Hanging up David's call, my fingers tremble slightly as I dial Lyra's number, heart already quickening in anticipation of her voice.

  She's with someone. A woman—I can sense it in the hushed pause before she answers. She's always with someone else. The realization spreads through me like watercolor on silk, bleeding into familiar patterns of longing and jealousy.

  I close my eyes. Her touch floods my memory—exquisite, electric, singular. No one else could ever make me feel the way she does. And yet she gives that magic to others, again and again. The thought of her lavishing such intimate attention on another woman sends a bittersweet ache flowering through my chest.

  She's already aware of Erjuan's situation. I can hear the conflict in her voice.

  "Can we turn her?" she asks softly, her words wrapped in silk and shadow.

  Recruit her. Fold her into Lyra’s web. Another lady of the night, another whisper in our empire of sacred blood.

  "I doubt it. Everything I've learned suggests she's principled to a fault. Stubborn. And frankly, she lacks the... allure we typically require.”

  Lyra laughs, and the sound flows through the line like honey—warm, slow, dangerous. It melts something frozen inside me.

  “Allure is not a prerequisite,” she murmurs. “I like her fire. Her writing. That edge beneath the surface. And a media outlet in high tech? That could be useful. Very soon.”

  A weighted pause stretches between us before she continues, her voice dropping to a velvet whisper.

  “First, find out what’s really happening. An abduction in Shanghai? Your boss is involved. He always is.”

  "Understood." I end the call, already dreading my next one.

  Fuyang Zhao.

  The name itself feels like a stain on my tongue. Lord of Shanghai's criminal empire. Master of the Little Red Mansion. In our Republic, even crime bows to the Party. His tendrils reach deep into the police force, allowing his empire to flourish unchallenged.

  He loathes being disturbed, but for me—manager of his most prized asset—forbidden doors swing open without resistance.

  When he answers, his guttural moaning floods the line, punctuated by wet, obscene sounds.

  “Mengshu,” he croons, voice thick with indulgence. “If only they all had your gifts. The way you balance bliss and torment for a man…”

  His attempt at flirtation lands like a corpse.

  “I need information,” I cut in. “about Jun Lai.”

  He groans, irritated. "You're killing the moment. Finally found one with a tight little pussy—just thirteen. Mouth like a vacuum. Want to join us and see?"

  There. That's why I'll never respect him. None of us are saints, but there's a line even in our business. Zhao stomps over every line with blood-soaked boots, bowing only to power and profit.

  "Erjuan's husband? Is this your handiwork?"

  “You want me to help her?” His sneer slithers through the phone. “What would you do for me in return? I have no interest in that little bitch of a reporter.”

  I can almost see his smile—cruel, predatory, calculating, already weighing what he might extract from me.

  I’ve slept with him before. Pleased him with every trick Lyra taught me. But since I began managing the Little Red Mansion, we had an understanding. I make rain, not semen. I’m off-limits.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  "Not yet," I say coolly. "Just gathering intelligence. For a friend."

  "It's not me. Not my people." Irritation edges his voice. "Remember that charity gala? The fool called me a thug to my face. He didn't know who I was then. But I never forget insults."

  A dark chuckle escapes me. "He wasn't wrong."

  “He was. I’m not a thug—I’m the boss of thugs.” He laughs, then his tone shifts. “I wouldn't mind crushing his little party. But this came from Beijing, Director of Political Security Protection.”

  His voice hardens to ice. "Besides, business is business. I don’t move unless I’m paid.”

  "Hold on." I check the time: 10:45. "Let me ask if there's money.”

  I call Lyra.

  She listens, then she pauses.

  “This doesn’t add up,” she says. “If Jun paid big money to involve a Director from MPS, he’s not just covering up an abduction.”

  Every crime has a price. Every level of corruption has its cost.

  "And a retraction means nothing. Once her partner's free, she can tell the world why she backed down—to save him. It becomes an even bigger story, and her credibility only grows stronger.”

  "Unless..." The revelation crystallizes. "Unless they silence her permanently." I blurt out.

