Raven had never truly seen through Arabella.
Perhaps from a very young age, he hadn't understood the meaning of that hand she extended.
When he killed for the first time, it was Arabella who taught him, hand in hand.
She was still young, yet the fleeting shadow of her brows and eyes held such cruelty.
Only a moment ago, she had been smiling in gentle conversation, and the next, she struck with force, crushing the very skull of her opponent.
When she killed, it was different from anyone else; her brows and eyes habitually curved in a gentle smile.
Even in the face of peril, she remained poised and gracious, like a delicate flower swaying in the wind, utterly devoid of any hint of danger.
He knew Albatross resented him.
In contrast to himself, who could stay close to Arabella, Albatross, confined to waiting in limited space, harbored a deep-seated dissatisfaction and unwillingness.
But could Albatross not see the longing buried deep in his gaze?
So many nights, they were on the bed, while he remained in the corner.
His chest heaved in tumult, as though beaten by the relentless thrum of a war drum. The burning desire that churned within him threatened to choke him, as if it could spill blood at any moment.
He wanted to be Arabella's dog, yet in the end, he wasn't even that.
A dog could still breathe, but he's just a gun—a decorative one at that.
He's renowned outside, but did Arabella need him?
Whatever skills he has, she taught him, and in her eyes, he's nothing more than a novice.
Realizing all this, Raven suppressed his emotions, lying stiffly, leaving his life and death to Arabella.
Seeing Raven's look of resignation, Arabella laughed lightly.
"Raven, they say I hold you in high regard, do they?"
They? They're nothing.
Raven felt the grip on his throat loosen, knowing he had narrowly escaped death.
He turned over and knelt, straight-backed, respectfully shaking his head, "They misunderstood."
Arabella sat casually at the edge of the bed, effortlessly reaching for the glass set beside her. The ice cubes clinked against the glass as they mingled with the liquor, the sound a soft, melodic echo that seemed to dance in the air.
A mouthful down her throat, the strong, cold drink cooled her temper slightly.
She raised her gaze with a faint smile, "You misunderstood. Get up."
Raven paused, wanting to ask for clarification, but dared not.
Arabella had evidently ended the conversation, heading to the bathroom to wash up.
During dinner, Ferdinand repeatedly apologized, stressing his oversight.
Arabella paid no mind to such trivial matters; after all, she had always walked upon blood and bones.
If someone died by her hand today, one day she would die by another's—it was only fair.
But she was selfish, power-hungry, cautious, and distrustful, so she wouldn't easily die, nor would she let anyone take her life.
Morality, justice, fairness, and others' lives meant nothing to her.
While she lived, she cared only for her own well-being. After her death, it would be best if the entire world followed her into the grave.
Arabella didn't mind, but Ferdinand felt he'd lost face.
On his territory, someone had dared to touch the one he held closest to his heart. Though that person was beyond the reach of anyone else, he still felt the sting of pain.
He knew nothing about Arabella's past from her youth; no one had managed to uncover it.
The unknown was more frightening because those missing years were like a devouring black hole.
The Arabella of the past, unknown to him what she had endured, swallowed by fate. Now, this Arabella, decisive and warlike, has been reborn through countless trials.
Ironically, this was the exact kind of Arabella he had fallen for; an innocent one wouldn't have caught his eye.
They say that some people ask for trouble and are doomed to be tormented.
This was true indeed.
At the table, Raven stood shrouded in darkness, his presence stilled, as though he were but a whisper of nothingness.
In contrast, Albatross took a seat, naturally serving Arabella, placing food and pouring wine with care.
Arabella took a bite of the soft cake Albatross offered and, finding it tasty, pushed it back to Albatross's lips, saying, "It's good, have a taste."
The gesture was natural, as if it were routine. Albatross opened his mouth with a smile, enjoying the taste happily.
Seated opposite, Ferdinand saw this and nearly snapped his spoon in half.
But he had no right to speak; he was just a friend.
No one resents a friend's bedmate, especially one raised from childhood.
He withdrew his resentful gaze and changed the subject.
"I heard this year's deal includes a pet trade. Interested?"
The word "pet" was innocent enough, but in black-market trades, it took on a sordid tone.
Arabella's tone turned playful as she heard him mention it, "What? Are you interested?"
