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Chapter_294
Charles took a sip from his cup, his gaze fixed on Andrew, who was looking at him with a curious expression. After a moment of silence, Charles casually responded, “It depends on my mood. For the important people, I charge 30 million dollars. For those less significant, I ask for 10 million. Sometimes, if I’m feeling generous, I’ll even take jobs for free.”
In the criminal underworld of Mysonna, only a few had dared to hire Charles for an assassination. Payment wasn’t the primary concern—what truly mattered was that Charles led the Seventy–Two Chambers for the Goodman family. He was the one who managed all the shady dealings, from arms trafficking to assassinations and casinos. Only Braydon, the current head of the Goodman family, could order him to kill. No one else had the power to command him.
Andrew, however, was in shock. He thought to himself, With my meager salary, there’s no way I could ever afford to hire Charles for a job. When did prices in the art world get so insane? Besides, I’ve never even heard of this Charles guy before. It’s hard to believe that someone so unknown in the art scene can charge such outrageous fees.
Andrew fell silent for a moment. Then, an idea crossed his mind. Is painting really that profitable? Should I give it another shot? But then he remembered his art teacher’s comments about his work and quickly dismissed the thought. After all, when he was younger, his art was so bad that a chicken egg looked like a duck egg. Maybe he should stop dreaming about it altogether.
With a tone of envy, Andrew remarked, “Charles, your industry is so promising. I’m really envious.”
Charles, who had been listening, raised his head slightly, his expression full of confusion. He studied Andrew’s genuine and sincere gaze. What is this guy really envious of? Does he envy my ability to kill people? What a strange guy. No wonder he followed us from the airport in such a bizarre manner.
Andrew, oblivious to Charles’s judgment, continued his awkward line of questioning. Charles, growing more uncomfortable by the second, stood up abruptly. “Excuse me,” he muttered, and bolted out of the VIP room under the pretext of needing to use the bathroom.
Jeremiah, who had been silently observing the entire exchange, couldn’t help but smile to himself. The two of them are so out of sync, yet they’re conversing so earnestly. Charles talks about killings with chilling ease, while Andrew is enthusiastically talking about art, and neither of them realizes the absurdity of the situation. This is just too funny.
As Charles disappeared from view, Jeremiah finished his last bite of food and put down his utensils. “I’m heading to the bathroom,” he said to Yvette, who was too busy savoring her grilled pork chops to pay him much attention.
Yvette mumbled an absent “Okay” as she continued to chew, her cheeks puffed out like a hamster. Jeremiah couldn’t resist the urge to pinch her soft cheeks, which only made her look even cuter.
Meanwhile, Charles was in the men’s bathroom, adjusting his clothes and washing his hands. His mind was still preoccupied with the strange encounter in the VIP room. He leaned over the sink, scrubbing his hands, when he heard footsteps approaching. Without glancing up, he could tell that this wasn’t just any ordinary person.
Then, without warning, Jeremiah walked in, exuding the same military presence he had earlier in the VIP room. He headed straight for the sink, adjusting his military uniform in front of the mirror, the air around him emanating an undeniable, restrained charm.
Jeremiah spoke first, his voice low and steady. “Charles Jameson, you were once the head of the Seventy–Two Chambers under the Goodman family in Mysonna, the leading underground family. You controlled their dealings—arms trafficking, assassinations, casinos—but never touched drugs. Half a month ago, you parted ways with Braydon, the current head, and were injected with the new No. 7 Toxin. After that, you disappeared from Mysonna. But now, here you are, showing up as an apprentice to my girlfriend. This turn of events is certainly interesting.”
Charles’s body immediately tensed, his composure slipping. He turned slowly to face Jeremiah, his guard instantly going up. His calm demeanor vanished, replaced by a readiness for anything. So Jeremiah recognized me right away and was able to sit at the same table, eating and talking without giving anything away. Yvette’s boyfriend is far from ordinary.
Charles’ voice became cold and direct. “It seems you know quite a bit, Mr. Chavez. If you understand all of that, then you must know Yvette’s background is far from simple. I don’t know the details about your family, but reaching the rank of major general in Clusia at your age? That’s not something anyone can do. If it turns out Yvette’s on a completely different level compared to your military background, would you still stand by her the way you do now?”
Jeremiah, unfazed, kept his eyes on Charles. After turning off the faucet, he responded in a calm, serious tone, “That’s not something you need to worry about. No matter who Yvette is or where she comes from, she will be my wife one day. No matter what dangers we face, I’ll always protect her.”
Charles froze, taken aback by Jeremiah’s firm declaration. The intensity in his words left no room for doubt.
Jeremiah continued, his gaze cold yet resolute, “Charles, I don’t want any trouble for Yvette while you’re in Clusia. I’ll make sure you’re safe while you’re here, but once you leave, you’re on your own.”
Charles understood the underlying meaning. Jeremiah’s offer of protection was not out of goodwill—it was a warning. However, Charles knew that Yvette was the key to his safety. No one would dare touch him while she was around. Not even Braydon or Damian. But he kept those thoughts to himself.
“No need for your protection, Mr. Chavez,” Charles said, shaking his head. “If I’d relied on others to keep me safe, I wouldn’t have survived this long. I’ve had more close calls than I can count. Don’t worry about me. I won’t bring any trouble to Yvette.”
Jeremiah looked at him with a cold, assessing gaze. “Alright. I hope you’ll remember the words you’ve spoken today.”
Charles locked eyes with Jeremiah, unwavering. “I hope you’ll remember your words too, Mr. Chavez. To stand by Yvette’s side, through thick and thin.”
Jeremiah nodded once, then turned and walked toward the door. As he reached the threshold, Charles called after him, his voice steady. “Mr. Chavez, Yvette has been through a lot to become the woman she is today. I hope you’ll cherish her.”
Jeremiah paused, his back to Charles as he heard the weight of his words. He knew Yvette’s past, but hearing it from Charles made him realize just how much she had endured. With a solemn nod, Jeremiah pushed the door open and stepped out.
As soon as he was outside, he pulled out his phone and sent a message to Bruce.
Charles, meanwhile, had just revealed something significant—he had addressed Yvette by her last name, not as “Ms. Zeller” as one would expect from an outsider.
Meanwhile, in another part of the city, Zion had just returned to Betrico after his whirlwind tour of concerts. He had a dedicated piano room here, and as soon as his plane touched down, he headed straight there, not even taking time to rest.
When he arrived at the piano room, he was surprised to find the door open. A brief flash of joy crossed his face, but it quickly turned into desolation as he walked inside. Even if I know she’s here, what good is it? There’s no future for us. Samantha is a successful businesswoman, one of the most powerful in Clusia, while I’m just a pianist. Even though I make a decent living, it’s nothing compared to her wealth.
Samantha had always found him stubborn, but Zion knew deep down it was his own pride that was getting in the way.
During the time he spent away from Betrico, he couldn’t stop thinking about her—missing her every minute, every night. His longing for her had consumed him.
His heart pounded in his chest as he stood in the doorway, staring at her red silhouette. When Samantha turned to face him, his gaze immediately dropped to the floor. He had to fight to keep his composure.
“Samantha,” he said, his voice tight with embarrassment. “It’s broad daylight, and you’re wearing that outfit? What’s going on?”
