The ballroom shimmered with masks and mystery, chandeliers scattering light across faces that were half‑hidden, half‑revealed. Every guest was cloaked in anonymity, wealth dripping from their attire, but it was Mr. Gonzalez who drew the room's gravity.
I extended my hand, mask glinting under the chandelier.
"Kamusta po kayo, sir? (How are you, sir?)"
Mr. Gonzalez smirked, shaking my hand firmly.
"Mabuti naman, at ikaw? (I'm fine, and you?) Can I know who this elegant young lady is?"
I tilted my head slightly, letting my blue contacts catch the light.
"Ako po si Layla Castillo. (I am Layla Castillo.) Narinig ko na po ang maraming bagay tungkol sa inyo, Mr. Gonzalez. (I've heard many things about you, Mr. Gonzalez.)"
He chuckled, eyes narrowing with curiosity.
"Talaga? (Really?) Naririnig mo ako palagi, pero bakit tuwing lumalapit si Darius at ang grupo ninyo, palagi kong tinatanggihan ang offers? (You hear of me often, but why is it that whenever Darius and your group approach, I always refuse the offers?)"
I leaned in, voice steady.
"Oo nga po, halos palagi kayong tumatanggi. (Yes, sir, you almost always decline.) Why is that po?"
His smirk deepened, tone playful but edged.
"Oo, palagi kong tinatanggihan. (Yes, I always refuse.) Pero ganito na lang… pumunta tayo sa casino section. (But let's do this instead… let's go to the casino section.) Kung ako ang mananalo sa roulette, hindi mo na ako guguluhin kailanman. (If I win the roulette, you will never bother me again.) Pero kung ikaw ang manalo… may kasunduan tayo. (But if you win… then we have a deal.)"
I straightened, mask hiding my smile.
"Sige po. (Alright then.) Roulette it is."
The casino section glowed with golden light, velvet carpets muffling footsteps as masked guests gathered around the roulette table. The wheel gleamed under the spotlight, numbers waiting like fate itself.
Mr. Gonzalez gestured with a flourish.
"Ladies first. Sige, ikaw muna. (Alright, you go first.)"
Layla placed her bet, her fingers steady despite the pounding of her heart. The croupier spun the wheel, the ball clattering across the numbers.
Round One
The ball slowed, bounced, and landed.
"Panalo ka. (You win.)" Mr. Gonzalez's smirk faltered.
Layla tilted her head, mask hiding her smile. "Luck favors the bold, sir."
Round Two
Mr. Gonzalez placed his chips, confident. The wheel spun again, the crowd leaning closer. The ball danced, then dropped—on Layla's number.
"Hindi ako makapaniwala… nanalo ka ulit. (I can't believe it… you won again.)"
Layla's voice was calm, cutting through the tension. "Baka hindi lang swerte, Mr. Gonzalez. Maybe it's destiny."
Round Three
The air was thick with suspense. Mr. Gonzalez's eyes narrowed, his hand tightening on his glass. The wheel spun one last time, the ball clattering like a heartbeat. It slowed… bounced… then landed squarely on Layla's bet.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"Tatlong beses? Imposible. (Three times? Impossible.)" Gonzalez muttered, his smirk gone.
Layla leaned closer, her mask shimmering under the chandelier.
"Wala pong imposible, sir. Now we have a deal. (Nothing is impossible, sir. Now we have a deal.)"
The croupier pushed the chips toward her, but the real prize was Mr. Gonzalez's silence. He had no choice now—the gamble had bound him to Darius's empire.
The casino's hum faded as we stepped into the private room, the air thick with velvet silence. My guards handed me the documents, and I slid them across the polished table. Mr. Gonzalez took his time, sipping tequila before signing with a flourish.
He leaned back, eyes fixed on me.
"Talented ka talaga. (You are truly talented.) Narinig ko na ang pangalan mo mula sa iba. (I've already heard your name from others.)"
I raised my glass of wine, swirling it slowly. "Mmmh… what exactly is it? Good or bad?"
He smirked, his tone playful but edged with respect.
"To be precise, I hear you are a badass. Magaling ka sa maraming bagay. (You're good at many things.) At narinig ko na nag-aral ka ng linguistics. Kaya pala mahusay ka sa Filipino. (And I heard you studied linguistics. That's why you're so good in Filipino.)"
I smiled behind the rim of my glass, meeting his gaze.
"Yes, of course. Knowledge is power, Mr. Gonzalez. And language… is the sharpest weapon of all."
The tequila glass paused in his hand, his smirk deepening. In that moment, the deal was more than signed—it was sealed with mutual recognition. He wasn't just acknowledging my skill; he was conceding respect.
The glasses clinked softly as I set mine down. Rising from my chair, I adjusted the mask and let my hair fall back with a deliberate motion. Mr. Gonzalez mirrored me, standing tall, his tequila glass still in hand.
We shook hands, his grip firm, his eyes lingering longer than necessary.
"I really enjoyed the time we had together," he said, voice low, almost intimate. "I wish we could spend more time together."
