Chapter 350: A Little Sparring Time 2

The impact echoed across the open pond. Liam’s fist struck Wraith’s oblique muscles hard, but it felt like hitting a wall of solid oak. Wraith barely flinched.

"A bit slow, sir," Wraith grunted politely, sweeping his thick leg low across the grass in a brutal leg kick aimed straight at Liam’s lead knee.

Liam caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and checked the kick just in time, his shin slamming against Wraith’s with a dull, sickening crack of bone on bone.

The force sent a sharp jolt of pain shooting up Liam’s calf, but he forced his face to stay deadpan, using the momentum to spring backward and create space.

They circled each other on the lush green lawn, the tranquil pond sitting silently beside them while the air between them crackled with violence.

"Your footwork is light, Mr. Liam," Wraith observed, shifting his stance, his guard held high and tight. "But your defense is lax. You are fighting as if you have time to hesitate."

"I’m just getting warmed up," Liam spat, snapping his guard into place.

Liam lunged forward, feinting a sharp left jab to Wraith’s face. Wraith raised his guard to absorb it, and the moment his vision was blocked, Liam ducked low, driving a brutal double-jab straight into Wraith’s solar plexus, followed instantly by a heavy, rising right uppercut targeted at his chin.

Wraith leaned his head back just enough to let the uppercut graze his jaw, but Liam’s body shots landed clean. Wraith grunted, a flicker of genuine approval flashing across his scarred face.

"Much better, sir," Wraith said.

Before Liam could pull his hand back, Wraith reached out like a striking viper, his thick hand clamping around Liam’s wrist like an iron manacle.

He yanked Liam forward into a vicious, close-range knee strike aimed straight for his sternum.

Liam’s eyes widened.

He threw his free forearm down, sandwiching his arm between Wraith’s knee and his own chest to absorb the crushing blow.

*BOOM*

The sheer force drove the air straight out of Liam’s lungs.

He was lifted off his feet for a split second before Wraith released his wrist and drove a heavy palm-heel strike directly into Liam’s shoulder, sending him skidding backward across the grass.

Liam dug his heels into the dirt, bringing himself to a halt ten feet away, panting heavily.

His chest burned, his shoulder throbbed, and his shin was firing off sharp needles of pain—but a dark, wild grin spread across his face.

"Alright," Liam rasped, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. "My turn."

Liam bounced on his toes, his posture dropping into a tight, explosive stance.

He surged forward again, throwing a blinding combination—jab, cross, hook, low kick—mixing high and low strikes with relentless, fluid speed.

Wraith parried the jabs, blocked the cross with his heavy forearms, and leaned into the low kick, absorbing the strike before stepping inside Liam’s guard to deliver a short, lethal elbow strike toward his collarbone.

Liam slipped inside the elbow, closing the distance completely. He wrapped his arms around Wraith’s thick waist, digging his shoulder into his ribs, attempting to lift the mountain of a man for a heavy takedown onto the turf.

Wraith grunted, widening his base and slamming his massive forearms down onto Liam’s upper back, trying to crush him into the dirt through sheer physical weight.

They locked up in a brutal, straining struggle of raw power right at the edge of the pond.

Liam’s muscles strained to their absolute limit, his jaw clenched so hard his teeth groaned, while Wraith pressed down with relentless force.

Neither man gave an inch, their breathing ragged, their boots tearing up the pristine green grass beneath them.

"Enough."

The voice wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t raised in a shout, nor did it carry any overt anger. But it cut through the air with a razor-sharp authority that instantly froze both men in their tracks.

Liam and Wraith paused mid-struggle, their heavy breathing the only sound echoing across the lawn.

Standing at the edge of the glass doors leading out from the main mansion was Elena.

She looked immaculate.

She wore a tailored crimson skirt-suit that hugged her sharp, elegant frame, paired with dark high heels that rested silently on the stone patio.

Her dark hair was styled in soft, perfect waves around her face, and her dark eyes were cold, calm, and entirely unimpressed as she looked down at the two men tearing up her lawn.

Behind her, through the open glass doors, a group of three elderly executives in expensive grey suits were awkwardly shuffling away toward the foyer, clutching their leather briefcases, clearly disturbed by the sight of a violent brawl taking place outside their meeting room.

Elena crossed her arms over her chest, stepping onto the stone steps.

"You two are tearing up my grass," she said smoothly, her voice cool and unbothered. "And my guests are trying to leave."

