’s adorable. I mean, really—he doesn’t get to wear that look anymore. Not when we’ve been broken up for how long now? Whatever we had, it ended the moment he chose duty over me. Ended clean... or so I thought. And yet—damn it—I still missed him. I hated that I missed him. But fate, that twisted little playwright, had a sense of irony. Of all the people, all the places, I had to end up back here... working under Blackwell’s shadow. And worse—with him. It’s not just a reunion. It’s a performance. Every glance, every glare, a scene from a play neither of us auditioned for. And yet here we are—center stage. Kai leaned closer, voice husky. "Want me to rub your back? I’m very... good with my hands." "No thanks. Just sleep after the cleanup. I’ll need my energy tomorrow." He pouted playfully. "What about my energy?" I laughed, a low amused sound. "How cute," I said, eyeing him with mock admiration. "Now, get out." He left with a smirk, the lights still on, closing the door behind him. I yawned, slid under the sheets, and listened to the muffled sounds of the team scrubbing away the aftermath. My body was resting, but my mind? Sharp. Awake. I could feel it—this wasn’t over. They’d keep coming. Because the White Queen had passed the compass to me. And somehow, they could track it. Couldn’t they? –Livana– I locked myself inside the study room. Again. Not because I wanted peace. Please, that’s a myth in this mansion. I needed to figure out what the hell to do with the damn compass. I can’t exactly bury it—someone would still sniff it out like hungry wolves. No, they’re not tracking the compass itself. Not just that. It’s something inside. Hidden. Coded. Or cursed, knowing my mother. Just what kind of deal did she strike with the U.S. government that left me tangled in this mess? A soft knock. "Babe?" Damon’s voice, low and sweet, like I don’t know the game he’s playing. I glared at the door. "What?" "Open the door, please." He sounded like he was begging. And this was our routine—he woos, I resist. I lock myself in so he won’t try seducing me every ten minutes like some overgrown incubus. "Go and work," I snapped coldly. "Do you want to go to the club tonight?" "And meet your bastard friends?" I replied, deadpan. "Yeah." He chuckled. Of course he did. "It’s purely work, my love. I need you beside me." "Alright then. Buzz off." "So cold... like the weather. I miss you." "And I don’t," I muttered, flipping open our wedding album—the Hawaii one. He had it custom-made, obviously. Lavish and annoyingly perfect. I had to admit though: I looked stunning. The gown hugged me like sin, even the bikini shots were flawless. He made sure I looked like art, and he—ugh—he was annoyingly handsome in every single shot. I skimmed the photos. His face always turned toward me, eyes warm, smile soft. Mine? Either a smug grin or deadpan boredom. I was a walking contradiction to his romantic energy. A statue being adored by the sun. I leaned back in the chair and scanned the office. My office. Damon gave it to me as a "gift." Generous, if you don’t count the surveillance he sneakily installed. Luckily for me, I had already disabled the cameras. No one knew I could see. That was my card. My edge. I slid the album back into its place, turned off the tablet, grabbed my walking stick, and opened the door. And of course—he was standing right there. I didn’t look him in the eye. I kept the act. Still, I walked right into his chest. He laughed. Bastard. "That’s not fucking funny, asshole!" I snapped, smacking him lightly with the stick. He caught me by the waist and kissed me like he hadn’t just laughed at my ’blind’ stumble. I shoved his chest and smacked his shoulder. "Let’s get you ready. You’ll need a dress," he said, like I was some helpless doll. "I can take care of myself," I muttered, stepping past him. "I love you~" he sang, annoyingly cheerful, then had the nerve to carry me bridal-style to our room. "Put me down." I shoved him again. "And do me a favor while you’re at it." "What is it?" I heard the rustle of fabric—he was undressing already. Of course. The man treats nudity like breathing. "I don’t want you to touch me for a week," I said calmly, brushing my hand along the hangers until I found a sleek dress that felt like trouble and luxury combined. "Babe, that’s impossible," he groaned. "It’s... hard right now." "I don’t care," I replied sweetly. "If you try to seduce me again, I swear, I will hate you entirely." He laughed. That laugh that made my nerves twitch. And then he grabbed me and kissed me again. Goddammit. I dressed up with Laura’s help, her soft pout painting irritation across her otherwise cheerful face as she dabbed foundation on mine. She was grumbling inside—I could hear it in the way her brushes moved. She clearly wanted to come with us. But we both knew she couldn’t. Not with a target on her back, too. After what happened a few weeks ago—months now, maybe?—we still hadn’t uncovered who was pulling the strings. It wasn’t just one enemy. There’s a criminal mastermind behind a criminal mastermind. A puppeteer pulling strings from the shadows, and we’re all just dancing. "Gorgeous," Damon whispered, kissing the back of my hand. I wore the ring—the one that weighed half as much as my entire hand. The one he slipped onto my finger like a man branding his possession. It was huge, sparkling, rare. The kind of thing other women would kill to wear. I should like it. No—I have to like it. "I wish I could go too." Laura pouted, both hands resting on her swollen belly. "But I’ve got work. And I can’t really dance around while pregnant with twins." "Hmm," I hummed nonchalantly, standing. "You can do that after you give birth successfully." "Well," she sighed and shrugged, clearly unconvinced. I kept my face still, eyes blank—no emotion, no direction. They couldn’t know I could see. That secret was mine, and mine alone. "Anyway," she added brightly, "Damien’s here. He’s drowning in paperwork but hey—he’s surviving." She giggled softly. "Good night, sis." I offered her my cheek. She kissed it. Moments later, we headed out. The club was a symphony of chaos—pulsing bass, flashing lights, sweat, perfume, liquor. The stench of money and secrets. Typical. Damon’s "friends" were already there, smug and loud like they owned the place. "Whoa, Damon! It’s been a while!" one of them shouted. I didn’t bother remembering his name. He had a cheap whore on his arm with fake platinum-blonde hair, clearly mocking me. "Last time I saw you," Aaron said with a laugh, "you nearly killed me." "I can still do that," Damon muttered, low and deadly. I sighed and turned my head slightly, feigning disinterest. But then— I felt it. Eyes. Someone was staring at me—hard. Burning through me. I didn’t turn my head too far, didn’t let my expression flicker. I kept the act. Blind. Detached. Untouchable. But I saw him. He wasn’t looking at Damon. Not at the crowd. Not even at the ring on my finger. He was looking straight at me. And he wasn’t just looking. He was studying. Measuring. Like he knew. I kept my expression still—but inside, something cold slid down my spine. That wasn’t just some guy. That was him.