When the young couple was brought to the small palace, they were trembling with fear, almost unaware of when they had offended the renowned General George.
Especially the young wife, who was taken alone to the general's room, where it was said that the general wanted to meet with her.
George stood with a steel-like posture, his demeanor and expression both carrying an air of superiority, with authority and an oppressive aura.
When the person entered, George's eyes brightened, but the expression quickly changed to one of disgust.
"Get out—"
After the harsh command, he waved his hand, signaling to the guards, "Take them away and interrogate them. Make sure you get the full story."
The young couple couldn't withstand such harsh treatment. Without much effort, the young man gave in completely and confessed everything.
He sold the invitation at a high price to an old man.
The old man said that his master greatly admired the royal family and longed to see them in person, but lacking the connections, he had resorted to offering a large sum of money to obtain the opportunity.
The young man thought it was just a regular royal party, attended by distant relatives of the royal family, with no actual royal blood involved. So, he was tempted to sell the invitation.
Upon hearing the news, George immediately thought of one person—
"Any news from the troops sent after Arabella and her group?"
His confidant showed a troubled expression. After all, the mountain range stretched endlessly, spanning tens of thousands of kilometers, some of which were even beyond the borders of the country.
Not to mention that it's impossible to predict when Arabella will emerge with her people, even if one knew the day she would come out, it's unclear from where she would appear.
Monitoring these tens of thousands of kilometers would be nearly impossible even with the entire country's military strength.
In fact, George knew that this was unrealistic. Claiming to be keeping an eye on them was just self-deception.
"Have you found a photo of Arabella?"
They had indeed found one. His confidant quickly pulled out a document folder and retrieved the photo.
The photo was said to be of Arabella, and it was likely taken by someone on the battlefield who risked their life to snap it. The person who took it was lucky enough to survive, thus this photo existed.
Amidst the swirling smoke of battle, a woman stood with a graceful figure. In the dim, uncertain light of the battlefield, her features were blurred. Holding a sub-machine gun, she stood at the frontlines, like a blood-soaked demon of war. Even through the photograph, there was an unmistakable aura of deadly menace surrounding her.
"Is this the only one?" George asked, somewhat surprised.
After all, Arabella's reputation was far-reaching. Even though her stronghold had recently been wiped out, she still attracted attention from all directions.
If Arabella could manage to lead her people out of the Mountain Range this time, it would likely cause a huge stir.
"Arabella is a person who operates with great discretion; she has a low-profile, unassuming nature. As a result, there are very few photos of her, and no one dares to take any. It is said that undercover agents from several countries in the past had to focus on Arabella's headquarters and the criminal leaders close to her to determine if they were in fact her. Now, with her movements being so unpredictable, finding her has become exceedingly difficult."
George lowered his head, repeatedly scrutinizing the blurred features of the person in the photo, trying to see if they had the same bold and distinct gaze as the woman he had locked eyes with last night.
Unfortunately, the photo was too unclear—
Could the woman from last night have been Arabella?
George thought about the woman he had locked eyes with last night, his heart racing, wishing he could immediately learn her identity.
Whoever she was, he was determined to have her.
*
Arabella remained unaware that she has entangled herself in grave trouble.
That night, she sensed a stir from above the corridor; though the opposite side was cloaked in utter darkness, there lingered a palpable pressure of gaze amidst the stillness.
However, to her, who the other person was didn't concern her in the slightest.
She was simply going to check on the royal situation in Doma. It was better to calculate potential weaknesses early and have control over them.
It didn't take long for Taras to make a name for himself. With his swift skills and sharp mind, he gained the recognition of one of the small gang leaders and quickly rose to the second-in-command position.
Such a small-time player was clearly not worth Taras's attention.
Back then, he had climbed his way up from a street thug, directly taking down the leader of the Abyss. His methods and strategies were far from ordinary.
At that time, he could have stayed and taken over the Abyss with his abilities, going head-to-head with Julius.
But in the end, an impulsive surge overwhelmed him, as though following Arabella was the only way for his life to find true fulfillment.