Wraith immediately relaxed his posture. He released his grip on Liam’s back, stepped smoothly backward, and bowed deeply toward her.

"My apologies, Madam," Wraith said respectfully, his voice instantly dropping into a quiet, humbled tone.

Liam straightened up slowly, rubbing his sore shoulder with one hand while using the other to brush bits of torn grass and dirt off his jeans. He looked over at Elena, catching the sharp, dangerous glint in her eyes.

Elena’s gaze drifted from Wraith to Liam.

Her eyes lingered on his flushed face, his disheveled hair, and the way his chest was heaving as he caught his breath.

A tiny, almost unnoticeable smirk touched the corner of her crimson lips before her expression returned to a mask of cool composure.

"Liam," Elena said softly, turning her body back toward the interior of the mansion. "In my office. Now."

Liam watched her turn and walk back inside, her heels clicking smartly against the marble floor.

He looked over at Wraith, who simply gave him a short, respectful bow of his head before turning back toward his stone by the pond.

Liam let out a slow, quiet breath, rolling his shoulder one last time.

’Right into the lion’s den,’ he thought, turning his back on the pond and following her inside.

---

The double mahogany doors of Elena’s private study clicked shut behind Liam with a heavy, muted thud that instantly sealed off the rest of the estate.

The room was vast, lined with floor-to-ceiling dark walnut bookshelves, framed leather-bound volumes, and a floor of polished teakwood draped in a massive, plush Persian rug.

Soft sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains of the arched windows, illuminating the lingering scent of rich mahogany, expensive leather, and Elena’s distinct, suffocating perfume—a intoxicating mix of dark cherry, amber, and bitter vanilla.

Behind a massive executive desk crafted from reclaimed oak, Elena was already settled.

She had shed her tailored crimson suit jacket, leaving her in a sleeveless, dark silk blouse that clung to the sharp taper of her waist and highlighted the pale porcelain skin of her throat and shoulders.

Her long, dark hair spilled over one shoulder in flawless, silk-like waves.

She wasn’t looking at him.

Her slender fingers were casually scrolling through something on her tablet, the cool glow of the glass screen reflecting in her dark, unreadable eyes.

Liam stood near the center of the rug, one hand resting on his hip, his chest still settling from his brutal sparring session with Wraith outside.

He could still feel the phantom ache in his ribs and the dull, throbbing heat radiating up his shin.

"Elena," Liam began, his voice low and raspy as he took a step toward the desk. "Look, about the assignment—"

"You kept me waiting," Elena said smoothly, interrupting him without so much as lifting her eyes from her screen.

Her voice was soft, melodic, and wrapped in a quiet, razor-sharp authority that made the spacious study feel instantly smaller.

"I had to wrap up early with the regional directors because I was informed your car had pulled through the gates," she continued, setting the tablet face-down on the polished oak with a sharp clack. She finally looked up, her dark eyes locking onto his with an icy, possessive focus. "And yet, I spent ten minutes watching you roll around in the grass with my driver like an untrained dog."

Liam jaw tightened slightly. He ran a hand through his damp, disheveled hair, taking another step forward. "I was just checking in with Wraith while your meeting wrapped up. I didn’t think—"

"That is precisely your problem, Liam," she cut in softly, rising from her leather armchair with fluid, predatory grace. "You don’t think."

She rounded the heavy desk, her dark high heels sinking silently into the thick pile of the rug.

She didn’t stop until she was standing directly in front of him. Even in heels, she had to tilt her head up slightly to meet his gaze, but the sheer weight of her presence easily eclipsed his height.

"I am the one who manages your schedule," Elena murmured, her gaze tracking down the dirt smudges on his t-shirt, the flush on his neck, and the slight rise and fall of his chest. "I am the one who holds your leash in the underground circuit. When you enter this compound, your first stop is here. Not the grounds. Not the pond. And certainly not seeking the counsel of my staff before you have paid your respects to me."

Liam let out a dry, forced breath, his green eyes narrowing. "Wraith was just trying to see if I was still sharp. Don’t take it out on him. He was only doing his job—"

"I will handle Wraith," Elena interrupted quietly, stepping closer until the heat of her body was radiating against his chest. She reached up, her long, manicured nails light as a feather as they brushed a blade of grass off his collarbone. "He knows his place. He will be disciplined accordingly for indulging your little distraction."

"Elena, come on, he’s your driver—"

"Silence."