I frowned, observing the man across the table; his calm consumption of the expensive meal contrasted sharply with my inner turmoil. Only days had passed since our… encounter, yet here I was, sharing a meal, the air thick with unspoken tension. How had I, Domino, the ghost, the shadow, the meticulous planner, allowed myself to be drawn into this… ordinary scene?
This unsettling question hung heavy, unanswered, a discordant note in my mission's carefully orchestrated plan. This wasn't supposed to happen. Yet, here I sat, captivated by his quiet intensity, the rhythmic clinking of his silverware a hypnotic counterpoint to my racing thoughts.
Self-disgust washed over me. I quickly covered my face, the sudden shame a stark contrast to my usual composure. Oh God, what was I doing? I was losing control. This wasn't a casual dinner; it was a mission. This man, this infuriatingly attractive man, was my target. How had I become so… unguarded?
My eyes snapped open, focusing on him once more. His calm demeanor was a maddening contrast to my inner chaos. Was it possible…? Had he… bewitched me? The absurd thought stubbornly lodged itself in my mind. The idea of some ancient charm, woven into his very being, was almost… intriguing.
My jaw dropped slightly, the ridiculous notion clinging to me like a persistent shadow. What if it were true? What if this wasn't merely a planned encounter, but something far more… potent?
His voice, low and controlled, cut through my swirling thoughts. "Can you please stop doing that?"
The abrupt return to reality startled me. I cleared my throat, forcing composure. I picked up my fork and knife, mirroring his calm, projecting an image of nonchalant control.
I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "What are you saying, mister?" My tone was laced with sarcasm, a defense against the unsettling emotions threatening to overwhelm me. I took a deliberate bite, the taste oddly bland compared to the storm inside.
His brow furrowed—a subtle shift speaking volumes. The irritation simmering beneath his controlled exterior was palpable. He was clearly annoyed, and this only fueled my unease. He was playing a game, I knew it. A game I wasn't entirely sure I understood. He was like the others, targets I'd been trained to neutralize, men who moved in shadows, wielding power with chilling grace. This was a calculated risk, a high-stakes gamble, and I was playing with fire.
"The way you stare at me," he said, his voice low, his gaze unwavering. He reached for a crystal shot glass filled with amber liquid; the clink of glass against glass sharply interrupted the silence. "It's as if I'm committing some heinous crime."
His casual wine-sipping, blatant disregard for propriety, the subtle challenge in his eyes—it all screamed controlled arrogance. He was with his student, yet drinking alcohol. A blatant disregard for protocol, a calculated display of power.
"You know what, mister? I don't understand you," I said, my voice sharp, my tone deliberately provocative. I stabbed a piece of food, the metallic glint mirroring my growing unease. "This situation is… inappropriate. I'm your student. Twenty—," I cleared my throat, stopping before revealing too much. "Twenty years old, and I'm not looking for a boyfriend, especially not my teacher."
My gaze locked onto his, challenging him to deny the unspoken implications. His brow furrowed, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He lowered his utensils, covering his face with his hand, before erupting into laughter. A loud, unrestrained laugh that felt like a slap in the face.
A blush crept onto my cheeks, fueled by anger and mortification. "Is there something wrong with what I said?" I asked, my voice tight with barely controlled irritation.
His laughter subsided, replaced by a thoughtful gaze, his lips curved into a smirk. Was this a new tactic? Was he trying to disarm me with charm, to lull me into a false sense of security?
He cleared his throat. "Damn, you have a vivid imagination, Asher. I know how old you are; I've seen your student records. And by the way, I'm a twenty-seven-year-old, handsome, and hot-as-hell man." The way he delivered the curse word, the casual way he owned his attractiveness, sent a shiver down my spine. There was a dangerous allure to his confidence, a raw, untamed energy that was both intimidating and strangely captivating.
He chuckled softly. "Age doesn't matter when it comes to love, though—but seriously, this isn't about that, Asher."
My frown deepened. "Then what?"
He leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand, his eyes studying me intently. A sweet, almost hesitant smile played on his lips. "I'm not doing this as some kind of a pickup attempt. Men have different tastes, and I'm not into minors."