Ferdinand downed his drink, his roguish charm showing. "I'm settled here; I'm not short on women. I'm keeping an eye out for you, as a friend should."
His words were clearly a slap to Albatross, who sat beside him.
One might scarcely notice, as he blended the liquor, the hues swirling in vibrant chaos, until the final drop fell, staining it a deep crimson.
The drink was alluring, aromatic, heady, and the man drinking it was even more striking.
Today, he wore a black shirt with golden embroidery, two buttons left undone, the sharp lines of his collarbones exposed. His soul, a portrait of decay, but his appearance too flawless to ignore.
After downing his own drink, he mixed another and respectfully handed it to Ferdinand.
"Young Master Ackerley, long time no see."
Perhaps it was because he had been by Arabella's side for so long, Albatross had learned to hide his venom behind a gaze full of warmth.
Ferdinand glanced at the glass handed to him, but made no move to accept it.
Then, a soft laugh from Arabella broke the silence: "I brought Albatross along this time—he's here to make amends and right old wrongs."
Through his peripheral vision, he caught sight of Arabella's gaze fixed intently on him.
Seeing the opportunity, Ferdinand took the glass, downed it without hesitation, and shook the empty cup, asking casually, "This drink has a kick to it. What's it called?"
"Blood Choke," Albatross answered without missing a beat.
The drink was strong, fiery, and stimulating. Its name, even more so—sharp as a blade, ruthless as a sword.
The undercurrents between the two men were just as intense.
Raven stood in the shadows, his eyes cold, his face unreadable as he watched the play unfold.
His gaze, reckless and lingering, tangled itself around Arabella's back.
The restaurant was splendidly decorated, with dazzling chandeliers overhead that illuminated everyone with crystal clarity.
Arabella was that kind of unique presence. She wasn't stunningly beautiful, but she had a slim waist, long legs, and fair, delicate skin.
Surrounded by laughter and smiles, she smiled as well, yet the faint murderous aura in her gaze could not be hidden.
To blend tenderness and lethal intent—one could only wonder how long it would take others to cultivate the same ethereal calmness and worldly decisiveness she embodied.
That night, Albatross didn't get the chance to join Arabella in trying making love on the 360-degree rotating bed.
Arabella had sent him to the casino to redeem her previous defeat.
Perhaps having nothing to do that afternoon, Albatross had recharged himself; or maybe he was eager to be useful to Arabella for once.
At Ferdinand's casino, Albatross dominated, beating the house with each round.
The casino was deafeningly loud, with a crowd of onlookers marveling at Albatross's gambling skills.
The reason Albatross could gamble was both simple and sad.
Five years ago, Arabella had assigned him and Raven separate duties, confining him to one place, where he could only wait for her return.
When Arabella returned, he was happy. When she left, he was sad.
He devoted all his thoughts to deciphering Arabella's preferences. Yet Arabella was an enigma—impossible to read, and no one dared to unravel her mysteries.
On the surface, Arabella loved to gamble, though she didn't care about winning or losing; it was just for entertainment.
At least gambling was the one skill Arabella might need from him. When Albatross returned victorious, he felt that all those years of practice had finally paid off.
"Not bad. After a long night, have some soup to soothe your throat and lungs." When Albatross returned, Arabella was holding a wine glass and eating breakfast.
She loved wine and meat, so while others had bread, eggs, and milk for breakfast, she might have lamb leg and fired chicken with hard liquor.
Delighted by Arabella's praise, Albatross sat down with a bowl of warm soup, only to notice that Raven was missing.
"Where's Raven?"
Arabella, holding a piece of fried chicken, swallowed her drink and said, "On an errand."
Albatross didn't ask further; any task Raven was sent to handle personally usually involved dark deeds.
Ferdinand acted quickly, obtaining a black market invitation by that afternoon.
Arabella only brought Raven and Albatross with her, leaving the others behind.
With Ferdinand's vast influence and local dominance, security was not a concern.
The black market entrance was grand, resembling a large circular arena, with guests seated in rooms with one-way glass.
Items for auction were displayed on large screens, with small video previews in each room, allowing guests to zoom in on details.
A circle of men stood around, dressed in lightweight, practical attire, each holding a firearm, their muscular frames betraying their training. They were the kind of armed professionals who thrived in the shadows, unafraid of the darker games that might unfold.
