All Chapters of The Devil's Game: Chapter 151 - Chapter 160

“Lisbeth.” His voice was amused, smooth as oil and just as filthy. “Well, damn. You’re alive.”She stared him down, unmoved. “Disappointed?”“Frankly, yes.” Boris gestured to the cars. “You’ve been leading us on a fine chase, sweetheart. Thought you might’ve gotten smart and gone to ground. But here you are—parked in a dead end, all alone.”Her hand tightened around the duffel strap. “Funny. I thought you and your boys had better things to do than tail a ‘dead woman.’”“She’s got spunk,” one of the men chuckled.“She’s got a death wish,” another muttered.But Boris raised a hand, silencing them. His eyes were gleaming now, catching the low light like a predator’s. “Now, now. I didn’t come here to play games. I came to deliver a warning.”“Oh, how noble,” Lisbeth sneered. “Does this warning come with candy and a bedtime story?”Boris smiled tightly. “Stay out of this. Out of Lucian’s business. Out of Benedict’s business. Out of Ayra’s damn business. This isn’t your war.”Her eyes flashe

Sunlight streamed in through the gauzy curtains painting golden lines across the creaky floorboards of the old house. Dust motes danced in the light like lazy spirits, and outside, the air was crisp with the scent of pine and wet soil. Ayra stretched on the battered couch, blinking against the morning light, while Lucian shuffled back into the room, balancing two mugs of steaming tea.“Still feels weird,” she murmured, taking hers. “Waking up and not needing to check encrypted lines or plan a counter-surveillance route.”Lucian chuckled, brushing a kiss against the crown of her head before settling beside her. “Let it feel weird. Weird is good. Weird is quiet.”They sipped in silence, leaning into the pause that neither of them had known they needed.---By noon, they'd started cleaning in earnest. The house—an old countryside property Ayra’s mother had once purchased under an alias—wasn’t exactly in disrepair, but it had sat untouched for years. Cobwebs claimed the corners. Dust coa

The early morning had passed in silence, with Ayra and Lucian moving around each other in companionable quiet as they got ready. There was no need to speak. The comfort between them was becoming habitual, like a well-worn rhythm rediscovered after a long pause.Lucian locked the front door behind them and offered his arm as they strolled the few winding blocks toward the café they’d seen yesterday. Ayra slipped her hand through his without hesitation, her fingers cold from the morning breeze. He rubbed her knuckles absently with his thumb.The town, with its cozy rhythm and familiar faces, was slowly becoming something more than a hiding place. Its cobbled sidewalks and mossy corners seemed untouched by time. Here, life moved slower, deliberately. They didn’t stand out anymore. Or at least, that’s what they told themselves.The café stood on the corner of a sleepy street, its sign swinging lazily with the breeze. Ivy crept along its wooden trim, and the scent of roasted beans and pastr

The sun filtered lazily through the curtains, casting golden slants across the small living room floor. Ayra stood near the counter, struggling to fit the slightly too-large photo into the cheap frame she’d picked up earlier that morning from a local thrift stall. It was plastic, a bit scratched at the edges, with faux wood texture, but she didn’t care. The picture mattered more.It was one Lucian hadn’t even noticed being taken—a quiet moment from last week, during their walk back from the bakery. They’d paused beside an apple stand.Lucian had been laughing at something she'd said, caught mid-smile, and Ayra had been gazing up at him with a genuine softness she hadn’t realized had shown through. A passerby had offered to snap a photo for them, mistaking them for newlyweds.Ayra hadn’t corrected the assumption.She slid the back panel into place and set it on the corner of the living room shelf, between the chipped ceramic vase Lucian had found at the garage and the stack of letters

Ayra woke to the slow drag of breath against the back of her neck.For a moment she thought she was dreaming—still caught in the warm, unhurried haze of last night—but then Lucian’s arm shifted against her waist. His palm was flat against her stomach, fingers splayed in a way that felt both protective and deliberate. The heat of him was right there, pressed along the entire line of her body.Her mind was sluggish, but her senses weren’t. The quiet weight of him behind her. The faint rasp of stubble against her temple when he moved his head. The slow, steady pressure of his thigh shifting between hers.It took her only another second to realise—this wasn’t just idle closeness.“Lucian,” she murmured, half-asleep, half-alert.He didn’t stop, but he didn’t push it further either. His breath warmed the shell of her ear.“Morning,” he said lowly, voice gravelled from sleep.Her pulse had already started its traitorous climb. They’d skirted the edge of this too many times—little looks, acci