Zara
I stormed out of the warehouse, heels clattering against the wet asphalt, echoing like gunshots in the empty lot. My pulse was still hammering from the failed mission, the image of Mataru's trembling face burned into my mind. Rain slicked my leather jacket, but I barely noticed, focused instead on the fury coiling inside me. The three bodyguards flanking me moved with precise synchronicity, scanning the shadows, reading the alleyways like soldiers on alert.
"Eyes forward," I snapped at the driver, my voice sharp enough to cut through the rain. He flinched, gaze dropping for the fraction of a second too long. I caught it. I always catch it. Men like him thought they could ogle and get away with it. Not tonight.
The SUV roared to life, tires hissing on wet pavement. Streetlights stretched across the tinted windows, painting long, fleeting streaks of gold and red. The city moved on outside — oblivious. Vendors hurried to close stalls, a motorist honked, and a stray dog darted across the street. It all felt like background noise to the storm inside me.
"Where to?" the driver muttered, voice low, cautious.
"To Mataru's apartment. Now." I pressed my hand against the leather seat, knuckles whitening. My body trembled with a mix of adrenaline and anger. He had failed. If Raymond found out… I wouldn't even let him live.
"Do you think he'll run?" one of the bodyguards asked, voice muffled under his hood.
"He has no choice," I said, tone flat but deadly. "And if I find him before anyone else… he'll pay."
I leaned back, scanning my reflection in the rearview mirror. Dark hair plastered to my face from the rain, red lips tight, jaw set. My heart thudded — equal parts rage and fear. Not for me, but for what could happen if I failed again.
--- Flashback ---
I remember crouching in the shadows at the warehouse, pulse in my throat. Mataru, trembling under Marcus and Raymond's gaze, spilling everything. Cash. Vial. Instructions from a masked woman. Everything so small, yet it could have killed.
The memory made my fingers itch to strike. My lips pressed into a thin line, controlling the urge to scream, to lash out, to ensure no one escaped accountability.
--- Present ---
The SUV pulled up silently in front of Mataru's apartment building, black stone walls slick with rain. My bodyguards tensed at the doors, ready to move before I even stepped out.
I entered, scanning every corner. The kitchen, living room, bathroom — empty. Not a single trace of him.
"Gone," my closest guard muttered, brows tight.
I clenched my fists. "No matter. I will find him." My voice was calm, but inside, fire raged.
A drawer caught my attention — papers scattered. I bent down and froze. A small metal bracelet gleamed in the dim light.
I picked it up. Desmond's family crest.
A chill ran down my spine. What was he doing here? Why had he left this behind? My pulse quickened, and I had to swallow hard to keep my voice even.
"Desmond?" I muttered, almost to myself. "What have you done?"
My bodyguards watched silently, trained to obey but never question. I stuffed the bracelet into my pocket, masking any sign of reaction. Nothing could show weakness.
I dialed my burner phone. "He must be found. Anywhere, everywhere. No mistakes. If he's alive, he dies."
The click of the call answered my fury. Orders were sent. Lives would be affected tonight.
Rain tapped against the windows, a cold reminder that the night wasn't over. I paced slowly, heels clicking against the polished floor. The apartment smelled of fear and neglect, the faint stench of old beer lingering in corners.
"Any signs?" I asked sharply.
"Nothing, boss. He's cleared out."
I exhaled slowly. Not relief — I never feel relief in these moments — only the simmering awareness that the game had changed. Desmond was now part of it. And that made it unpredictable.
I walked to the balcony, staring at the city below. Lights blurred through the rain like molten gold. Everything was moving, yet I stood still, calculating my next step. My fingers brushed the pocket containing Desmond's bracelet. A small thing, but heavy with implications.
"Raymond has no idea what's coming," I whispered, voice low. "But they will pay. All of them."
A flash of anger at Mataru — weak, careless — then a cold calculation at Desmond. Both needed control, or they would die.
I pressed myself against the doorframe, feeling the chill of the night seep through the walls. The bodyguards adjusted behind me, shifting uneasily. They knew tension when they felt it. They knew the storm that was me.
I stepped out of the apartment, hood up, letting the rain soak my hair. The city smelled of wet asphalt and neon lights. Every sound was amplified — tires, footsteps, distant sirens. My mind raced with possibilities. Desmond's involvement changed everything.
I reached the SUV. The driver glanced at me, eyes wary.
"Go," I said, voice final. "Anywhere, find him. No excuses."
The car peeled away, rain spattering the windshield in chaotic patterns. I watched the apartment recede, knowing this night was far from over.
I couldn't stop the itch in my fingers. I wanted to strike, to find, to control. To make sure no one escaped justice, not Mataru, not Desmond.
A flash of doubt crept in for a heartbeat. Did Desmond plan this from the start? Was he trying to manipulate the board entirely? But I dismissed it. Right now, survival and strategy mattered more than questions.
"Do not fail me," I whispered, gripping the edge of the seat. "Do not fail anyone again."
The SUV merged into the rainy traffic. Lights blurred. Shadows shifted. The world moved on, unaware of the storm I carried. And I wondered… if I hunted him tonight, would justice satisfy me — or only fan the fire of what was coming next?
I turned to the bodyguards behind me. "Keep your eyes open. Every exit, every alley. I want Mataru. Alive or dead, he will answer for tonight."
A driver's hands tightened on the wheel. The rain beat harder, and the city became a blur of black and gold.
And somewhere in the distance, I knew, someone watched. Waiting. Calculating. A chessboard with too many pieces now in motion.
I didn't flinch. I never flinch.
But the question lingered in my chest, cold as the night:
Do I want him dead, or do I want to see what Desmond plans first?