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Chase was sprawled out on the couch, a smug expression on his face as he caught sight of Safira entering. He sat up and greeted her with a smirk. "Hey there, beautiful."
He rose from the couch and sauntered over to her, his eyes openly admiring her figure in a suggestive manner. "Looking beautiful as always, Safira," he commented. "What brings you here? Did you come to see me?"
Safira took a deep breath and turned to face Chase. "Chase." she said in a firm tone.
Chase's eyebrow raised in amusement. "Chase?"
With a sense of formality, she replied. "Yes. That is your name."
Chase's smirk widened at her lack of honorifics. "Oh," he spoke, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. "No honorifics this time? Are we on a first-name basis now, beautiful." He hummed. "No boss? No sir? No yours?"
Safira's response was matter-of-fact in tone. "I work for Eden. You have no authority over me to be called boss by me."
Chase chuckled at her words, his words tinged with sarcasm and a hint of mockery. "Ah, the cold and brooding Eden. Always so serious and gloomy." His voice dripped with a tone of disdain towards his brother.
He slowly approached her, his steps deliberate and teasing "Don't forget your place, Ms. Safira." He emphasized the word 'Ms.' in her name, his demeanor changing.
Her eyes widened in surprised at his sudden change in demeanor, and she buried her ego to respond in a more professional tone. She didn't wanted to be on bad terms with Rosalyn family. "Understood, sir."
His smirk widened as he stood just inches away from her. Back to his normal self. His gaze flickering across the intricate designs of her scarf. He lifted his index finger and delicately traced the fabric with a touch that was almost tender. "So," he said, his voice laced with a hint of tease. "Mind telling me why you're here, sweetheart?"
She could feel a sharp surge of anger coursing through her veins as he dared to touch her scarf with such intimate casualness.
With her skills, she could have easily separated his hand from his arm for such audacity. But, unfortunately for her, this man was Chase Rosalyn, and she knew that she had to restrain herself. She took a moment to compose herself, then reached into her purse and withdrew a drive.
She held up the drive for him to see, her voice steady and composed. "I am here to deliver this audio to Mr. Andrea." she said.
Chase's gaze wandered to a loose thread emerging from her scarf, his eyes fixed on it with an air of calculated curiosity. "Audio, hmm? You're in the messenger business now?" he teased, clearly finding amusement in the situation. "What audio?"
"It's credential." She spoke simply.
"If so, then allow my humble self to give it to father." A moment of tension passed, with Chase's gaze locking onto hers before he made an attempt to take the recorder. But just as quickly, she yanked it away, her hand moving with swift precision.
Chase responded with a raised eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curling into an amused smirk. "Hm?"
Her words were resolute as she insisted. "No need for that. This task was given to me, and I shall fulfill it."
She then took a small step back, creating a small space between them as if testing the waters. When she realized that Chase wasn't going to make a move, she continued. She took a larger step back, further establishing a distance that was professional. "I should go. Have a nice day, Mr. Chase." she said with a formal nod, turning to leave.
Chase's eyes lingered on her for a moment, his gaze sweeping over her figure and pausing at a particular spot. He licked his lips as if savoring the sight before him, a hint of amusement playing on his face. Then with a swift, effortless motion, he turned on his heel and walked away in a different direction leaving an air of confidence.
As she made her way through the hall, Safira encountered Mark, the personal secretary of Andrea Rosalyn. He, with his red hair and handsome features, might present a seemingly naive facade, but beneath that veneer lay a sharp intellect. Well almost everyone was like that here....
"This is the way." Mark gestured towards the door, saying. He smirked slightly and spoke. "Dont let the fear mess your head." But when he was met with a deadpanned expression from Safira, he quickly cleared his throat and replaced it with a serious expression.
He opened the door, revealing a lavishly furnished office. The centerpiece was a grand table, and opposite it, a plush leather chair faced away from them. There, seated on the chair, was the man they all respected, feared, and adored; Andrea Rosalyn.
Safira took a moment to gather herself, steadying her breathing before taking purposeful strides towards the table. Each click of her heels on the floor echoed faintly in the room, a reminder of her unease. As an assassin, she usually favored a more stealthy approach, relying on silence to give her a sense of control.
Safira could sense the tension in the air as Mark addressed the man. "Boss, she's here." he said, his tone carrying a palpable respect.
Then, Mark quickly shifted into a more submissive stance, lowering his gaze and straightening his spine as he loosened his tie, as if feeling an invisible weight on his chest. It was a subtle display of the power dynamics at play in this room.
The chair spun around, and Safira felt her nerves kick into high gear as Andrea Rosalyn came into view. Whereas Eden's dangerous aura was palpable, this man exuded an air of quiet lethality without even trying.
With a cigar in hand, he sent a steely gaze her way, the smoke from the cigar swirling around him like a serpent. His eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing through her, making her feel like prey before a predator.