  "Exactly." Approval flows through Lyra's voice like dark honey. "Only dead women don’t talk."

  "And her retraction becomes her final act," I whisper, my voice barely carrying through the receiver. "Her last public statement.”

  “That's why they ask for ransom.” Lyra concludes with chilling certainty. “To lure her to an isolated location. And kill her."

  Silence stretches between us. Then Lyra speaks again.

  "This is becoming fascinating. I’ll save her. And her partner. But the price is high. I only pay that price for my own.”

  “They gave her a deadline. Eleven o’clock. They said they’ll kill him after that.” I glance at my watch. 10:49. Eleven minutes left.

  “They won’t,” Lyra says. “He’s the bait. She’s the target. But she doesn’t know that. Call her. Bring her to Beijing. I’ll handle the rest.”

  I call David.

  His voice is tight, anxious. “Can you help?”

  "Yes."

  His exhale ripples through the phone—a drowning man breaking surface.

  “Is Erjuan listening?”

  “Putting you on speaker.”

  “Who else is there?”

  “John Crawford.”

  The name registers instantly. Jianhua Xiao's man. Clearly Jianhua has chosen not to intervene; otherwise I wouldn't have been involved at all.

  Mentioning Lyra might change his calculation. But as I hesitate—

  "I can leave," John offers.

  "Stay. Erjuan, do you trust me?"

  Her pause speaks volumes before she answers, "Yes. I trust you, Mengshu. Thank you for... everything." Her voice tightropes between control and collapse.

  10:54. Six minutes left.

  "Your husband is okay," I begin, offering what comfort I can.

  "Partner," she corrects automatically.

  I nearly laugh—clinging to technicalities as her world implodes.

  "They won't kill him," I continue, cutting to brutal truth. "It's you they want dead."

  "Me? I interviewed him—wrote glowing articles—"

  "None of that matters. Have you forgotten how he was driven from Silver Mountain? When he reclaimed power, people lost more than jobs. They lost livelihoods. Lives." I strip away her illusions like bandages from wounds.

  Silence. I can almost feel frost forming on her spine.

  "Whatever happens, don't retract. That's signing your death warrant. Once you capitulate, they'll arrange an exchange—somewhere isolated, with you alone. That's when they'll strike."

  “What should I do? They said they’ll kill Chunting if I don’t.”

  Her voice steadies. The journalist returns.

  “First, give me their number. I’ll trace it.”

  "Already done," John interjects. "They're in Maqiao, likely in an abandoned warehouse. I have the cell tower coordinates.”

  “Good. Verify it again when they call.”

  I check the time. 10:57. Three minutes remaining.

  "When they call back, demand to see him first. Proof of life. Until then, you do nothing."

  “What if they hurt him?”

  “They probably already have.” Truth like a blade. “All we can do is move forward. Insist on seeing him alive. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.” Steel returns to her voice.

  “Good. Now give me the base station ID and site name.”

  John reads it. I send it to Lyra.

  Erjuan's phone shatters the tension with its ring.

  “Leave my line open,” I tell David.

  She answers.

  “Do you want your lover dead?” The voice rasps—cold, mechanical, soulless.

  "We're trying to restore the site," she replies with remarkable steadiness. "But I need to see Chunting first."

  "Making demands now? Perhaps I'll send you his hand as proof." Pure malice.

  "I do nothing until I see him alive." Her resolve holds.

  Pause.

  Silence falls like a guillotine blade.

  After an eternity compressed into sixty seconds, David speaks: "Mengshu, they hung up."

  “Good job, Erjuan. Now wait. You’ll see him soon. Then book the first flight to Beijing. Send me the flight number. Someone will meet you. I need to hang up. If anything changes, call me.”

  My confident words belie the storm inside me. My heart slams against my ribs like something caged and desperate.

  What if we've miscalculated? What if Chunting is already dead? What if Lyra's resources can't reach them in time?

  Death hovers over this night like a patient shadow.

  But there’s no turning back now.

  I’ve made the call.

  And the clock keeps ticking.