After indulging in several rounds of uninhibited passion on the bed, Taras emerged from the bathroom after a refreshing wash. A simple bath towel was wrapped around his waist. His tall, muscular frame was sharply defined, not the kind of exaggerated, artificial bulk maintained in a gym, but the result of years spent as a street thug in his youth. His strength had been forged through countless struggles, not only relying on his wits and tactics, but also his blood-streaked skills. His fighting was without form or style—each move, each strike, was solely for the purpose of survival.
Arabella had already finished her wash and was lying on the lounge chair, comfortably sprawled out in the sun, her fair skin flushed a shade of pink under the bright rays. Taras approached with a bottle and glasses, filling them for both himself and Arabella. With a good-natured smile, he asked, "It's rare to see you enjoying the sun like this."
Arabella took a sip, lazily lifting her head to gaze at the sky, answering, "I'm watching the clouds, it's quite nice."
Taras looked up at the clear blue sky, curiosity piqued. "What's so special about the clouds?"
Before he could finish, Arabella downed another glass and, lips smacking, casually replied, "They look so plump."
Taras couldn't help but chuckle at her response. Watching her reach for a third drink, he teased, "Seems to me you're just lacking some snacks to go with that."
Arabella nodded, her gaze shifting from the clouds to Taras, locking onto him with intent. "When will you help me warm up a little?"
Taras froze for a moment, shaking his head. "I'm telling you, Master Unknown, and all the assets I had were gone chasing after you. So now you want my help? Just so we're clear—I don't have any underlings in Scalien."
Arabella smiled as she asked, her eyes hiding a dangerous glint. "Are you so sure my target is Scalien?"
Taras was momentarily taken aback, instinctively replying, "Isn't it? It feels like the whole world knows what you're planning now."
Arabella nodded slightly, her voice soft as she spoke. "Yes, everyone knows what I want to do. Tell me, do you think Scalien is already preparing for it?"
Taras grunted, spreading his hands in a gesture of frustration. "They're practically sitting ducks. As for Scalien, I can't help you there. Small-time skirmishes? Sure. But if you want to establish real power, you'll need at least five or six years."
"You need to go back to Island," Arabella said.
Taras immediately bristled. "What do you mean? Arabella, don't tell me you're done with me already. Back in the day, I followed you to foreign lands, leaving behind my territory and power in Island, only to rebuild from scratch in Doma. Now that I've helped you, and my dick is still wet you're just going to send me back?"
Arabella glanced down at Taras with a playful smirk. "Just dried off and already getting wet again? Why did your penis leak semen now?"
"Stop talking nonsense. Explain what you just said."
Arabella raised her glass, gesturing for a toast with Taras, and said leisurely, "Stop pretending. Go to Island and gather a group of capable hands who can deliver the goods."
Taras fixed his gaze on Arabella, his eyes gradually becoming intense and dangerous. "Are you joking, Master Unknown?"
"When Nicholas spoke to me, I wasn't surprised. I just didn't expect you to have kept so many people in that situation. You really have some skills."
At the mention of Nicholas's name, Taras's anger flared even more. "That guy? He dared to stir trouble with you before. You didn't deal with him, yet you still trust him and want to cooperate? Aren't you afraid that kind of person will bite you back?"
Arabella just smiled, a knowing glint in her eyes. She leaned closer to Taras and whispered in his ear, "Nicholas is just an information dealer. He has no ambition, but you do."
Taras gave a half-smile, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Master Unknown, should I be happy that you think highly of me, or should I be angry that you trust that information dealer but not me?" Taras felt truly hurt. People like them were never meant to talk about love or feelings. His only softness was reserved for the woman before him; the rest was coldness and calculation—nothing else. He couldn't claim loyalty to Arabella, after all. He didn't want to be her lapdog, and if he wasn't strong or kept something back, he might never even touch the hem of her sleeve. He knew he still had some use and was willing to be used by her, but when faced with the harsh truth, it left him frustrated, unsure of where to channel his anger.
