Chapter 115: Ambushed Late at Night

Chapter 115: Ambushed Late at Night

Long after, Cleo lay in James's arms, her face pressed against his chest.

The flush on Cleo's face hadn't completely faded, and there were a few faint red marks on her neck, like scattered peach blossom petals.

Her finger traced circles on James's chest, one circle, two circles, three circles, drawing slowly and casually, like a journey without a destination.

If you were to name the person most compatible with James in bed, Cleo would currently rank first.

She was passionate, responsive, without shyness or hesitation, and could reach climax with James every single time.

"James."

"What is it?"

"Today's class was so boring."

"What class?"

"History of International Relations. The professor spent the whole period on the Cold War. I fell asleep after listening for two minutes."

Cleo's finger paused on his chest.

"I mean, I'm not going to be a diplomat. What's the point of learning this stuff?"

James thought for a moment.

"It's useful. At least you know that America and the Soviet Union almost blew up the whole world back then."

"What does that have to do with me?"

Cleo lifted her head, resting her chin on his chest, her blue eyes looking at him.

"I'm not going into politics."

"It has nothing to do with you. But you learned how to stay awake during a really boring class."

Cleo froze for a second, then laughed, laughing happily, burying her face in the crook of his neck, her shoulders shaking.

"James, you make so much sense, I can't even argue with that."

James patted her back.

Cleo was quiet for a few seconds, then spoke again.

"James, you said once a week... I'll let it slide this time that you didn't show up, but not next time! You can't lie to me anymore, okay?"

"It wasn't lying. Something came up."

"What could be more important than me?"

James didn't answer.

Cleo knew he wasn't unwilling to answer, but unable to answer.

The things he did—some could be talked about, some couldn't.

She wasn't a kid anymore. She understood.

"Fine, I won't ask."

She muttered, her finger starting to draw circles again.

"But if you go somewhere far away, can you at least try to come more often? Three times every two weeks would work. No, no, no—twice a month. Twice a month, that's the minimum."

James thought about it.

"I'll try."

Cleo was satisfied and nuzzled her face against his chest.

"Also... Bianca is so busy.

She leaves early and comes back late every day, and when she gets back, she locks herself in her room reading papers. I don't even have time to talk to her.

Sometimes I make something good to eat and want to call her to join me. She says 'wait a minute,' and then an hour later, the pasta is all mushy and she still hasn't come out."

James listened without saying anything.

"Iris is busy too."

Cleo continued.

"She stays in the finance office all day. When I go to see her, she doesn't even look up, just says 'put it there.'

I ask her 'put what where,' and she says 'on the desk.'

I say 'I'm not even holding anything,' and only then does she look up at me for a second before looking back down."

There was a hint of grievance in Cleo's voice—not real anger, but that kind of "you're all ignoring me and I'm so bored all by myself" whining.

"No new friends from school?"

James asked.

"Classmates..."

Cleo thought about it.

"There are a few nice ones. But they all have their own things going on—some work part-time, some are dating, some camp out in the library. I can't just cling to them all the time."

She paused, her voice getting a little quieter.

"James, I want to be with you guys. Not staying here—I mean following you. Wherever you go, I go."

James was silent for a few seconds, about to speak...

Pff.

A very soft sound.

It didn't come from the door—it came from the window.

James's body sprang up like a coiled spring.

He didn't think, didn't hesitate—his body moved before his brain.

He grabbed Cleo's arm and flipped her from his side to the other side of the bed. Cleo's body hit the mattress with a dull thud.

Before she could cry out, James had already grabbed the blanket, wrapped it around her body, and then used the mattress...

Not the pillow, not the blanket—the entire mattress...

To block the direction of the window.

The mattress was heavy, but James lifted it with one hand, standing it up by the bed like a giant shield.

Bullets hit the mattress with muffled thuds, like someone punching cotton.

James crouched behind the mattress, one hand pressing the edge, the other protecting Cleo's head.

Cleo curled up in his arms, trembling all over, eyes wide, lips moving but making no sound.

The gunfire stopped.

Not the kind of gradual stopping—it was an abrupt stop, like someone hit the pause button.

James knew what that meant...

It wasn't running out of bullets—the shooter had fled.

He heard the commotion outside...

Footsteps, fast and light, crunching on snow, getting farther and farther away.

Then he heard Xavier's voice from downstairs.

"Boss! Are you okay?"

Daniel's voice followed.

"Lock down the exits! Everyone freeze!"

James stood up, walked to the window, lifted a corner of the curtain, and looked down.

There was a trail of footprints in the snow, extending from the woods behind the villa all the way to beneath the window. The prints were messy, indicating more than one person.

Under the tree were several shell casings, gleaming copper-colored in the snow.

Xavier and Daniel had already rushed into the villa, their footsteps pounding up the stairs.

James turned around and looked at Cleo.

She was huddled on the bed, wrapped in the blanket, hair a mess, face white as paper.

Her lips were trembling, teeth chattering, both hands clutching the blanket so hard her knuckles were white.

She looked at James, wanting to say something, but her mouth opened and closed, closed and opened, without saying anything.

James walked over, crouched down, and met her eyes at the same level.

He reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. Her hands were cold—colder than the freezing world outside.

"Are you hurt?"

He asked.

Cleo shook her head.

Her eyes were red, but she wasn't crying.

"Don't be afraid."

James said.

"I'm here."

Cleo nodded, biting her lip.

The door was pushed open.

Xavier rushed in, gun in hand, his eyes sweeping the room...

Bullet holes in the curtains, the walls, the ceiling.

His face looked grim.

"Boss, the shooter ran through the woods on the west side. Daniel's already taken people to chase them down. Are you... are you hurt?"

"No."

James stood up, draping the blanket over Cleo.

"She's not either."

Xavier glanced at Cleo, then at the bullet holes, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Boss, this is my fault. The perimeter patrol wasn't set up properly..."

"It's not your fault."

James cut him off.

"Picking up Cleo from school was a last-minute decision. Only a few people here knew about it. The shooter didn't follow me here—they'd been staking out this place all along. Someone leaked information about this property."

Xavier's pupils contracted slightly.

"You mean... there's a mole?"