Taras knew in his heart, it was because he couldn't bear to leave Arabella.
He couldn't help it—his feelings were open and direct, and he didn't enjoy playing games or pretending.
He became infatuated with Arabella. From the beginning, their collaboration had been driven by hidden motives, and later, their nights together were a whirlwind of passion. Now, with feelings involved, he often wondered how he, of all people, could have fallen for such a cold-hearted and fickle woman.
At this moment, he was pressing a small debtor's head, slamming it hard against the wall.
The debtor's forehead was throbbing from the impact, crying and howling, bending down and begging for mercy.
Such debtors naturally cried out in self-pity, saying they didn't have the money.
This kind of talk might fool honest people.
Taras didn't waste any more words. He grabbed the knife handed to him by his subordinate, pressed the debtor's hand down on the table, and with one swift stroke, a heart-wrenching scream echoed through the room.
Taras glanced at the bloodstains on his shirt sleeve, casually pulling out a tissue to wipe it clean before shoving it into the other's mouth. His smile was dangerous, with a murderous aura to match. Without hesitation, he raised his hand and struck several resounding slaps.
The debtor had never experienced such terrifying force. He trembled all over, his face turning pale, and stammered out the location of his hidden money.
Taras snorted coldly, tapped the debtor's swollen cheek with the knife, and sneered, "Why make things hard on yourself? If you'd been more cooperative earlier, you wouldn't have had to suffer."
He immediately ordered his subordinates to retrieve the money. After completing the task, the leader couldn't stop praising Taras.
After all, in this kind of small-time gang, no one had the ruthless efficiency Taras displayed.
He was thriving here, and Bramwell had also made considerable progress.
He posed as a rich young man, lavishly spending money and partying across the capital, successfully playing the part of a dissolute, wealthy heir from a foreign country.
Raven had been sent by Arabella to handle a secretive and special task, one that was not known to others.
His relationship with Arabella had become somewhat delicate—she had clearly grown to rely on him more and more, and there was an undeniable mutual trend toward supporting each other. Yet, the closer they grew, the more wary she became of him. In moments of trusting him, she would simultaneously find ways to restrain him.
Caracal became Arabella's best tool for keeping Raven in check.
While the others were busy, Arabella was quite interested in going gambling.
In Doma, gambling was legal.
Casinos were found in every street and alley.
Whether rich or poor, each entered a different kind of casino, where their desires were fully materialized in the gambling halls.
For some, their desires soared; for others, they were completely shattered.
Naturally, Arabella went to the most luxurious, top-tier casino.
The casino was located in the heart of the capital, amidst towering skyscrapers and a dazzling nightscape ablaze with lights. People came and went, as if caught in an invisible black hole that devoured them whole—beckoning with the allure of indulgence, the promise of overnight riches, or the descent into an abyss of ruin.
Arabella sat at the gambling table, her eyes narrowed slightly, the upward curve at the corners of her eyes captivating, a smile always playing on her lips.
She had won seven rounds in a row, and the dealer standing opposite her had a rather unpleasant expression.
The game continued, and her table's apparent winning streak attracted quite a few onlookers.
Arabella, however, seemed somewhat indifferent. She casually pushed all her chips forward, making an all-in bet.
The dealer's eyes flickered with a sharp light, and his card-dealing movements became faster.
When it was her turn, she didn't even glance at her hole cards.
As expected, she lost everything. A wave of disappointed murmurs rose from the surrounding onlookers.
Arabella's expression remained unchanged, utterly still, as though winning or losing were nothing more than a pastime. The mountain of chips before her did not add a trace of smugness to her demeanor; even if she lost them all in a single night, it would not ruffle her composure.
She leisurely withdrew from the table, holding a wine glass as she wandered through the casino. Meanwhile, in the control room, a pair of eyes locked onto her intently.
The eyes were filled with burning desire, a flame of lust that seemed to wish it could rush down immediately and seize her.
"It's her! It's that look; it's definitely her."
