"I'll steal it."
The phrase slams into his mind with every step he takes down the tall staircase, echoing like a relentless drumbeat. The thought unsettles him. Outside, the sun casts a golden hue over the sky, yet the mild wind cools the air, brushing against his skin as he strides forward.
She can't possibly do it... can she?
His naïve mind fights against the weight of her words. But he knows better. She isn't just all talk. She isn't a delicate doll or a damsel waiting to be rescued. She is fierce, unpredictable, and far too bold for his peace of mind. That alone unsettles him more than her words ever could.
He can't just hand her the stone, not without knowing the reason behind her demand. But with her? Well...
A heavy breath escapes his lips. He rakes his fingers through his hair, tilting his head down as his gaze follows the stretch of green beneath him. Forget it, he tells himself, attempting to banish her from his thoughts, to suppress the way his mind keeps drifting toward the forbidden.
"John."
The voice freezes his feet in place, sending a chill like silver ice coursing through his veins. His skin prickles as every hair on his body rises in response. His heart, though steady, feels as though it falters for just a fraction of a second. Slowly, he turns toward the source of the voice, and as expected, he meets the piercing gaze of his king.
Recognition snaps him upright, his body instinctively stiffening in respect.
"What were you doing in her room?"
Steffen's voice is gentle, at least, he tries to make it so, but his natural authority laces every word with quiet intimidation. The husky depth of his tone carries weight, whether he intends it or not.
"You went to her room," he repeats, this time firmer, his gaze unwavering.
John clenches his jaw. Right. He hadn't expected Steffen to catch him leaving her chambers. He could tell the truth, but his entire being feels strangled by a force he can't quite name. His lungs feel constricted, his breath uneven, though he refuses to betray his unease.
Lying is an option, but is it worth the risk?
If Steffen is already sifting through his thoughts, any deception would be futile. And worse, if he so much as suspects the truth, John knows his fate would be sealed. He cannot allow his king to even imagine that he harbors anything remotely unholy for his mate. That would be a swift death sentence.
"I went to thank her," he says finally, his voice calm but dull, stripped of emotion.
It isn't a lie. Not entirely.
Steffen studies him for a moment. Silence lingers between them, thick and unreadable.
"I just thought it fitting to thank the person who convinced you to spare me," John continues, his lips pulling into a practiced smile, one that could charm anyone into their grave.
Something flickers in Steffen's eyes, but before John can decipher it, the king exhales.
"That's fine," Steffen says, his tone lighter than before. "I was out of line. I apologize."
John blinks, caught off guard. An apology? From him? He must have misheard. But the sincerity in Steffen's face is real, and before his expression can betray his shock, he schools his features back into impassiveness.
Steffen huffs slightly, catching John's stare. "Stop looking at me like that."
John shifts his gaze away, but the disbelief still lingers.
"Just make sure it never happens again," Steffen orders, his voice regaining its usual command. "And from now on, you're in charge of her security."
John's stomach tightens.
Her security?
The weight of the responsibility settles over him like a boulder, but he nods. He doesn't ask why. He already knows. After everything that has happened, Steffen will only trust someone he deems capable of protecting his mate. And though he would never admit it out loud, John senses a flicker of insecurity buried beneath Steffen's decision.
A king like him does not trust easily.
"Also," Steffen adds, "pay a visit to Sulieman."
John bows his head slightly, acknowledging the command.
With that, the conversation ends, but the turmoil within him does not.
A mile away, or perhaps less, a mansion echoes with voices of enticement and thrills, which soon fade into the quiet after moments of heavy exhales.
"I love the way you handle me," a sultry female voice spills into the ears of the man whose body is sprawled across the bed. His eyes trace her hands as they struggle to reach the top of her dress zip.
King Sulieman, or simply Sulieman, sits up and reaches his fingers to her back, gently pulling up the zip. His lips land on the bare skin of her neck, leaving soft, lingering kisses. Her sweet scent still clings to his breath, mingling with the aftertaste of a long, hard night together.
"You look beautiful," he murmurs, his voice half-muted as his attention drifts momentarily to the phone buzzing on the desk. Hawa, the woman beside him, stands and strides to the desk at the far side of the room. Her eyes are sharp as she grabs her phone and presses it to her ear.
"Yes," she answers the call.
Sulieman watches her, a crease forming between his brows. He doesn't need to see her face to know something's wrong. Her demeanor shifts, her mood darkening as the call drags on.
