Semua Bab The Full Moon Verdict: Bab 11 - Bab 20

The moment the cartel came into play, the rules changed.Ethan leaned over the large glass table in the center of his study, fingers spread across the surface like he was mapping out a war campaign.Shadows from the city skyline fractured across the table’s reflective surface, splicing his hands into broken shards of strategy. The study itself was quiet, insulated from the thrum of the metropolis, but Anna could feel the hum of danger in the air as tangibly as static before a lightning strike.Anna stood at the window behind him, watching the sunrise claw its way up the city skyline like a warning flare.The light wasn’t soft—it was jagged, slicing between the high-rises, painting the glass in violent streaks of crimson. A day being born, not peacefully, but like a scar reopening."We don’t handle them like Kellerman," Ethan said finally.Anna didn’t turn around. "Because they’re more dangerous?""Because they’re more adaptable." He straightened and faced her.For a fleeting moment, t

A faint click echoed from the hallway.A shadow moved past the far door. Ethan’s eyes flicked up, alert.Not Anna.She hadn’t moved from her position on the sofa, fast asleep.His hand slid under the console, brushing the grip of the gun tucked in its holster—But then he stopped.Not out of fear.But recognition.The kind of recognition that coils in the gut before the mind can name it. The sound didn’t belong here. It wasn’t a settling pipe or the groan of an old building. This place was too sterile, too meticulously maintained for ghosts. Which meant whatever he had heard—it was alive. Intentional.Something wasn’t right. The hallway light hadn’t triggered. The door hadn’t opened. But the click—the sound of weight shifting on the far wood paneling—was real.He knew this building. This floor. This room had no rats. No creaky pipes. Nothing moved without a reason.And that sound hadn’t come from the building.It had come from someone.Ethan stayed still for another breath. Then anoth

Anna ran like the wind. Faster. Harder. As if sheer speed could outrun the thoughts clawing through her skull. The trees blurred past her, branches whipping by like ghost fingers. Her paws pounded the forest floor, each stride a violent rejection of the fire inside her chest—the one that burned every time Ethan looked at her like she was more than vengeance. More than fury. More than the mission.Her muscles screamed, but she drove them harder. The sting of earth and root underfoot, the raw slap of wind against her muzzle—it wasn’t pain, it was absolution. She wanted the forest to tear her open, to strip her down to bone, anything to shake loose the feelings she refused to name.She hated it. Hated him for being kind. For remembering how she took her coffee. For giving her space when she snapped, and silence when she needed to scream.The kindness was unbearable. She could survive his cruelty—had survived worse. But kindness? That was a knife. A weakness she could not armor against

The gala pulsed with affluence.Chandeliers shimmered overhead, bathing the vast hall in a golden, deceitful glow. Strings hummed from a live quartet in the corner. The clink of glasses, the lull of laughter, the perfume of money and secrets hung thick in the air. Everything about the night screamed opulence—a perfect smokescreen.It was the kind of wealth that pretended to be timeless: marble polished to a false eternity, crystal decanters catching the light as though they were worth more than blood. Waiters in white gloves circulated with champagne flutes that cost more per bottle than a working man’s monthly wage. Politicians and financiers laughed in low tones, as if their amusement itself were a currency to be traded. Beneath the music, beneath the perfume, there was the throb of power—corrupt, steady, invisible.Anna floated in like she belonged there.The red-tied man at her side guided her through the entrance as if she were a guest of honor. Her smile was practiced elegance.

The last fifteen minutes were theater. Anna finished the shift the way she started it—precise, invisible, composed. She bussed empties to the scullery, refilled coffee urns without being asked, and signed the staff out-sheet with a steady hand. In the service drive, she helped the caterers load crates—polished silver muffled in felt, racks of glasses caged in plastic, leftovers sealed and labeled. She laughed once at a driver’s bad joke because people who are fine laugh at bad jokes. She returned her vest, kept the cheap hairnet, and thanked the floor captain by name. When the last dolly rattled up the ramp, she shouldered a crate that wasn’t hers, set it exactly where it was supposed to go, and walked with the crew to the side gate like a woman whose night was over and whose life was ordinary.Across the front of the mansion, Ethan did his part of the vanishing act. He let himself be seen leaving with two donors he’d endured for twelve strategic minutes, accepted a handshake he wante