I brushed my hair behind my shoulder, leaning just enough to let the gesture carry weight.
"Well, Mr. Gonzalez… anytime."
My eyes met his through the mask, flirtatious, deliberate. His smirk deepened, but before the moment could stretch further, I turned gracefully, leaving in a nick of time. The sound of my heels echoed against the marble floor, each step a reminder that the deal was sealed—and that I had left him wanting more.
Behind me, I could feel his gaze following, heavy with curiosity and respect. The mission was complete, but the game had only just begun.
The mansion's air was heavy with silence when I stepped inside. Andrey was waiting, his silver suit sharp against the dim light. I handed him the papers, my voice calm but edged.
"Well… it's a done deal."
He smirked, eyes narrowing.
"Looks like Mr. Gonzalez was impressed. What did you do? I hope you didn't hook up with him."
I moved closer, closing the space between us until my breath brushed his ear. My voice dropped to a whisper, deliberate and dangerous.
"Well… how I did it shouldn't be your concern. But me having his signature on those papers—that should be."
My fingers traced his cheek, playful yet commanding. His body stiffened, his throat tightening as he gulped hard, frozen in place. His eyes betrayed a flicker of vulnerability, the mask of control slipping for just a moment.
I smiled faintly, then turned away, leaving him standing there—motionless, conflicted, and very aware that the balance of power had shifted.
The room was dark, the glow of the hacked keypad fading as I rifled through Darius's files. My gloved fingers brushed over papers, coded ledgers, and photographs—evidence that could expose everything.
Then the air shifted. I froze.
Darius stood at the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the dim light. His voice cut through the silence, low and mocking.
"Layla Castillo… or is it Avery?" He smirked. "From the very first day I met you, I knew something was off. I warned Andrey, my little brother, but he wouldn't listen."
My breath caught as he stepped forward, unbuttoning his shirt. The fabric fell back to reveal the ink etched into his chest: a dragon tattoo, coiled and alive under his skin. The very clue I had been chasing.
Shock rippled through me, but before I could speak, Andrey burst in.
"Darius, what are you doing?" His voice was sharp, protective, but tinged with confusion.
Darius's eyes never left mine. "I'm going to deal with the culprit here."
Andrey moved closer, his hand reaching for my mask. With one swift motion, he pulled it away, exposing my face. His eyes searched mine, unreadable.
"You know," he said quietly, "I wanted to see how things played out for a long time. But my brother here… he's getting bored of the games. So he acted on impulse."
The tension was suffocating, the brothers standing on either side of me, their rivalry now entwined with my fate.
I straightened, my voice cold but steady.
"Axel will kill you."
Darius's smirk deepened, his dragon tattoo gleaming under the light.
"Well… we'll see about that."
The room froze in silence, the air heavy with the metallic click of weapons.
Andrey's voice had been sharp, cold:
"Let's take her to the warehouse. People who can't be trusted deserve to be punished immediately."
But before his words could settle, I moved. My hands were swift, practiced—two guns drawn, barrels leveled at their heads. The steel gleamed under the dim light, my breath steady despite the pounding in my chest.
For a heartbeat, I thought I had the upper hand. But as if reading my mind, both brothers revealed their own weapons, raising them in perfect unison.
Three guns. Three wills. One room.
Darius smirked, dragon tattoo shifting as his chest rose and fell.
"Layla Castillo… you really think you can walk out of here alive?"
Andrey's eyes flickered, torn between loyalty and suspicion. His grip was firm, but his jaw tightened as though he wasn't sure whether to pull the trigger or protect me.
I steadied my aim, voice low and cutting.
"You can try to punish me, but remember—I already have what I came for. The papers are signed. The deal is sealed. If you kill me now, you lose everything."
The silence stretched, broken only by the hum of the lights above. Each of us stood locked in place, fingers hovering near the edge of violence.
It wasn't just a standoff—it was a test of nerve, of who would blink first.
The tension in the room was suffocating.
"If you don't want anything to end badly, you should just let me go," I said, my voice steady despite the storm inside.
Darius's eyes narrowed. "No way."
But Andrey's gaze shifted, calculating. "It's fine. You can go."
I stepped backward, each move deliberate, toward the window. The guards raised their weapons, but Andrey's sharp glance froze them in place. The silence was broken only by the pounding of my heartbeat.
With one swift motion, I slipped through the window, landing hard on the ground below. Men surged toward me, shadows in the night. I tackled one, shot another, moving with desperate precision. My breath came ragged, but I kept running, the mansion shrinking behind me.
Then instinct made me glance back.
High above, framed in the window, Andrey stood. His figure was sharp against the glow, a sniper rifle steady in his hands. His eyes locked onto mine—cold, unflinching.
The trigger pulled.
The bullet tore through the air, a streak of inevitability. It pierced my chest with brutal accuracy. Pain exploded, unbearable, consuming. My body faltered, betrayed by its own limits.
The world tilted. My vision blurred. The ground rushed up to meet me.
And then—darkness. Complete, suffocating, endless.