CHAPTER 207: CHAPTER 207

At that moment, Damien leaned back in his chair, that smug, poisonous smile still lingering on his face.

"I’m at the peak of my game now," he muttered, tracing his finger along the rim of his glass. "Good news is coming."

He raised the drink in an invisible toast to no one in particular and took a slow, satisfied sip.

Then—

We shift.

Deep underground, beneath the shell of an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the city, Damien’s men sat gathered in a darkened hideout. Exposed pipes lined the ceiling, and the air smelled of rust and damp cement. A single flickering light bulb swung slowly above them, casting jagged shadows across the concrete walls.

Tension buzzed in the room.

One of the younger men—shifty-eyed and growing impatient—finally broke the silence.

"This is a waste of time," he grumbled, tossing his cigarette aside and pacing in tight circles. "We should’ve handled her already. Why the delay? Boss knows something we don’t, and here we are—sitting on our hands."

Another man gave him a look, warning him with a slow shake of the head. But the younger one kept going.

"I mean it," he snapped. "If this was any other job, it’d be done. In and out. But now we’re waiting around like schoolboys. You don’t find that strange?"

A chair creaked at the far end of the room.

The man they called Boss stood up slowly.

He was older, calmer, and far more dangerous than the others. With a scar running down the side of his neck and hands like iron, he commanded fear without raising his voice.

"You talk too much," the boss said flatly, his voice like gravel being dragged across steel.

The young man froze.

"You know what you know," the boss continued, stepping forward until his boots echoed loudly on the floor. "And I expect you not to ask questions like this again."

He leaned in, eyes sharp as a blade.

"Don’t worry. Soon, you’ll know why I haven’t done it yet."

He let the silence drag, the weight of his words pressing down like a boulder.

"Better learn how to keep your mouth shut... and obey my every instruction."

The moment the boss’s voice cut through the dim room like a blade, the flickering light seemed to dim further. The air grew heavier—so heavy the young servant felt like it pressed against his lungs, choking him word by word.

He hadn’t expected that tone.

He had never heard it before.

The boss wasn’t shouting. He wasn’t ranting. But somehow, the quiet, even tone was far more terrifying than any raised voice could ever be.

The servant stood frozen, eyes wide, his throat suddenly bone dry. The others in the room didn’t move either—they just stared. Silent. Still. Because they knew what this meant.

The boss was dangerously calm.

And when he was calm... people disappeared.

"I—" the servant croaked, voice breaking like glass. His knees buckled slightly as he dropped his gaze to the floor. "Boss, I’m... I’m sorry."

He tried to swallow but his tongue felt like sandpaper.

"I didn’t mean anything by it," he stammered. "I just thought— I mean, I wasn’t questioning your judgment. I swear I wasn’t. I just..."

The words tangled in his mouth, no excuse sounding good enough.

The boss took one more step toward him, and that single movement made the servant stumble backward, almost tripping over the leg of a chair.

"Please," the young man said quickly, breath catching in his throat. "Forgive me. I promise, I’ll keep my mouth shut. It won’t happen again."

He dropped to one knee without thinking, not out of loyalty—but out of pure instinct. Survival. His heart was hammering in his chest, so loud he was sure the others could hear it.

"I was out of line," he said, head bowed low. "Completely out of line. And I know... I know what happens to those who step out of line."

Without being told, he understood.

One more word, One wrong look.

One twitch of the boss’s hand...And he’d be gone.

The silence in the room returned—deafening.

He didn’t dare look up.

He didn’t dare breathe wrong.

He could only wait... hoping the boss’s mercy extended just far enough to leave him with his life.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

The servant remained kneeling, head bowed, palms flat against the cold concrete floor, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. The boss stood still, eyes locked on the man below him—not blinking, not moving, not breathing loud enough to even prove he was alive.

Every second felt like a lifetime.

And still... the boss said nothing.

That was more terrifying than any shout, Finally, the boss took one step forward. Just one. And the servant flinched.

The silence broke, but not with yelling. The boss’s voice came low—measured, slow, and laced with venom.

"You think because you’ve been around for a few jobs, you know how this works?" he said, his tone as cold as steel dragged across bone. "You think questioning me is helping? You think speaking out of place makes you brave?"

He stepped again. Now he was towering over the servant, his shadow swallowing the kneeling man completely.

"You don’t understand what I’m doing," he continued. "You don’t understand what I need. And I don’t need your doubts. I don’t need your mouth. What I need—is your obedience."

The servant dared not raise his head. He nodded quickly, still kneeling.

"But..." the boss said, voice dropping even lower, now laced with warning, "because I know you want to help... I’m letting this go. Once."

The servant’s lips parted to respond, but the boss raised a single gloved hand—silencing him before he could even form a word.

"This is your last warning," the boss said sharply. "If you ever speak out of place again... I won’t just deal with you. I will punish you."

The air dropped colder.

"To the point where you will regret the day you ever opened your mouth."

The servant swallowed hard, trembling from head to toe. He lowered his forehead to the floor in a deep bow.

"Thank you," he whispered quickly, over and over. "Thank you, Boss. I swear I’ll keep my mouth shut from now on. I swear it. Thank you."

The boss didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

He turned sharply, his coat slicing through the air with the motion, and began to walk away—each step echoing in the dead silence.

But after three steps, he stopped and turned his head slightly.

"Get out."

The servant scrambled to his feet so fast he nearly tripped again.

"Yes, Boss," he mumbled, scurrying toward the exit, his face drenched in sweat.

The boss didn’t watch him go.

He didn’t have to.

At that moment, the servant couldn’t help but bow his head and started telling her thank you, that he would keep his mouth shut now. Then the boss angrily walked him out.

The bedroom was quiet.

Soft rays of sunlight filtered through the half-drawn curtains, bathing the room in a gentle golden glow. A faint breeze stirred the fabric, letting in the subtle scent of the garden outside. The silence was peaceful—too peaceful—almost as if the world had paused for her.

Valentina’s eyes fluttered open slowly.

Her lashes trembled before her vision cleared, and the first thing she saw was the ceiling—unfamiliar in that moment, distant and pale. Then the quiet ache in her head pulled her thoughts into focus. It wasn’t sharp anymore, but it lingered like a shadow, dull and stubborn.

Her body felt heavy, like she’d just come out of a deep, dreamless sleep.

She blinked again, and this time, she turned her head slightly.

That was when she saw him.

Raymond.

He was seated right beside her on the edge of the bed, his broad frame leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. His eyes—dark, alert—were fixed on her face. He hadn’t noticed she was awake yet. He looked like he hadn’t moved in hours. As though he’d been watching her breathe, waiting... hoping.

She opened her mouth slowly, her voice hoarse.

"Raymond...?"

His head snapped up.

And just like that, the cold expression melted.

He leaned in, his hand immediately reaching for hers, gripping it gently but firmly.

"You’re awake," he whispered, more to himself than to her.

Valentina looked around in confusion. Her brows furrowed as she slowly pushed herself up, wincing just a little from the lightheadedness.

"What... what happened to me?" she asked, her voice fragile. "Did I pass out? I don’t remember... anything. I just remember feeling strange and then..." She trailed off, her eyes searching his face. "Raymond, what happened?"

There was a brief silence.

Raymond hesitated—only for a second.

Because the truth, as it stood, was far too dark. Too heavy. She didn’t need to know that three men had come to kill her. That their blood had soaked the entrance to their home. That someone might still be watching her.

Not now.

So he forced a calm smile and gave her hand a small squeeze.

"You were just tired," he said gently. "That’s all."

Valentina blinked. "Tired?"