"Is there a problem?" His voice carries a gentle edge, but the sharpness in his gaze betrays the concern brewing in his chest.
Hawa's fingers tense around the phone as she listens, her gaze briefly flicking to him. Her lips part to speak, but the words seem to catch in her throat. Her body tightens as she struggles to hold herself together.
"Tell me what's wrong?" he asks again, his tone shifting to one of genuine worry. He steps closer, planting a kiss on the back of her neck as his fingers graze her arms. The warmth of his touch is at odds with the chill settling in her expression.
"I can't," she says, her breath shallow, her voice trembling with restrained emotion. "That was Lia. There was another death. Two bodies found... the same as the previous ones. Sulieman, what aren't you telling me?" Her words are sharp now, heavy with suspicion.
He steps back, heart sinking in his chest as her words echo in his mind. This isn't just about the bodies anymore, this is about trust, betrayal, and a darkness he's been hiding from her for too long.
"I agreed when you asked me to stop investigating the recent deaths," she continues, her voice unwavering now, "but I don't think I can ignore this anymore. Especially when you won't tell me why you asked that favor. What are you really up to?"
His silence speaks volumes. She's not just his lover. She's his partner in everything, business, power, deals. Yet, for all their shared history, he's kept a secret from her, a secret he knows could shatter everything they've built together.
The guilt in his chest tightens like a vice. His thoughts swirl back to darker times, to promises he'd made to himself and to the price he's paid for them.
"Believe me," he says, his voice low and strained, "this will be settled soon. The deaths will stop, just... keep the police out of it."
"Are you serious?" Hawa's voice rises in disbelief. "You want me to stop the cops from getting involved, but you won't tell me why? I'm your partner, Sulieman. I have the right to know. You owe me that much." Her tone sharpens with the weight of her anger and hurt. Her hands cross over her chest, her body stiff with frustration.
The room grows heavy with tension, the air thick with unspoken words. Sulieman stands frozen, unable to speak. What can he say? What could possibly make her understand the depth of his desperation?
"I can't tell you why," he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I need you to trust me. It's the best for both of us."
"Goodness gracious," she mutters, a bitter sigh escaping her lips. "You're a piece of shit, do you know that?"
"I try not to," he counters, offering a half-hearted wink. She scoffs, rolling her eyes, but it's clear that her patience is running thin. The audacity of him to try to charm her out of her anger, it almost makes her laugh, though the bitterness behind it stings.
"Anyway," she mutters, grabbing her purse. "I should get going before Ibrahim returns." Her voice is colder now, the sharp edge of business taking over her emotions. Her husband was out on a trip, and he was due back today. She may not care for him, but she knew the game they played. Her relationship with Ibrahim was one of convenience, nothing more, nothing less.
"And Sulieman," she calls over her shoulder as she heads for the door, "you have until this week to settle this mess. If not, I'll have the police all over your ass." Her words are a promise, one laced with finality. And then, without another word, she walks out, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she exits his mansion.
Sulieman stands there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where she once stood. His body feels hollow, like a void where something precious has slipped away.
"She's getting hotter by the day," a voice interrupts his reverie. He turns sharply, his surprise visible as his eyes fall upon the figure standing in the doorway of his living room.
The woman before him stands with her hands settled at her sides, her presence commanding despite her casual stance. She watches him with an unsettling smile as he rushes to wrap himself in a cloth, barely holding back his surprise.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, his voice strained as he tries to mask his surprise.
"Definitely not to see you naked," she says with a grin, her eyes glinting with something dark and knowing. "Nor to watch the scene with your... bed partner. Whore, is she?"
Sulieman's jaw tightens, but he holds his ground. "How long have you been here?" His words are clipped, though a flicker of unease crosses his expression.
"Trust me, you don't want to know," she replies with a chuckle, her voice dripping with mockery. She enjoys this, enjoys watching him squirm. And for once, Sulieman isn't sure if he can handle it. Her presence, her power, it makes him uneasy in ways he can't explain.
"You're a pervert," he mutters as he walks toward the stairs, clearly ready to be rid of her presence.
But she's not done.
"Oh, sir, I brought you a message," she says, her voice turning suddenly serious. "Master wants you to help her."
Sulieman's eyes narrow. "Her? Your agent? She's alive?" The confusion is clear in his voice. He'd believed her life ended that night, during the council meeting. But if she's alive... and if she's tied to Steffen, then everything changes.
"Why?" he demands, his mind spinning with questions.
"Because you need her to complete the mission," she says, her words fierce and direct. "She's set to retrieve the gemstone, the white witch earrings, and the dark witch ring."
