The Heavenly Demon of Terror Chapter 9: The Private Detective

I sat on the edge of my bed, deep in thought. If I was going to find a job, it had to be sothing that allowed freedom—both physically and ntally. Sothing that wouldn't tie down but would also give access to certain places without question.

Then it hit . A private detective.

It was perfect. It would let move freely, investigate things at my own pace, and most importantly, stay away from the suffocating walls of this villa.

Just as I was mulling over the idea, the door burst open. Abigail stood there, her expression a mix of anger and desperation.

"Samuel, you are not allowed to take any job."

I raised an eyebrow, amused at her possessiveness. "Oh? And why is that?"

She took a step closer, arms folded tightly. "You have everything you need here. Am I not giving you enough? Money, a ho—"

I cut her off with a chuckle, shaking my head. "It's not about what you're giving or not, Abigail." I stood up and faced her, my gaze steady. "I'm already receiving more than enough depression from being caged here. I think I need so space."

Her eyes widened slightly at my words. "You—You make it sound like I'm imprisoning you."

I smirked. "Aren't you?"

She flinched but quickly masked it with irritation. "Samuel, don't be ridiculous. Why do you even want to work? You don't need to. You're my husband."

I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. "And that title alone is supposed to keep satisfied? You forced to quit my job just so you could parade around as your perfect little househusband while you humiliated ."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "I—"

I didn't give her a chance to speak. "I'm done living like that. I need sothing for myself. And I've already decided—I'm going to be a private detective."

Abigail's eyes widened in shock. "A detective?! Why? What's even the point?"

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. "Because it lets roam freely. It lets do what I want, where I want."

Her hands trembled at her sides. "You're doing this just to get back at , aren't you?"

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "No, Abigail. This has nothing to do with you. I just refuse to be your caged pet any longer."

She clenched her fists. "I won't allow it."

I t her gaze, my smirk unwavering. "Then stop ."

Silence hung between us. Abigail's lips parted, but no words ca out. For the first ti, she had no control over —and she knew it.

I turned away from her, already planning my next move. "I'll be leaving tomorrow. Find sothing else to entertain yourself with."

As I expected, she didn't say a word. She just stood there, watching, as the man she once controlled walked away from her grasp.

The next morning, I left the villa without looking back. I could still feel Abigail's burning gaze on as I walked out, but I ignored it. Today, I had a purpose.

I needed to find a detective agency that would hire .

As I strolled through the bustling streets of the city, I scanned the buildings, searching for sothing that fit the job I was looking for. The air was crisp, the city alive with people rushing to work, but I took my ti, observing everything.

After a while, I spotted a modest yet professional-looking signboard:

Blackhawk Investigations – Discretion, Precision, Results.

A smirk tugged at my lips. Sounds promising.

I pushed open the glass door, the small bell above it chiming. The interior was dimly lit, giving off an old-school noir vibe. Dark wooden furniture, scattered case files, and the faint sll of coffee filled the air. A few detectives sat at their desks, flipping through reports or talking on the phone.

At the front desk sat a sharp-eyed woman, her dark brown hair tied into a ponytail. She looked up from her paperwork and eyed skeptically. "Can I help you?"

I stepped forward confidently. "I'm looking for a job. I want to work as a private detective."

She blinked before laughing. "You? A detective?" She gave a once-over. "You don't look like the type. What's your experience?"

I smirked. "Experience? Let's just say I have a talent for finding things—and people."

Before she could respond, a deep voice ca from the back. "Let him through."

I turned to see a middle-aged man, probably in his late 40s, wearing a long coat and a fedora. He had a cigarette between his fingers, and his sharp gray eyes studied with interest.

The woman sighed. "Your call, boss."

I followed him into a more private office. He gestured for to sit before taking a drag from his cigarette. "Na?"

"Samuel Gebb."

He exhaled a puff of smoke. "So, Samuel, why do you want to be a detective?"

I leaned back in my chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Freedom. I want a job that lets go wherever I want, whenever I want."

He chuckled. "Honest. I like that. But you do realize detective work isn't just running around playing hero, right? It's tough, dirty work. And it takes skill. What can you offer?"

I smirked. "Let's just say I have instincts sharper than most. I notice things others don't. Give a test if you don't believe ."

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Then, he reached into his drawer and pulled out a file. "Alright. A woman hired us to track her missing brother. No leads, no last-known location. What do you think?"

I flipped through the file, scanning the details. Then, I noticed a small, seemingly insignificant note about the last place he used his bank card. "You didn't check the gas station cara near his last transaction?"

The boss narrowed his eyes. "We did. The footage was deleted."

I chuckled. "Deleted doesn't an gone. Caras store residual data. I can retrieve it."

The man leaned forward, clearly impressed. "You can hack security systems?"

I smirked. "I can do a lot of things."

There was a long pause. Then, he snuffed out his cigarette and stood. "Alright, kid. You're hired. But screw up, and you're out."

I grinned, standing up. "Deal."

As I walked out of his office, the receptionist looked at in shock. "You actually got the job?"

I winked at her. "Guess I do look like the type after all."

With that, I left, ready for whatever ca next.