Game ends

The high-end hotel nestled at the edge of Chesua's bay shimmered like a jewel under the night sky.

Its terrace, draped in soft golden light from a crystal chandelier that hung from the vaulted dome above, cast a warm glow over the lavish date-night setup.

Every table bore candlelight dancing in crystal holders, silver cutlery resting on ivory linens, and fresh roses nestled in glass vases.

The air was perfumed subtly with jasmine, and a violinist played softly in the distance.

But none of it held a candle to the man who sat alone at the center table, the only one not paired.

Dressed in a sharp black suit with the air of a reigning monarch, Daniel Blackwood looked like the very definition of composed dominance.

His expression was carved in calm steel, but his eyes—sharp, stormy, and calculating—betrayed the hurricane brewing beneath.

Then came the sound of heels clicking against marble, interspersed with the slow, smug stride of expensive shoes. His gaze lifted.

Walking down the aisle-like path carved through tables was a lissom lady, graceful yet radiating danger.

Her dark red wine dress clung to every curve like it was tailored by sin itself, the thigh-high slit revealing just enough to distract—and warn.

Her pale skin glowed under the warm lights, her hair cascading in soft, lethal waves.

But it was her eyes that scorched everything in their path.

Anger. Defiance. Fire.

Beside her walked Ivan Markov, dressed in a matching red wine tuxedo, smirking like he'd just won the devil's wager.

He placed a possessive hand around Leah's waist.

Her expression darkened, and without hesitation, she growled and shoved his hand off with a jerk.

Markov merely chuckled, clearly enjoying her reactions.

Daniel's jaw tightened, the glass of wine before him trembling slightly from the strength of his clenched fist.

His knuckles went white beneath the table as he resisted the urge to storm forward and snap Markov's arm like a twig.

They reached the table.

Markov, smugness dripping from every movement, gave Daniel a slow, provoking smile. "Ah, Mr. Blackwood. I didn't know you had a taste for fine dining in Chesua," he said, voice layered with false courtesy.

Without waiting for permission, he pulled out the chair opposite Daniel and gestured grandly for Leah to sit.

With a deadly glare that could freeze lava,

She obeyed only for the sake of the plan.

Markov then took the seat beside her, draping his coat over her bare shoulders as if they were lovers sharing a winter night.

Leah bristled.

Since she stepped onto the terrace, she had felt it—an intense gaze, like fire licking at her skin. Her instincts screamed. And now, facing him across the table, her gaze locked with Daniel's.

His eyes were aflame.

They stared at each other across the flickering candlelight. Her lips parted slightly as her breath caught. He hadn't said a word, but his fury roared through the silence. It wasn't just anger—it was Protection. Possession.

His gaze held fury. A storm ready to be unleashed.

They stared at each other.

Her heartbeat quickened, not from fear, but recognition. Unspoken words danced between them across the table.

Markov, noticing the tension, smirked.

He lazily stretched an arm around the back of her chair, his fingers brushing her bare skin as he tugged her closer. She growled under her breath, swatting him away.

He chuckled, whispering just loud enough for Daniel to hear, "Fiery, isn't she? She's like that in all things."

Daniel's jaw flexed.

"So," Markov began, swirling his wine. "What brings the infamous Blackwood to our little bay city? Surely not just for pleasure."

Daniel's lips curled slightly. "Let's say... business called. And I never ignore a summons—especially when thieves dine at my table."

Markov's grin faltered slightly.

"Still collecting women like antiques, Ivan?" Daniel asked calmly. "Must be hard when they keep breaking out of their glass cases."

Markov laughed. "And yet, you still sit alone. Afraid to touch what you want?"

His gaze flicked to Leah.

"She's mine now, Daniel. She walked in with me, didn't she? I wonder how long until she learns to obey."

Daniel chuckled. Cold. Dangerous.

"You mistake possession for loyalty. That woman would burn your entire estate to the ground before kneeling."

"Oh, she'll kneel. Eventually," Markov replied smoothly.

Daniel didn't move, but the shadow that passed across his expression was lethal.

A tense silence fell.

A waiter—a T-Team agent in disguise—rushed toward the table to serve wine .

Then suddenly, Leah slammed her hand down on the table.

The plates and glasses rattled. Every head in the terrace turned.

"I can't bear this anymore," she snarled.

As he leaned close, a silver tray in hand, Leah reached beneath and felt the cold metal of a concealed weapon slip into her palm.

She stood, swift and commanding, pulling the gun out and pointing it directly at Markov's heart.

"Your game ends here."

Gasps echoed around them.

Markov blinked.

And Daniel?

He simply leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving Leah.