Chapter 96:I am no match for her

Chapter 96: 96:I am no match for her

"So, what exactly is our next move?" Double K asked, his eyes locked intently on Trison.

Trison tossed the dossier onto the table. He placed his cigar back between his lips, drew a long drag, and removed it, exhaling a thick, gray plume of smoke into the dim room.

"Cassian," he thought, his eyes narrowing into dangerous, calculated slits, "everything tied to you is nothing but trouble. Even when picking a wife, you couldn’t just find a simple one."

"Right, I forgot to add," Double K chimed in, breaking the heavy silence. "She is also Alan’s fiancée."

"Is that so?" Trison raised a single eyebrow, his gaze shifting sharply to Double K. "Isn’t she already married to Cassian? How can she be Alan’s fiancée?"

"That girl is building a harem," Double K replied, shaking his head in disbelief. "Set Cassian aside for a moment—she is deeply involved with Alan as well. If you ask me, this girl is playing both sides to get her hands on their combined power and wealth. If she succeeds, won’t all our efforts go to waste?"

Trison slowly shook his head. "I don’t think she’s after their power and wealth."

"Why do you say that?" Double K asked, his face twisting in confusion.

"Because she is Raymond’s wife, too," Trison replied, his tone dropping to a freezing, deadpan calm.

Double K’s jaw practically hit the floor. "She’s definitely playing all three of them!" he gasped.

"No," Trison corrected, shaking his head again. "According to the operative I sent to tail them—the one to stirred up trouble at Mrs. Thomas’s birthday banquet—Raymond and Cassian actually get along. That means they both explicitly agreed to be her husbands. Now that you mention Alan is her fiancé, it makes perfect sense why he escorted her to that banquet. The three of them are sharing one wife, and they are entirely fine with it."

Double K was rendered entirely speechless. A cold chill crept down his spine. "This only further proves she is far from ordinary. She is an absolute threat," he breathed. "Who should we make a move on first?"

Trison placed the cigar back between his teeth, puffing out another cloud of smoke before issuing a chilling command. "Fetch Naomi for me."

The female guard standing at attention behind him bowed deeply and slipped out of the room.

A few moments later, the heavy doors groaned open. A woman, covered in dried blood and wearing violently ruined clothes, was dragged mercilessly into the room. Her wrists were bound in heavy, iron shackles. Tangled, wet hair hung over her face, obscuring her features.

As they reached the center of the room, the female guard ruthlessly kicked the back of the prisoner’s knees. Naomi crashed to the floor, the harsh clanking of her iron chains intertwining bizarrely with the muffled, lively cheers of the gamblers on the floor below.

Trison lazily crossed one leg over the other, staring down at the broken woman.

Naomi slowly raised her head, glaring in Trison’s direction through the veil of her messy hair. "Do not think I will do anything for you," she rasped. Her voice was eerily low and possessed an unnatural, overlapping resonance—as if multiple unseen entities were echoing her words simultaneously. "The worst you can do is continue torturing me."

Trison chuckled darkly. He tapped his cigar against an ashtray, settling deeper into his leather chair.

"You are badly injured," he observed, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Who hurt you this much? I explicitly told them to take good care of you."

Naomi remained silent for a long moment. "Send me back," she finally demanded, her tone laced with authority despite her condition.

Trison laughed again. "Fine. I can send you back. But you will have to do something for me first."

A low, murderous chuckle slipped past Naomi’s bruised lips. "You need my help," she noted dryly.

Trison merely stared at her, his expression hardening.

"There is someone in this human world that even you cannot handle. Ha. I am impressed," Naomi mocked, her overlapping voice echoing chillingly in the spacious room.

Trison snorted, his amusement vanishing. "This is your only chance to go back. If you miss it, it’s your loss," he stated coldly. "It’s not like I am in a rush. You can stay down in the cells and keep me company indefinitely."

Naomi scoffed. "Do you honestly expect me to believe you?"

"I will definitely send you back this time," Trison promised. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the photograph of Nova across the table. It fluttered to the floor, landing right in front of the shackled woman. "This girl... is she like you?"

Naomi stared down at the photograph. Her bruised, shivering hands reached out, her fingers tightening slightly around the edges of the glossy paper.

"Hm."

Trison’s brows knitted together. "What is that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his gaze locked unblinking onto her form.

Naomi slowly lifted her head. With a trembling hand, she calmly tucked her matted hair behind her ear, finally revealing her face. Despite the dirt and blood, her breathtaking beauty was undeniable—highlighted by a pair of mesmerizing, perfect silver eyes.

Those piercing silver eyes fixed on Trison, a faint, condescending smirk appearing on her lips. "Are you doubting her nature just because of her beauty?" she asked, her eyes flashing with pure disgust.

Trison looked away, his jaw tightening.

"She is not like us," Naomi whispered. "And if you think you can use me to wipe her out, you are thinking too highly of me. I am no match for her."

"You know her?" Trison demanded, his sharp gaze snapping back to Naomi’s face.

Naomi remained silent for a beat. "No."

Trison smirked in disbelief. "Then how do you know you can’t defeat her? Besides, you don’t have to kill her. As long as you can manufacture a severe misunderstanding between her and Cassian, and make Alan fall for you, I guarantee you will be sent back the moment it’s done."

Naomi let out a hollow, bitter laugh. "You might as well just lock me back up. Instead of dying at her hands, I would much rather rot in your dungeon."

Trison’s gaze turned viciously suspicious. He stood up from his armchair, stalked over to Naomi, and squatted in front of her. Without warning, his hand shot out, wrapping tightly around her throat.

"You are terrified of her," he hissed, his face inches from hers. "Yet you dare tell me you don’t know who she is. What exactly are you hiding?"

Naomi laughed coldly, choking slightly against his grip. "Seeing her picture alone is enough for me to know whether she is a threat or not. I don’t need to meet her in person to know that crossing her is a death sentence."

Trison hissed in frustration and released her neck, shoving her back slightly as he stood up and returned to his seat. "I didn’t ask you to fight her. Just cause a rift between her and Cassian, and seduce Alan," he repeated forcefully.

"Tsk. It is still the same thing," Naomi retorted, her silver eyes glowing with defiance.

Trison smiled—a cruel, merciless curving of his lips. "If you refuse, then discard any hope of ever going back. Furthermore... I have my own ways to ensure the rest of your people die horrible, agonizing deaths."

The tension in the room snapped taut, vibrating with lethal intent. Naomi glared at Trison, an ocean of ancient, burning hatred swirling in her silver eyes. She understood she was cornered.

"I will trust you... one last time," she whispered venomously.

With agonizing slowness, her heavy chains clanking against the floorboards, she dragged her aching, battered body up from the ground, preparing to walk into a nightmare far worse than the one she was already in.