The silence lingered for what felt like an eternity, and for a brief moment, Safira found herself lost for words. However, the presence of Mark, who seemed more intimidated than she was, gave her the courage to speak. "I am here to deliver the audio that Eden promised to you." she said, her words measured and careful. Yet, she remained motionless, as if awaiting the signal to move forward.
The man's gaze dropped to the purse Safira carried, his expression hinting that he was well aware of the audio's location. With a deep, gruff voice that sounded as if he hadn't spoken in years, he questioned, "Is that so?" The timbre of his voice sending a shiver down her spine.
Andrea's attention then turned towards his cigar, raising it up as if to make a point. Mark, the secretary, tensed up visibly, anticipating something and forwarded his hands.
Without a word, Andrea placed the still-lit end of the cigar against the palm of Mark's hand, extinguishing it with a cool, deliberate motion. All the while, Andrea's gaze remained firmly fixed on Safira.
Mark gritted his teeth, forcefully suppressing any sounds of pain that threatened to escape. The sound of his burning skin filled the air, the pain etched across his face.
Once Andrea finished extinguishing the cigar, he nonchalantly dismissed Mark with a wave of his hand.
The secretary nodded in acknowledgment, his trembling hands and pained expression betraying the agony he was in. Mark hastily retreated, his eyes fixed on his burnt and shaking hand, desperately biting his lower lip to stifle any cries of pain as he left the room.
Place it on the table." Andrea spoke unfazed as if it was a normal routine. Maybe it was since the man knew what to do.
Safira took out the recording device from her purse and placed it on the table.
"Anything else?" Andrea asked.
"No."
"Then go." Andrea motioned to the door.
Safira nodded and turned to leave but his voice stopped her.
"One more thing. Tell my son I'll be waiting."
Safira nodded and walked out of the room, escaping Andrea's presence. She felt a sense of happiness and relief that she had avoided being his secretary in the past.
Glancing at Mark, who had regained his composure.
As if reading her thoughts, Mark spoke up. "You should be grateful."
Safira didn't respond; no words were necessary.
"And thank you for asking about my well-being." Mark added, his tone icy.
"You're welcome, Mark." she replied curtly before swiftly exiting the room without further delay.
Safira retraced her steps, moving from the room through the same hallway she had entered from.
Unbeknownst to her, a pair of eyes watched her journey from the balcony above, their gaze never wavering. She safely sat in her car and drove away.
At the balcony, Chase stood, his expression giving nothing away. A smirk slowly formed on his face as if a realization or an idea had taken root in his mind. He muttered to himself. "What are you plotting, Eden.."
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Safira sat in first class, the plane gliding through the sky, its destination set for Shanghai. There were only a handful of passengers in her class, providing her with some measure of solitude.
Her purse rested beside her on the empty seat, in full view. Safira's scarf was now loosely draped over her head, and her glasses had been placed to the side.
She was lost in thought, staring out the window, until a feminine voice interrupted her.
The air hostess approached Safira with a warm smile, holding a tray bearing a bottle of champagne and a slender glass. Her friendly demeanor was evident in her polite question. "Would you like some champagne, ma'am?"
Safira's gaze met the intense green eyes of the elegant black haired hostess, who stood patiently awaiting her response. After a moment, Safira returned a small smile and responded. "Sure."
The hostess skillfully poured champagne into the slender glass, offering it to Safira with a warm smile. Safira accepted it graciously, bringing the glass to her lips and taking a sip.
"Enjoy your flight, ma'am," the hostess said, disappearing to attend to other passengers.
She savored the sweet, rich aroma of the champagne, noting that the flavor was a little too sweet for her taste. Nevertheless, she sipped from the glass, finishing the content before placing it on the nearby table.
The effects of the drink quickly took hold of Safira, and her eyes grew heavy, her body feeling a sense of detachment from the world around her. Within moments, the world around her faded to black, leaving her utterly unconscious.
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Safira slowly regained consciousness, her eyes fluttering open to find that the sky had turned to a velvety night.
On the plane, things were quiet, save for the bustle of the hostesses tending to their duties. But the black haired hostess was not in sight.
Safira's gaze instinctively flicked to her purse, which was still in the same place she had left it. Glancing at herself, she found that her hair and clothes were a bit disheveled maybe as a result of dozing off.
Soon the plane landed. Safira composed herself, straightening her appearance and smoothing out any wrinkles in her clothing. Strong drug. She thought.
She exited the plane, exuding her usual air of elegance, and approached a black tinted car that was parked nearby.
The chauffeur promptly acknowledged her with a nod, and the moment she took her seat, the engine revved to life. The car glided smoothly onto the roadway, and the journey began as Safira settled into the comfortable leather seat.
Safira's fingers danced across the screen of her phone, dialing a number. As it rang, she reached under her thigh and extracted a small, brown folder, the corners of her lip curling into a subtle smirk.
As the line connected, her eyes fixed on the passing scenery outside the car window as she confidently declared.
"Boss, I've got it."