Bramwell finally realized what he needed to do that night.
Arabella wanted him to race.
Kewa was a coastal country, small in size, with only this region offering a long, mountainous coastline. Its winding roads were perfect for racing enthusiasts.
Most racers were the wealthy, some from the underworld, others were professional riders.
Participants varied according to the race format.
Today was a particularly thrilling large-scale betting race.
The winner would receive five million Kewa moneys, a generous prize that drew a large crowd.
Arabella demanded that Bramwell win.
Bramwell looked at Arabella intently, then nodded.
While he slept that afternoon, Raven had already taken care of the motorbike arrangements.
Money could indeed make the devil working.
A modified heavy motorbike was ready on time. Bramwell tested it, and everything was perfect.
The area surrounding the racecourse was packed with onlookers, many with female companions, while several race queens cheered from the sidelines.
Whistles echoed through the air as a line of powerful motorbikes revved their engines, dazzling and sleek, adding to the buzz of excitement filling the entire venue.
Arabella stood quietly in a corner, her plain hooded outfit almost blending into the background, contrasting sharply with the bright, attention-grabbing women around her.
Bramwell, after riding his motorbike to the waiting area, scanned the crowd. His eyes eventually landed on Arabella, standing silently in the corner.
Their gazes met, and Arabella smiled, giving him a subtle nod and a victorious gesture, as if to say she was with him.
With her support, Bramwell felt a surge of determination, his energy renewed.
The motorbike hit top speed, the raging wind whipping past like a shadow.
If he could compete with Arabella, he clearly had some skills.
The coastal road was a breeze for Bramwell, who raced along effortlessly. The roar of the engine was deafening, each bike exhaling bursts of power like flames, their exhausts blazing brightly against the night sky, a wild, dazzling spectacle.
In the end, Bramwell won the race with ease.
The underground casino suffered a heavy loss this time. The bookmaker looked at Bramwell, the dark horse, with a sour expression, feeling utterly humiliated.
An entire box of money was placed on the ground, carried by a few men.
Without a glance, Bramwell casually shouted to Raven, "Sir, what do we do with the money?"
The casino had already taken notice of Raven. The tall, handsome man, with piercing eyes that seemed to burn through the crowd, exuded an aura of formidable presence—he was no ordinary person.
When Bramwell called him out, everyone realized which formidable group had come to pay a visit.
"Spread it out."
Hearing that the money would be shared, the crowd erupted in excitement.
"Come on—ladies first!" Bramwell called out, making the women beam with joy.
With Bramwell leading the way, the winning rich kids also cheerfully started throwing their prize money around.
The wind along the coast was strong, and wads of cash fluttered in the air, swirling like a rain of money, scattering across the scene in a wild, tumultuous dance.
The celebration began, with some people already popping bottles in jubilation.
Amidst the commotion, only Arabella casually scanned the crowd, memorizing her targets.
After a few rounds, Bramwell got along well with the young, wealthy racers. With his bold demeanor and striking features, he easily won their favor.
It was Bramwell's "sir", however, who was more reserved, yet his aura and generous style were unmistakably commanding.
A few wealthy young men, accompanied by their female companions, couldn't help but steal glances at Raven. With his noble bearing and striking looks, what woman could resist being drawn to him?
After getting acquainted, someone suggested continuing the festivities at a nightclub.
And so, the group—mostly racers, some in luxury sports cars, their engines roaring—headed out. The casino manager, eager to connect with Raven and Bramwell, warmly recommended a high-end club owned by their organization.
Some of the rich kids seemed familiar with the casino people, so they all decided to go to that club.
Led by locals, Raven drove along with the main group, while Bramwell brought Arabella with him.
Those left behind were surprised to see Arabella, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.
This upscale nightclub had first-class facilities and ambiance, and it was owned by the Destiny.
Destiny was an old gang group, though recently Abyss's rise had temporarily overshadowed it.
