CHAPTER 5: The Snake's Shadow

That morning, I intended to head to the library downstairs to find some peace. However, I froze at the top of the stairs when I saw a line of black SUVs parked in front of the lobby. The doors flew open, and several men stepped out wearing suits that were far too sharp for a casual visit.

Perfect. The guests had arrived while Mommy was out of the house. Had they forgotten I was here, or did they simply not care?

I hid behind a pillar on the second floor, peering down into the vast living room below. Victor and Adrian stood there, welcoming the guests. The atmosphere was so rigid that the very air seemed to freeze.

"The supplies at pier four have been secured," said one of the strangers, a man with a jagged scar stretching across his cheek. His voice was heavy and commanding. "But the Serpent’s Blade is starting to move in the gray zones. They’re looking for a gap in the last shipment."

"They won’t find anything but an open grave if they dare cross the line," Adrian countered. His voice sounded profoundly authoritative, a world away from the cold tone he usually reserved for me.

"We need a guarantee, Victor." The scarred man turned to my stepfather. "This deal involves too many parties. If there’s a single leak, the entire network collapses."

"The guarantee is in progress," Victor replied calmly, puffing on his cigar. "Adrian is handling the unexpected variables."

I furrowed my brows. Variables? Were they talking about the incident at the campus the other day? Or were they referring to me?

Suddenly, one of the men standing in the back row—a young man with pale blonde hair and piercingly light eyes—looked up. His gaze locked instantly onto my position behind the pillar. My heart dropped. I was certain I had hidden well enough, but his eyes seemed to pierce right through the concrete.

He didn't make a sound, nor did he alert the others. However, he continued to watch me with a terrifying intensity. His gaze wasn't cold like Adrian’s; instead, it was filled with an unexplainable hunger. A faint, almost invisible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips when he realized I was eavesdropping.

Fear seized me. I immediately backed away from the pillar and scrambled back to my room, my heart hammering against my ribs. Just as I was about to slam the door shut, a powerful hand caught it.

I gasped and nearly shrieked, but a hand quickly clamped over my mouth.

"I told you to keep your ears closed, Little Duck," a familiar voice hissed.

Adrian pulled me into the room and shut the door with a quiet thud. He looked furious; his jaw was set so hard the muscles bulged.

"Who was that blonde man? He saw me, Adrian!" I whispered with a trembling voice as he released his grip.

Adrian gripped my shoulders, his gaze burning into mine. "His name is Marco. And you just made a fatal mistake by letting him see your terrified face."

"It wasn't on purpose! I just wanted to go to the library—"

"Listen to me," Adrian cut me off, his voice softening but laden with urgent menace. "Marco is far more dangerous than the man I killed the other day."

I swallowed hard, a chill crawling from my feet to the top of my head. "B-but isn't he on your side?"

"In this world, there is no one you can trust," Adrian said.

"Yes, including you," I shot back instinctively.

He chuckled, but it wasn't out of amusement; it was out of irritation. "Listen, Little Duck. If you see a fleet of cars in front of the house again, don't you dare come downstairs. Understand?" he emphasized.

"You and your father... are you doing dirty business?" I asked, unable to suppress my curiosity any longer.

Adrian fell silent. My question seemed to freeze the air between us. His dark eyes stared straight through me, so deeply that I felt as if he were weighing whether my tongue needed to be cut out to keep the secret safe.

He stepped forward, forcing me back until the back of my knees hit the edge of the bed. Adrian leaned over, bracing his hands on the mattress, trapping me in a narrow space filled with the scent of his coffee-laden breath.

"Dirty business?" he repeated dismissively. "Dirty or clean is just a matter of perspective, Little Duck. To your mother, this is the business that provides her with silk dresses, diamonds, and a guaranteed life of luxury. To our enemies, it's a business soaked in blood. And to me..."

He paused, his face now only inches from mine.

"...it’s something enjoyable."

"Enjoyable? You psychopath, you actually enjoy killing people!" I spoke the truth, but he only laughed.

"Are you afraid of me, Little Duck?" he asked, crowding me further until our fronts were touching. My heart beat so fast it felt like it wanted to jump out of my chest.

"I'm not afraid," I whispered, though my trembling voice betrayed my words.

Adrian didn't pull away. Instead, he pressed his body even tighter against mine, making me feel the hardness of his chest muscles and his heartbeat—which was strangely calm and steady, the polar opposite of my wild pulse. This forced intimacy was suffocating yet felt like it was scorching my skin.

"Liar," he hissed. His hand crept up, his long fingers stroking my jaw with a painful gentleness. "Your heart is thumping like a trapped little duck. You're scared to death, yet your eyes always watch me as if they want to strip me bare with all those questions."

"Let me go, Adrian," I said, trying to push against his shoulders, but my strength was no match for his solid frame.

"Listen," he whispered the word right against my lips, his warm breath fanning over my face. "If you think I’m a psychopath just because I pulled a trigger to protect you, then you haven't seen what’s truly terrifying."

"What?" I asked, curiosity warring with my fear and the rush of adrenaline.

"Watching the person you love most be murdered in the most agonizing way possible," he said. "Watching them be tortured before they're killed, forced to serve those bastards while every inch of their skin is flayed with a small blade, as if they were nothing more than an animal. Seeing the blood flow so heavily it soaks your feet—"

"Stop it!" I covered his mouth with both hands. His words were horrifying and grotesque. "I would rather not hear it."

Adrian allowed my hands to muffle him. He didn't resist, nor did he laugh. Instead, his eyes flashed, reflecting the image of a girl who looked broken and terrified. Slowly, he reached for my wrists, forcing my hands down from his face, but he kept my fingers locked in his searing grip.

"That wasn't just a story, Little Duck," he whispered, his voice dropping into a raspy, sharp tone that pierced my ears. "That is what I saw with my own eyes in this very house when I was ten years old."

I froze. My breath caught in my throat. A crushing weight in my chest suddenly replaced the hate and disgust that had been overflowing moments ago.

***