The words hung in the air, a subtle shift in the dynamic. We were only three years apart. The absurd thought sent a fresh wave of heat to my cheeks. This was unsettling, this unexpected vulnerability. This wasn't the cold, calculating man I'd expected.
He sat up straighter, his gaze unwavering. "I asked you out tonight as an apology for what happened in class. I felt guilty about forcing you to share your story. I should have been more considerate, more aware. I didn't realize…" He rubbed his ear, a gesture of self-deprecation. "I assumed you were from a privileged background, given your command of English."
"So… I'm really sorry. I should have considered your feelings first."
A strange wave of… disappointment washed over me. It wasn't the anger or suspicion I'd expected. This… vulnerability was unexpected, a crack in the carefully constructed facade of the man I was supposed to be observing.
I offered a hesitant laugh. "It's okay, mister. I'm not ashamed of my background. And it's a lesson for you—it's not just the upper class who can handle international languages. We, from the lower classes, can do it too."
"Or maybe it's just me? Well, can't help it; I'm one of a kind," I added, a touch of defiance in my voice.
We both laughed, the sound genuine and surprisingly warm. It was a moment of unexpected connection, a brief respite from the simmering tension. It was a stark reminder that beneath deception and manipulation, there was still a human being, capable of both inflicting and receiving kindness.
"Stop calling me weird nicknames," he said, a smile playing on his lips.
I raised an eyebrow. "Like Vhon? That's awkward; you're my teacher."
He laughed again, a low, throaty sound. "Sir Vhon, if you're talking to me as your teacher. Vhon, if you're talking to your good-looking, hot-as-hell neighbor." His raspy voice and the casual curse sent a fresh wave of heat to my cheeks.
"You have no filter. You actually curse in front of your student? You even called my ass nice! Oh my God, I should really call the FBI," I said, feigning outrage. He laughed again, a genuine, unrestrained laugh that somehow managed to disarm me further.
But beneath the surface, the unease remained. The nervousness, the apprehension, the knowledge that this mission was far from over. HQ would only accept one outcome: Vhon Xandreus Darwish in custody.
"Holy moly, I didn't know you were that kind of teacher, Darwish."
The interruption came from a deep voice, a figure emerging from the shadows near our table. Vhon's demeanor shifted instantly, the playful facade melting away, replaced by a chilling stillness. My instincts screamed danger.
I looked up, my gaze meeting the newcomer's. He was tall, clad in a simple black hoodie and cargo shorts, a lollipop casually held in his mouth. His grin was wide, almost predatory, as he took in the scene before him.
"Dalius," Vhon said, his voice low and devoid of warmth.
Dalius discarded the lollipop, his smile widening. He approached Vhon, extending a hand in greeting. The casual exchange masked an underlying tension, a silent communication between two men who clearly knew each other intimately, and not necessarily in a friendly way.
"Didn't expect to see you here," Vhon said, his voice betraying none of the undercurrents of tension.
Dalius grinned. "Same here, Buddy." His gaze shifted to me, a playful glint in his eyes. "You're crazy, taking your student on a date—and complimenting her ass?" He shook his head, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest before he turned back to Vhon. "You're insane."
Vhon chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. "Says the one who stalks his woman."
Dalius raised a middle finger at Vhon before sauntering away. "Careful, fucker," he called over his shoulder.
I stared at Vhon, his gaze intense, assessing.
"You don't seem like just another rich guy, you know? You're friends with a famous Hollywood action star," I said, a mixture of sarcasm and genuine surprise in my voice.
His brow furrowed. "You know him?"
"Why wouldn't I? He's a famous action star, Vhon. I've seen a few of his movies—all top-tier," I said, finishing my meal.
He remained silent, his gaze unwavering, until I finished eating. When our eyes met, he bit his lip, a subtle gesture that spoke volumes.
"My name sounds pretty good coming from you," he murmured, his voice low and husky.
I shook my head, a smile playing on my lips despite my apprehension. "I don't know, you might actually be crazy," I said, hiding the growing unease beneath a carefully constructed facade of nonchalance.
The truth was, I was losing my grip on reality. Less than a week, and my mission's objective was blurring. This wasn't just about capturing Vhon Xandreus Darwish; it was about something far more complex, something far more dangerous.
