Chapter 95

Chapter 95

Damien's voice echoed through the hall.

"The moment I press this remote, the entire hall—you, me, everyone—gets blown to pieces. We all go down together. Tell me, Jacques, is it worth it?"

Jacques's gun hand trembled violently. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead as he swore hoarsely, "Damien! Are you out of your damn mind?! You'd blow us both to hell over some random woman?!"

"Yeah, I'm out of my mind." Damien let out a low laugh tinged with madness, his finger tightening slightly on the remote. "You grabbed someone under my protection. Even if I die, I'm dragging you down with me."

"Now bring Beatrice here. Otherwise, we all die right here, right now."

Jacques's gun hand shook uncontrollably as he snarled, "Damien! You've actually lost it! You'd die with me over a woman you've met twice?"

"Your life is worth that little—worth some nobody?"

Damien chuckled softly at that.

He tilted his head slightly and raised the remote higher, making sure every armed thug in the hall could see it clearly. His tone was casual, as if discussing the weather. "Lost it? Jacques, you're the one who broke the underworld code first."

"Settle scores with those who owe them. You've got a problem with me, come at me. What kind of coward grabs an innocent woman as a hostage?"

He took a step forward, pressing his forehead directly against the gun barrel without flinching an inch. The pressure in his voice intensified. "Whether my life is worth it isn't for you to decide."

"But I'll make this crystal clear—you harm a single hair on her head, and I'll make your entire Fiery Cross pay with their lives. Including myself, of course."

Jacques's heart sank like a stone.

He'd been at war with Damien for five solid years. He knew perfectly well that beneath Damien's refined, elegant exterior lurked a complete lunatic.

Years ago, to seize control of Luminous City's port, Damien had taken three bullets and still led his men to slaughter the opposition's stronghold, forcibly claiming the territory.

When Damien threatened mutual destruction, it was never an empty bluff.

But to back down in front of a hundred subordinates, intimidated by a mere remote—he'd never hold his head up in Luminous City's underworld again.

Jacques ground his molars to dust. He pressed the gun harder against Damien's forehead, forcing a cold laugh. "Damien, don't think you can bluff me! You expect me to release her over a broken remote?"

"You think I scare that easily? Go ahead and press it! Let's see if you've really got the guts to drag me to hell with you!"

His words sounded tough, but his back was already drenched in cold sweat. His eyes locked onto Damien's fingertip, terrified it might press down even half an inch.

Damien raised an eyebrow, his smile deepening, though his eyes held no warmth whatsoever.

He even brought the remote closer to Jacques's face, letting him see the button clearly. "Fake? Want to test it? One life of mine for your entire Fiery Cross, plus your life—sounds like a damn good deal to me."

"But you—is dying with me worth it to you?"

His tone shifted abruptly. Ice-cold fury flooded his smoke-blue eyes as he enunciated each word. "I'm done playing games. Now. Immediately. Bring Beatrice here and let her go."

"Once she's safely out of here, we'll settle our accounts. Slowly."

"Impossible!" Jacques clutched at this lifeline, roaring, "You want me to release her? Hand over that remote first! Otherwise I'm not moving an inch!"

"Damien, I've got the hostage, I've got the guns—you don't get to make demands!"

"Jacques, I think you've got this backwards." Damien let out a soft laugh that made Jacques's skin crawl.

The moment the laughter died, his gaze turned cold enough to freeze. "Right now, the one holding the kill switch is me."

"Two choices. Either release her now and we settle this one-on-one, or I press this button and we all go to hell together."

"Choose."

While verbally sparring with Jacques, Damien's peripheral vision discreetly swept across the estate's high points and the surveillance cameras in the hall's corners.

The appointed time had arrived. Liam's team should be in position by now. The moment the power cut out, that would be the signal to move.

He just needed to stall a little longer, buy his men enough time.

Meanwhile, Beatrice—bound to a pillar on the other side of the hall—took in everything.

Listening to Damien's words, her emotions churned in turmoil.

She and Damien were barely acquaintances.

Their encounter in the fitting room had been pure accident. She hadn't even known his name until she'd overheard it later.

Yet this man had walked alone into a death trap to rescue her, a complete stranger. He'd even strapped explosives to his own body, willing to die alongside a vicious mob boss.

But if not for that chance meeting in the fitting room, Jacques would never have targeted her in the first place.

Though this disaster wasn't her fault, Damien had still come to save her.

That showed honor and loyalty. Otherwise he wouldn't have bothered.

Beatrice drew a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm.

At the very least, she couldn't become a burden to Damien.

She could try to help herself.

She carefully raised her eyes, observing her surroundings.

The two guards beside her had their full attention fixed on the standoff in the center of the hall. Their guns hung loosely at their sides, vigilance at its lowest.

Her gaze swept the floor. Less than two feet from her, a shard of broken bottle from the earlier chaos lay glinting. Its sharp glass edge was just within reach of her bound hands.

Beatrice's pulse quickened. She shifted her body slightly downward, feigning exhaustion, pressing her back tight against the cold pillar. Her bound hands crept toward the floor.

When her fingertips touched the cold, sharp glass, her heart lurched—but she didn't hesitate for a second. She gripped the shard tightly and began sawing at the rope around her wrists.

The glass cut into her fingertips. Blood seeped through the cracks between her fingers. The pain made them tremble, but she didn't even furrow her brow. Her movements never stopped.

At the hall's center, the standoff had reached its breaking point.

Watching Damien's unyielding stance, Jacques grew increasingly frantic. He didn't dare gamble that the bomb was fake, but he refused to surrender his only leverage. Caught between impossible choices, his gun hand shook harder and harder.

At that moment, every light in the estate went out. The vast hall plunged into pitch-black darkness.