Sulieman's mind whirls. "You're kidding, right? Do you think it's that easy? Lucy will never let her have that ring," he snaps, his frustration spilling over. He punches the air in anger, his fists clenched tightly.
"That's why you need to help her," the woman counters, her gaze unwavering. "The sooner you help her get what's required, the sooner you get what you desperately desire."
Sulieman's heart stutters at her last words. His mind flashes back to his wife, the guilt that never leaves him. He lost everything in that crash. His wife. His kids. His family. And now, the woman before him offers him a chance to get them back.
His eyes widen in realization, his thoughts crashing together in a tidal wave of regret. "How long has this been going on?" he asks, his voice shaky.
The Lady smirks, her satisfaction clear. "Long enough," she says cryptically, her figure already turning to leave. "Do your part, Sulieman. And don't waste time."
"Fine," he agrees, the words thick with the weight of his decision. His past mistakes have led him here, to this point of no return. He will do anything to get them back, to make things right, even if it means helping a woman who represents everything he's tried to leave behind.
She pauses by the door, her eyes scanning the room before she turns back to him. Her gaze lands on a photo frame covered with a white sheet, a picture he'd hidden from view.
"Give her space, Sulieman. You owe her that much," she says, her voice soft but firm.
As she vanishes, Sulieman's eyes linger on the frame. He hasn't looked at it in years. After his wife's death, he'd destroyed all the photos, burned them to erase the guilt that still gnawed at his soul. But somehow, this frame remained, hidden, a painful reminder of everything he lost.
"I'll get you back, my love. I promise you," he whispers, his fingers grazing the edge of the frame. The weight of his promise presses down on him, a burden he carries alone. The road ahead will be long, but for the first time in years, he dares to hope.
....
Right there, beneath the weight of Steffen's boot, Teslime's head is pressed into the dirt. The sole hovers just above his face, tense with the force that could crush him at any moment. His body lies subdued on the greenery, his dark shirt smeared with streaks of color from the damp earth. His eyes flicker to the scene around him—his men, broken and humiliated, encircled by the furious council. Many are already sprawled on the ground, half-dead, stripped of dignity.
Each breath he takes is strangled beneath the intensity of Steffen's dark gaze. He knows his death is only seconds away, but if this is his end, he may as well play his last card. He should have known better than to trust a Night Sucker as a partner.
An Hour Earlier
Teslime paced, his heels scuffing against the stone as his eyes scanned the surroundings. Every so often, he checked the gold watch wrapped around his wrist, exhaling sharply as he rakes a frustrated hand through his hair.
Damn it.
If she didn't show up soon, he was out of here. He still wasn't sure why he'd agreed to meet her in the first place. Whatever plan she had, it wasn't worth his time if she couldn't even be punctual. His patience was as thin as the air in his lungs.
"Sorry I'm late."
The voice halt him mid-step. He exhaled, relieved it's hers, he had been seconds away from leaving.
"What took you so long?" His tone was sharp with irritation.
"That's not important," she cut in, leaving no room for argument. "What matters is what I have to say."
She met his gaze with an unwavering stare before delivering her proposal.
"I need you to kill her. In return, you get your revenge on Steffen."
Teslime studied Balu, weighing her words.
"You want me to kill his mate?" It wasn't a question, it was an observation. He already understood her motive. Balu was infatuated with the king, and his mate stood in her way. She would do anything to remove that obstacle. But something about this didn't sit right. She have always been blindly loyal to Steffen, a devoted pawn. She would never risk harming him.
Unless...
It was a trap.
His instincts sharpened, his shoulders stiffening as he silently readied himself for whatever game she was playing.
"You do realize that killing his mate could drive him insane, or even kill him?" He watched her closely, anticipating her response.
She smirked slightly. "True, but like you said, it's a probability, not a certainty. Besides, your mate is dead, but you're still standing."
Teslime's jaw tightened , his knuckles whitening. The mention of his dead mate stirred the rage simmering within him. He wasn't dead because vengeance kept his wolf alive. Until he gets retribution, his soul refuses to rest.
"Her death benefits you too," she pressed .
"Not as much as it does you," he countered, his voice rising slightly.
She didn't deny it. "True. But in the end, we both get what we want. So, are you in?"
She extended her hand. He hesitated, then, after a long silence, clasped it.
"Deal."
A small slip of paper appeared between his fingers, which he dropped onto the table.
"Have her brought to this location."