Arabella said nothing but lowered her gaze, watching Taras's hand, which she was holding. His hand was large, with long fingers, and it was clear he had endured hardships in his youth, as both the palms and backs of his hands were calloused. However, they were clean, with nails neatly trimmed, and even in their roughness, there was a certain finesse. In contrast, her hands were much smaller, yet equally accustomed to gripping a gun. However, Arabella's hands were particularly delicate and fair, their smoothness untouched by the hardness of battle—there were barely any calluses in her palms. As their hands entwined in that moment, his seemed to carry a rugged tenderness, while hers exuded an unreachable grace, a softness laced with an imperceptible distance, as if she were someone far beyond his reach.
"I'm not short on people, but I don't trust the others. I want you to handle it personally. Tell me, should I trust Nicholas or trust you?"
Julius looked at Nicholas, who had entered, and asked coldly, "What are you doing here?"
"Julius, this cooperation between us should have some results, don't you think?"
Julius was dressed in a perfectly tailored white silk shirt with every button fastened, and wore a luxurious royal blue vest studded with diamonds. When he assumed the identity of Julius, he suppressed the dangerous aura around him. Sitting high and composed, his expression and demeanor became refined, exuding the air of a noble scion from a prestigious family.
"I can buy that information from you. There's no need for us to cooperate anymore."
"The classified information I'm going to give you, you won't be able to buy it, no matter what."
Julius furrowed his brow slightly, his face taking on a cultured appearance when he suppressed his more feral side. He was about to attend a dinner party, so he wrapped himself in an aura of purity, like a deity, trying to avoid showing his darker side. He picked up the tea from the table and took a sip, trying to calm the aura of danger around him. "Go ahead, tell me."
"Faceless Ghost."
Just those two words made Julius's heart race with surprise. He immediately suppressed his expression and fixed his gaze on Nicholas, demanding, "Explain yourself."
Nicholas fell silent, his thoughts seemingly difficult to read, but upon closer inspection, it was clear he was simply revolving around Arabella, unable to escape her influence. As soon as Julius saw his pretentious demeanor, his face darkened, the façade of civility almost slipping to reveal the savage grin beneath, as though the human mask he wore was on the verge of tearing away.
"Stop beating around the bush and just tell me your terms."
"What does Arabella want you to do?"
Julius frowned, realizing what Nicholas meant. "You want to stop Arabella from going to Scalien?"
Nicholas immediately got agitated when Scalien was mentioned. "Scalien, the whole world, both the underworld and the law, knows what she's after and what she wants to do. That country is powerful, there's no way to get in, no way to infiltrate. What's worse, Marcellus has already made full preparations, waiting for Arabella to throw herself into the trap. Are you still helping her seek death?"
Julius scoffed coldly at the latter part. "You cooperated with me before, and I thought you were here to kill Arabella. How did you suddenly become her savior?"
Nicholas fell silent after Julius's taunt. Arabella had been the goddess he had long admired and yearned for from afar. But he couldn't resist his desires and had schemed to get close to her. The thing is, a goddess is meant to be admired from a distance, but once he gets closer, that overwhelming possessiveness surges within him. He started resenting anyone who could get close to Arabella, especially jealous of the face of Merrick, which had all the advantages of possession. For him, Arabella had chased a car for dozens of miles the first time they met. This kind of madness terrified him, drove him to the brink of frenzy, and filled him with deep resentment.
Arabella cannot have emotions. Just like now, because of Cyrus, that dead man, she's about to throw herself into danger again. He had once thought of making her fail, making her lose her power and give up, but nearly put her into a perilous situation. This time—does he still want Arabella to fail? This world is truly bizarre. If Arabella weren't strong enough, she would have long since perished. Now, thinking back on it, he feels a little afraid.
Seeing Nicholas lost in thought, Julius stood up, adjusted his clothes, and coldly dropped a sentence. "You think about it yourself. Close the door when you leave. I'm not going to waste any more time here." After taking a few steps, he turned back and added, "If the Faceless Ghost is lurking around Arabella, your precious Arabella will suffer. You'd better weigh whether you want her alive or dead."