I couldn't afford to fail. The outcome of this mission would determine my future, my very existence.
—
Night had fallen by the time we returned to the Diamond Chateau. Kuya John was still patrolling outside. My body felt heavy with exhaustion.
I glanced at Vhon beside me. Even with sleepy eyes, he exuded a quiet intensity. Driving that Ducati had to have taken a toll.
"Thank you," I said as we approached the top floor.
I looked at him, stopping dead as his expression shifted. His gray eyes were cold, dark, dangerous. This was different from the playful intensity I'd seen before. This was something else entirely.
This was why HQ wanted me to watch this man. He was far more dangerous than I could have ever imagined.
We both snapped out of our silent assessment as the elevator doors opened. Our eyes met, and he looked away.
I stepped out of the elevator and walked directly to my apartment. My heart was pounding, not from fear, but from a suffocating sense of unease. I wanted to put distance between us, to escape the intensity of his presence.
Was this an instinctive response to danger?
I was a few steps from my door when I felt Vhon's hand on my arm. I flinched, startled. When I looked at him, relief washed over me. His expression was calm, almost pleasant.
"Are you alright? You're walking pretty fast," he said.
I sighed, offering a gentle smile. "I'm just really tired, Vhon. I want to get to bed." Another lie. But it was a necessary one.
He stared at me for a moment before releasing my arm. "Alright. Good night... Asher."
"Good night, Vhon," I replied, my voice betraying none of the turmoil within.
We walked our separate ways, our apartments opposite each other. I didn't look back as I opened my door and entered, the silence of my apartment a stark contrast to the storm raging inside.
I leaned against the door, my hand pressed to my chest, my heart still pounding. I didn't understand my own emotions. I was lost, adrift in a sea of conflicting feelings.
I reached for the earpiece hidden beneath my necklace. I needed to talk to someone. I needed help.
The familiar crackle of static filled my ear. Xyria's voice, tight with concern, cut through the silence. ["Please tell me this is important. It's midnight, Domi!"]
"Xy, help me," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I think I'm going crazy." The raw emotion in my voice was undeniable.
Xyria sighed. ["This is why I asked you before you moved in. I asked if you could handle it, but it seems you can't."]
My lips trembled. "I don't know. I felt so many emotions, then when I saw how cold his eyes were… my heart started pounding—I'm hyperventilating again. I'm afraid! He… he reminds me of him… of them."
["Calm down, Domi. That won't happen again. He's gone. They're gone. That woman has no control over you anymore. So, let me ask you this one last time, not as your squad leader—but as your friend."]
A long silence hung between us. The weight of Xyria's words settled heavily on my shoulders. I thought I was okay, that I'd moved past the trauma. But I was wrong. The events of the evening, the unsettling encounter with Vhon, had ripped open old wounds, dredging up buried fears and insecurities.
I took a deep breath, staring at the floor. I couldn't give up this mission. I couldn't go back to that life. That wasn't me.
And I knew what I had to do.
I had to finish this, and I had to finish it quickly.
—
The next morning, a throbbing headache greeted me. I skipped breakfast, showering and dressing quickly, already late.
I caught a jeep to school, the familiar route a small comfort in the face of the growing unease.
It was 8 a.m. when I reached the school gates—and found them locked. A frustrated curse slipped past my lips. Of course. This was just another layer of complication.
I knocked loudly, the sharp sound echoing in the morning stillness. My headache intensified, a physical manifestation of my mounting frustration.
A soft chuckle interrupted my frustrated pounding. I spun around, my hand instinctively moving to the small, but deadly knife hidden in my boot. The man's approach had been silent, a chilling testament to his skills. He was dangerous.
He watched as I glared at the gate. "They're not opening anymore. You're late. Don't you know the rules?"
I exhaled, rolling my eyes. "Is that obvious? Would I be here if I did?"
He laughed, a low, amused sound. "Wanna grab some breakfast at the mall instead?"
I laughed, a mixture of disbelief and irritation. "I don't even know you," I said, my tone sharp.
His grin widened. "Perseus at your service, madamè."