There were monts Ray felt like he was in a strange, protective bubble, surrounded by walls he couldn’t see but could sense all around him. While he would never say it aloud, he knew this was their way of wrapping him in their strength, forming a silent barrier between him and the dangers outside. His family was guarding secrets, yes, but he also knew that every secret they kept, every shadow they blocked, was for him and the fragile life growing within him.
Ray sighed, settling into this new rhythm, grateful yet knowing that this vigilance would only heighten as the days passed.
After that day, the attacks on Es beca relentless, each more precise and deadly than the last. Her opponents were professionals, moving with chilling expertise. She had faced many battles, but this was different—a constant onslaught that demanded everything she had just to survive. There were days when she erged unscathed only by pushing her abilities to their limits, moving with inhuman agility, reacting with instincts sharpened by years of training. Other tis, sheer grit and willpower got her through, though she often paid the price in pain and wounds that would take days to heal.
But no matter how dire the fight, Es had one unyielding rule: her face must remain untouched. She knew that every bruise, every scar on her body could be concealed, hidden beneath clothes or bandages. But her face was the part of her she couldn’t disguise, the one thing that, if marred, would raise questions she couldn’t afford. So, even in the thick of combat, she guarded it fiercely, dodging and blocking attacks with an almost unnatural precision to keep it intact.
Yet, the cost was high. A bullet grazed her shoulder one evening, cutting so close she felt the burn deep into her bone. Another ti, she twisted just in ti to avoid a blade aid at her face, only for it to slice across her arm, leaving a deep, bleeding gash. And one day, in a narrow alleyway, she wasn’t quick enough—an iron rod was thrust toward her chest, missing her heart by re inches. She staggered back, feeling the shock of tal in her ribs, her breath catching from the pain.
Despite it all, Es never let the pain show. Every ti, she returned ho like nothing had happened, covering her injuries with a stoic facade and impeccable composure. Only Kai ever seed to notice the subtle stiffness in her movents, the slight winces she hid when she thought no one was looking. His gaze would et hers, filled with quiet understanding and a respect that went unspoken. In those monts, she’d give him a nod, her silent assurance that she could handle it.
Through each brutal encounter, Es adapted, becoming sharper, colder. She knew she couldn’t afford weakness. The more her enemies pushed, the more they revealed how desperately they wanted her gone—and how close they were willing to co to achieve it. Yet, with every wound and every narrow escape, she only grew more determined. The stakes were too high, and failure was not an option.
As much as the enemy was watching and analyzing her, Es was doing the sa, piecing together the patterns in these relentless attacks. From what she had gathered, two things were clear. First, this person had an astonishing amount of resources to consistently hire such high-caliber professionals. Secondly, they knew her routines with an unsettling accuracy. It was as if they had access to her daily schedule, anticipating her every move—or so it seed.
Yet, Es noticed a curious detail: they were missing the finer points of her life. They didn’t seem aware of her private routines, the subtle adjustnts she made each day. They weren’t tracking her coffeehouse visits or her small, sporadic errands. This led her to an unsettling conclusion—they weren’t actively following her. They had insider knowledge, perhaps even soone on the inside providing information, yet they lacked the full picture.
anwhile, there hadn’t been any attacks on Aron brothers, almost as if her enemies were deliberately avoiding them. And if threats did co close, Aron brothers’ bodyguards handled them so discreetly that no harm ever ca near.
As she mulled over these connections, a flash of realization crossed Es’s face. She leaned back in her office chair, pressing a bell on her desk with decisive intent. Within monts, her new secretary entered, his posture poised and professional. Es smiled, keeping her tone casual yet probing.
"Hello, Mr. Alfango," she greeted smoothly.
The secretary—Mr. Alfango, as she rembered from his resu—returned her smile. "Yes, ma’am."
Es’s gaze lingered on him thoughtfully. "I reviewed your resu earlier, Mr. Alfango. From what I read, not only have you been with the company for eight years, but your work has been... impeccable."
There was the faintest flicker in his expression, a mont’s hesitation before he replied. "Thank you, ma’am. I do my best."
"Yes, ma’am," he replied smoothly, a practiced smile tugging at his lips. Es studied him for a mont, her fingers drumming on the file before her.
"Of course, Mr. Alfanzo. Eight years, if I’m not mistaken?" She tilted her head, scrutinizing him with a gaze that seed to dig beneath the surface. "And if my mory serves, that would an my mother-in-law hired you?"
"Yes, ma’am," he nodded, unwavering. "She did."
"And here you are—a r, of all things—employed by soone with such a reputation. That’s... rare," she mused, each word asured, her eyes sharp as they watched him.
"It’s an honor, ma’am," he replied, his tone respectful, but Es could sense sothing just beneath his composed facade—a flicker of tension, perhaps.
Every word he chose was controlled, like a servant too well-trained to let anything slip. His humility, as polished as a gemstone, was the kind she had learned not to trust at face value.
"Mr. Alphonso," she began, her voice dropping to a smooth, almost playful tone, "do you know your na is also a mango variety?"
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