All Chapters of Shadows of Silk & Steel: A Billionaire's Secret, A Bodyguar: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

The adrenaline that had carried Anton through the door-shattering rescue and the raw, seismic confession had ebbed, leaving behind a cold, granular fear. It settled in his joints, in the pit of his stomach, a constant, low hum of dread. The suite at Le Repos de l'Ombre, once a mirage of safety, now felt like a gilded trap. Every window was a potential eye, every silence a held breath before the shot.Sabe was on his feet, moving with a stiff, efficient grace that couldn't quite hide the pain in his shoulder. He had shrugged on a fresh, dark sweater from his go-bag, the bulk of the bandage hidden beneath the fabric. The bloodstained jacket was stuffed into a trash bag, a ghost of the recent violence to be disposed of elsewhere."We can't stay," Sabe said, his voice low. He was at the window, not looking out, but standing to the side, peering through the narrow gap in the heavy curtains. The city lights painted a sharp line down his profile. "They knew where to find me. It's a short lea

The deep, resonant silence of the lakeside night was a living thing. It was punctuated only by the gentle, rhythmic lap of water against the pilings below and the occasional creak of the old wooden building settling into its foundations. But for Sabatine Stalker, the only sound that existed in the entire universe was the soft, uneven rhythm of Anton’s breathing, mere inches away.He lay rigid on his back, staring into the darkness, hyper-aware of every point of contact. The warmth of Anton’s hand, still laced with his, was a brand. The faint dip in the mattress between them felt like a gravitational pull, a force he had to consciously fight against with every fiber of his being. The shared body heat under the thick wool blanket was building a small, perilous country where only the two of them existed.He had spent a lifetime training himself to be a creature of observation. To notice the flicker of a curtain in a distant window, the slight bulge of a concealed weapon, the micro-expres

The safehouse felt different after the Interpol alert. The four walls that were once just a refuge from the cold felt like the boundaries of a cage, and the bars were digital, tightening with each passing minute. Sabe had spent the morning like a caged wolf, systematically destroying the burner phone and running counter-surveillance sweeps on the apartment's single ancient landline. The world was officially hostile territory.Anton, by contrast, had grown still. The first fury had cooled to a focused, glacial calm. He stood by the window, looking out as a lone swan cut across the steel-grey surface of the lake. His mind was not on the water, but on the intricate map of power and obligation that was his birthright.“Evelyn has the high ground in the digital space,” he said, his voice cutting through the tense silence. “She can create ghosts in the machine. But she’s forgotten about the real world. About favors owed.”Sabe looked up from where he was meticulously cleaning his pistol, a

The fragile peace born of shared coffee and confessions shattered when Sabe's eyes fixed on the lacquered chest. Its sudden presence in the corner of the safehouse was a silent screaming alarm. Someone had been inside their sanctuary. While they slept, while Sabe had memorized the rhythm of Anton's breath, an intruder had violated the space, leaving a Trojan horse in the shadows.The air thickened with a new sort of tension, colder even than the lake air seeping through the old window frames. Sabe moved with a liquid, predator's silence, his injured shoulder forgotten. He circled the chest, his eyes missing nothing—the fine layer of dust on the floor around it was undisturbed, suggesting it had been placed with impossible care. No footprints, no drag-marks. A professional.Anton stood frozen by the table, the last of the coffee's warmth leaching from his hands. "Is it…?"“A message,” Sabe finished, his voice a low rasp. He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The Interpol alert had be

The walk back to the safehouse was a procession of ghosts. The image of the courier’s silent collapse played on a loop behind Anton’s eyes, a grim cinema in the dark. The room, when they reached it, was no longer a sanctuary but a trap waiting to be sprung, still haunted by the phantom presence of the suitcase.Sabe was a coiled spring by the window, his attention no longer on the distant villa but on the immediate, silent streets of their own neighborhood. “He was here. In this room. He could be anywhere.”“The killer?” Anton asked, the word feeling too crude for the ghost they’d seen.“Or his employer. They’re pruning the operation.” Sabe’s voice was low, analytical, but a new tension vibrated beneath it. “Marcus is a liability now. He’s panicked. Panicked people make mistakes, talk to the wrong people. They’ll move on him soon.”He turned from the window, his decision made. “We can’t wait for the villa. We need to find Marcus. Now. He won’t be at his usual haunts; he’ll be scared,