Taras was injured, though fortunately, the injury was not severe.
He could keenly sense someone lurking in the shadows.
Taras's dark eyes grew cold. He wouldn't naively assume that the people Arabella sent were here to help.
While his subordinates cleared the scene, Taras raised his injured arm, a triumphant sneer appearing on his lips as he taunted the hidden figures.
A dog following orders—he wondered if it would disobey its master's command and bite in secret?
There was no response from the shadows, and once the presence faded, Taras spat and muttered under his breath, "Cowardly dog."
This time, he was risking it all for fortune, and naturally, he had made ample preparations.
Among the people Walter had brought, Taras's confidants were embedded, for three people alone would never accomplish the task.
Taras had risked his life in countless battles to help Walter rise to power over the past year, only to be kicked aside once Walter was comfortably seated.
Thinking he could discard him after reaping the rewards? There's no such easy way in this world. What Taras gained with his life, Walter would have to pay in kind to take.
The next morning, Taras appeared before Arabella, looking refreshed.
Arabella was having breakfast, though there was a glass of wine on the table. She lounged casually against the soft cushion of her chair, holding a leg of lamb in one hand. When she saw Taras, she curved her lips into a smile and gestured for him to join her.
A mouthful of meat and a sip of wine—a unique breakfast, indeed.
Taras made himself comfortable, sitting down and downing the cup in one go. The liquor was strong, the intense alcohol burning warmly in his stomach.
He looked at Arabella with a bold, intense gaze.
Yesterday, he was just moving goods and taking leftovers. Today, he was finally at the table as an equal.
"Master Unknown, aren't you afraid that I might target your territory and then frame you?" Reflecting on last night, this was the one thing Taras couldn't figure out.
Last night, in the private room, as he played with women, they exchanged a look, reaching a silent agreement to sharpen their knives and take down their rival.
But could it be that Arabella would side with him over just one glance?
Upon hearing this, Arabella's smile deepened.
After a moment, she leisurely replied with a question, "What's this? Just one night, and you're already losing your manners?"
Taras immediately understood the meaning behind her words.
Walter didn't know his place; daring to go against Arabella meant he would die regardless.
Arabella was merely using him to kill Walter. Put bluntly, he was her shiny dagger.
Once he understood, Taras felt a sense of relief. This world was built on mutual exploitation to climb higher. With Arabella on the throne, there was no shame in being used by her.
After breakfast, Arabella and Taras ended up rolling in bed together.
Taras was of the fierce and wild type in bed.
When he made love, it was skillful, intense, bold, and full of passion.
Few women could fully satisfy him in bed.
He thought that being with Arabella in bed would just be a formality.
Arabella, accustomed to her position of authority, likely carried the same dignified, untouchable air in matters of intimacy—something approached with utmost caution, where no boundary could be crossed lightly.
Unexpectedly, his intense passion was reciprocated, turning it into an exhilarating experience.
This feeling of comfort sank deep into every pore of his skin. Sweat streamed down his heated, broad chest, strong and full of power.
Arabella on the bed was highly responsive.
She was indeed resilient, enduring, and playful, accommodating every position with ease.
Even when he cursed and got rough, Arabella sank into the depths of pleasure with him.
An astonishing woman, indeed.
"Damn. So good." Taras slapped Arabella's butt, his hips moving rhythmically, thrusting like a piling driver.
From his angle, he took in Arabella's smooth, lean back, the curve of her waist, and the fine texture of her skin.
Taras felt his breathing falter, a hint of emotion rippling in his beautiful eyes.
Arabella narrowed her eyes, her expression one of enjoyment.
For her, sensory pleasure was always straightforward; when a man was satisfied in bed, he would, in turn, devote himself to pleasing her. That was the essence of a mutually satisfying physical entanglement.
If they were to indulge, it had to be done right—otherwise, it was a waste of time.
Taras kneaded Arabella's breasts, feeling the supple resilience under his control, stirring a deep, unspoken sense of conquest within him.
His gaze drifted to the shadowy corner of the room, where Raven stood.
Or, rather, there was someone else outside the room as well.
When he had stepped into the room with Arabella, the man with an unusually handsome face had cast a cutting gaze over him, as sharp as a blade.
The man's eyes were filled with barely concealed resentment, yet he managed a smile, neatly arranging the bed and even preparing bathwater for them.
Taras found it amusing, the most absurd part being how Raven naturally followed along.
At first, Taras thought Arabella might enjoy a two-on-one setup.
To his surprise, Raven entered the room and blended silently into the shadows.
Truly, a loyal dog.
One wonders if this loyal dog, watching his master indulge with different men on the bed, could resist taking a bite himself.
Taras let out a cold laugh, wrapping one arm around Arabella.
His breath was hot, pressing close against her back, his gaze carrying a predatory wildness.
"Master Unknown, you're truly bold." Using the title intentionally, Taras's words dripped with playful provocation.
His hands didn't pause, kneading and rubbing beneath her, matching the thrusts of his cock, pushing in and pulling out with rhythm.
Arabella bowed her head, smiling faintly, seemingly accepting such crude talk completely.
She turned her head slightly, arching her brows to look at him, her eyes dark and steady, shining like solid stone.
Taras stiffened under Arabella's gaze as it swept over him.
His chaotic mind split open, recalling the single-combat power ranking list from Night Owl five years ago.
The list included many secretly trained agents from different countries, coded names that each nation treated as forbidden.
The list became taboo because its authenticity was indisputable.
At the top of the list—Arabella.
Too many in both the underworld and the authorities refused to believe in Arabella's abilities.
In this chaotic world ruled by strength, men held dominant power. For a woman to be the top in combat prowess, lording over them, was nearly unbelievable.
Yet that glance from Arabella had solidly dispersed all Taras's lust, scattering it to the winds.
Her gaze held no threat; rather, it was peaceful, calm, yet with a dark, unreadable depth behind its black sheen.
He'd always thought Raven, ranked sixth in combat, stayed inside to protect Arabella.
But if he was so far away when danger struck, could he really protect her?
Or, better yet, did Arabella even need him to?
Taras lowered his gaze, calming the turmoil within, and replayed every detail of his encounter with Arabella from the very beginning.
Suddenly, he realized—from the first moment, Arabella had been smiling all along.
Smiling when insulted, smiling when intending to kill, and even smiling in the throes of passion.
That smile, steady and unwavering, was like her gaze.
Unable to see the darkness behind the light or the malice hidden behind her smile.
Only someone with absolute control could look at all with such a calm smile, seeing others as mere ants.
Yes! In bed, he may appear to be in control, stirring storms and passions, but in Arabella's eyes, he was nothing more than a fervent ant, striving tirelessly.
