Charles took a sip, looked at Andrew’s curious face, and replied, “It depends on my mood. For important people, it’s usually thirty million dollars; for less important ones, ten million. Sometimes, I even work for free.”
In Mysonna’s criminal circles, few had considered hiring Charles for an assassination. Payment was secondary; the real issue was that Charles led the Seventy-Two Chambers for the Goodman family. Aside from Braydon, no one dared order him to kill.
Andrew was shocked. He wondered, With my meager salary, I can’t afford Charles. When did art prices go so crazy? I’ve never even heard of him. A relatively unknown painter charging so much… unbelievable.
He was silent for a few seconds. Is painting really that profitable? Should I pick up a brush again? Then, remembering his art teacher's assessment—that he drew chicken eggs so badly they looked like duck eggs—he dismissed the thought.
With envy, Andrew said, “Charles, your industry is so promising. I’m envious.”
Charles’s head tilted slightly, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. He noticed Andrew’s genuine envy. What’s he envious of? My ability to kill? What a weird guy! No wonder he followed us from the airport.
Andrew remained unaware of Charles’s assessment.
Jeremiah smirked, glancing at them. They’re on completely different wavelengths, yet so enthusiastic. Charles discusses killing with chilling nonchalance, while Andrew talks about painting—neither noticing the absurdity. Hilarious!
Baffled by Andrew’s incessant questions, Charles dismissed him as a “weirdo motormouth” and excused himself to the bathroom.
Jeremiah, catching a glimpse of Charles leaving, finished his meat, put down his utensils, and told Yvette, who was enjoying her pork chops, “I’m going to the bathroom.”
Yvette, still chewing, mumbled, “Okay.”
Jeremiah pinched her puffed cheeks. She looked like a hamster.
In the men’s room, Charles adjusted his clothes and leaned over the sink, his hands submerged in soapy water. He heard approaching footsteps, his hands pausing mid-scrub. He sensed the newcomer wasn't ordinary.
Jeremiah entered, heading straight for the sink, adjusting his uniform in the mirror. He exuded restrained allure.
Jeremiah, smoothing his uniform, said, “Charles Jameson, you headed the Seventy-Two Chambers under the Goodman family in Mysonna, the top family in the underworld. You handled their shady dealings—arms, assassinations, casinos—but avoided drugs. Half a month ago, you parted ways with Braydon, the Goodman head, and were injected with the new No. 7 Toxin. You vanished from Mysonna. Now you’re my girlfriend’s apprentice. Interesting.”
Charles tensed, his head snapping up, his earlier calmness gone. He was on guard. Jeremiah recognized me instantly, and ate with me without revealing anything. Yvette’s boyfriend is unfathomable!
Charles fixed his gaze on Jeremiah. “You seem to know everything. You must know Yvette’s identity isn't simple. I don’t know your family background, but becoming a major general in Clusia at your age? That’s no small feat. If Yvette's background differs drastically from your military dynasty, would you still stand by her?”
Jeremiah, after turning off the faucet, said seriously, “That’s none of your concern. No matter who Yvette is, she will be my wife. I’ll protect her, no matter the danger.”
Charles stood stunned.
Jeremiah continued, “Charles, don’t cause Yvette trouble. While you’re in Clusia, I’ll ensure your safety, but once you leave, you’re on your own.”
Charles understood this was for Yvette’s sake. He knew, however, that Yvette was his best protection; Braydon wouldn't dare touch him near her, nor would Damian. He kept this thought to himself.
Charles shook his head. “No need for protection, Mr. Chavez. If I relied on others, I wouldn’t have survived this long. I’ve had countless close calls. Rest easy. I won’t trouble Yvette.”
Jeremiah, drying his hands, looked at Charles coldly. “Okay. I hope you remember your words.”
Charles met his gaze unflinchingly. “I hope you remember yours—to stand by Yvette’s side, through thick and thin.”
Jeremiah nodded and left. At the door, Charles called out, “Mr. Chavez, Yvette has endured much to become who she is. Cherish her.”
To reach the top, one endures trials that break ordinary people. Yvette walked her path through blood and corpses, escaping death countless times. She made it on her own.
Jeremiah, with a solemn expression, left. He immediately messaged Bruce. Charles had revealed something—he’d used Yvette’s surname, not “Ms. Zeller.”
Zion had just returned to Betrico after a whirlwind concert tour. His final concert was in Betrico, perfectly ending his year.
He had a dedicated piano room there and went straight there upon arrival.
The door was open. A flash of joy, quickly replaced by desolation, crossed his face. Even if I know who’s there, what good does it do? There’s no future for us. Samantha’s a renowned businesswoman in Clusia, a prominent political scion, while I’m just a pianist. My earnings are a drop in the ocean compared to her wealth.
He knew his self-esteem was the problem; Samantha always thought he was stubborn.
Away from Betrico, he’d been consumed by thoughts of Samantha, missing her intensely.
Heart pounding, he hesitated before cautiously opening the door. He saw a red silhouette. When Samantha turned, showing her outfit, he clamped his eyes shut, too bashful to look. “Samantha, it’s broad daylight! What’s with the outfit?”