However, old entities have resilience, and with its deep roots and longstanding connections, Destiny managed to hold its ground, resulting in a quiet rivalry between the two groups.
The nightclub was lavishly decorated, its soft, plush corridor carpets muffling footsteps to near silence. The soundproofing was so effective that even the slightest movement seemed to vanish into the air.
When Bramwell and the others entered, a few men were scattered around inside, clearly having sent their female companions away.
The private room was spacious, with bottles and glasses piling up on several tables; some people were playing dice, while others drank and chatted.
Raven sat on the back row's spacious sofa, with a few wealthy young men and the casino manager beside him, engaging in quiet conversation.
When Bramwell walked in, everyone turned to look at him—and then at the girl holding his hand, clearly surprised.
"My girlfriend," Bramwell said, half-hugging Arabella as they sat down, introducing her with ease.
Arabella smiled and nodded at everyone, looking graceful and quiet.
The casino manager, Karl, was a member of Destiny, and his boss was a mid-level figure in the society.
Karl reported the situation to his boss, who instructed him to dig a bit into their backgrounds.
When this crowd brought female companions, they were usually casual partners, chosen mostly for their looks and figure.
It was rare to see someone like Bramwell bringing a proper, refined-looking girlfriend.
Just then, the procuress entered with a lineup of over twenty hostess.
Some wore uniforms, tight-fitting, with large chests straining against their collars. Others were draped in long, elegant gowns, tall and graceful, like models in a beauty pageant, each one smiling demurely.
These young men were wealthy, accustomed to extravagant play, and generous with their spending.
All twenty-something girls hoped to be chosen by these rich young men, especially by the new face sitting casually in the dimmest part of the back sofa. That man, seated in the center, exuded a cold, distant arrogance and was impressively imposing.
The young man sitting beside him was equally handsome, radiating a fiery, youthful energy. Unfortunately, he had his arm around a silent woman with her head lowered, making it clear there was no chance.
"Any specific preferences, gentlemen? If you're unsatisfied, I'll bring in new girls immediately," the procuress chuckled, letting the young men make their choices.
Though she was called a "procuress," she was barely thirty. Articulate and clever, a woman could only make a name for herself here if she was shrewd.
She introduced the rich heir to the types they liked, and soon, most of the girls were chosen.
Raven had no interest in such ordinary women.
But when his gaze met Arabella's smiling expression beside him, he casually picked a voluptuous one to sit by him.
Bramwell, of course, didn't need to pick anyone. He seemed to be holding Arabella, but his arm was practically stiff.
Barely placing two fingers on Arabella's shoulder, he trembled internally, fearing that if Arabella frowned, she would chop off all five of his fingers.
After selecting the girls, the atmosphere started to liven up.
People played games, sang, and drank to heighten the mood. Some embraced women, getting intimate without a care, pushing the atmosphere to a fever pitch.
Bramwell and Raven quickly became close to them, especially Karl, who admired Raven and thought he had potential, intending to recruit him into the group.
Arabella remained silent, playing the role of a female companion amid the noisy surroundings, but her heart remained calm and unshaken, as she silently plotted her next vicious move.
Occasionally, she'd lift her eyelids and see the scantily clad woman leaning suggestively against Raven's chest, deepening the smile at the corner of her mouth.
Raven had been by her side for years, and if he needed a release, so be it.
A lustful heart is a dangerous thing; fixating on her could eventually turn into a blade pointed at her.
In fact, Raven had actually been observing her all along, stealing glances when he could. Having spent so long watching Arabella from the shadows, he had long since learned to read the subtle shifts in her expressions.
When he saw her watching the woman in his arms with a half-smile, anger flared in his heart, and a trace of bewildered hurt crossed his eyes.
He believed his love for Arabella was as vast and boundless as the ocean, meant to last a lifetime. How had it become something utterly insignificant?
He was deeply unwilling to accept this.
