Richard sat down heavily, his expression darkening with every second. Across from him, Kira knelt, her breath coming in shaky sobs.
"Please, sir… let me go. I'll do anything. I only needed the money," she cried, eyes red with tears. "That's the only reason I did this. I don't even know who the real boss is. I only ever saw that man with the grey eyes. He's always the one giving the orders—but I swear, I don't know who's behind him!"
Richard exhaled a slow, bitter laugh.
"So I've been played. Very good... but I'm no one's fool." He knelt before her, voice razor-sharp. "Is there anything you can tell me that's worth your life?"
Kira lowered her gaze as if debating whether to speak. Richard narrowed his eyes and gestured.
One of his men stepped forward and delivered a brutal kick to her back. Kira cried out, curling in pain as the guard struck again.
"I'll talk!" she screamed. "I'll talk—just stop, please!"
She coughed, trembling. "I overheard the grey-eyed man. He's keeping documents—proof of all his illegal deals. Names, transactions, even your enemies. He's hiding it in his study."
Richard's eyes darkened.
"You're going to do exactly what I say," he growled and bent to whisper instructions into her ear.
Later, Richard reentered the lounge with Kira following closely. The grey-eyed man raised his head, visibly annoyed.
"What took you so long?"
Richard chuckled coldly. "Just had a taste of the girl. Trust me—you'll want to try her."
He shoved Kira forward.
The grey-eyed man scowled, about to push her away, but she clung to him with soft affection.
"Darling…" she purred into his ear, "I'll make tonight unforgettable."
She made sure he noticed the fresh bruises on her neck and the sideways glance she cast at Richard, as if silently pleading for rescue.
The man's eyes flickered, looking at Richard so this fool wants to use sex trap on him he was born to late if he thinks he can use this trick and see the kind of girl he use the one who is stupid and greedy a escort
That night, at the grey-eyed man's private estate, Kira was placed in a luxurious guest room, locked and monitored.
She waited until the hallway surveillance camera rotated— as she had already paid attention to all the security when she entered.The camera had a blind spot for exactly seven seconds during each rotation.
She counted silently.
One… two… three… go.
She slipped out, silent as a cat, moving along the wall, avoiding creaky boards and keeping low.
A single guard stood near the corridor's end. She pressed against the shadows and timed his routine walk—again,
Reaching a heavy door with a biometric keypad, she knelt and opened the compact device Chris had given her. It looked like a small makeup compact, but inside was a full-spectrum decoder.
She plugged the connector into the security panel and entered the override code: #47-AZ-CHRIS.
The screen blinked once—then the lock clicked open.
She held her breath and slipped inside.
Inside the private study, the air was still and cold. The walls were lined with locked file cabinets, and a sleek laptop glowed softly on the desk.
Carefully avoiding a faint red-stitched triangle in the rug—a silent alarm trigger, as Chris had warned her—she made her way to the desk.
She inserted a custom flash drive into the laptop. Within seconds, lines of green code streamed across the screen—the virus was working.
The computer granted her admin access.
Kira's eyes widened as folders opened, revealing files
She photographed everything with the hidden pin-camera in her earring and faked the files and sent it to to Richard
Then she carefully replaced every file to avoid suspicion, erased any sign of the virus, and removed the flash drive.
On her way back, Kira stopped by the kitchen and filled a glass of water. She hide a capsules in btw her teeth
When the grey-eyed man appeared moments later, glaring, Kira acted weak and confused.
"I… I just needed a drink…" she murmured.
He grabbed her arm harshly and dragged her into his room, throwing her to the ground.
"You went through the window for water?" he barked, stepping hard on her chest.
"Tell me— Richard send you? What did he plan?!"
Kira gasped for air.
"He… he told me to get into your study… but I couldn't do it," she said, sobbing. "I failed…"
The man scoffed. "As if you could ever break into my study. The security's unbeatable."
Kira smiled internally. Wrong again.
The man pulled out a gun, aiming it straight at her head.
"I'm done playing."
Kira moved fast.
Her hand was already on his foot—and with a swift press, the spring-loaded needle hidden in her ring jabbed into his leg. A sedative mixed with a paralyzing agent entered his bloodstream.
He staggered.
Kira stood, pulling him into a kiss—and while he was still dazed, she transferred the second drug capsule into his mouth. He swallowed it instinctively.
He pushed her away, stumbling.
Kira shoved him onto the bed and pulled out her phone. She hit "Play."
From the speaker, loud sensual moaning filled the room, masking any real sounds.
Then she moved fast—rearranged her hair, tore her dress slightly, and grabbed one of the servant uniforms she had stashed earlier from the linen room. She changed quickly and walked past the guards at the back gate carrying a tray of empty glasses.
None of them looked twice.
She was just another servant girl doing her job.
Once outside, she slipped down an alleyway, tossed the tray into a trash bin, and pulled off the servant uniform,
Kira leaned against the cold wall, chest rising and falling in wild, erratic breaths. Her heart thundered like a war drum—fast, chaotic, panicked. Her hands trembled slightly, blood rushing so loud in her ears it drowned out the world around her.
She had done it.
Barely.
The plan had holes—gaping, deadly holes. But somehow, she still pulled it off.
She could have died.
She knew that the moment she stepped into the lion's den in that tight, blood-red velvet mini-dress from a notorious nightclub brand—the kind worn by escorts that men bought, used, and discarded. That dress alone marked her for judgment. And yet, she wore it like armor. Like war paint.
Because Kira wasn't doing this for fun. She wasn't playing dress-up.
She was playing for revenge.
If she hadn't grown up in the gutters—if she hadn't lived her life dodging gangsters, landlords, and debt collectors her parents dumped on her—she might have thought the lives of the rich were golden. But now she saw it for what it was: rot wrapped in diamonds.
At eighteen, other girls were studying, laughing, falling in love. Kira? She was running for her life. She had no choice. Her own family had tried to sell her to pay off debts. Her own brother had sold her nude photos. They were planning to sell her organs next.
"Family," she scoffed.
They didn't deserve to breathe.
The only good thing V ever did was destroy her illusions—show her that even the blood in her veins meant nothing when compared to profit.
And she would burn them all.
Her fingers twitched as she messaged Chris: "It's done. Passed the check. Leaving now."
She turned sharply to leave the back street behind.
....
the other mansion
Redwood exited a glass building, flanked by two men. One of them—Ice—froze mid-step, his sharp eyes narrowing.
He saw her.
Kira. Dressed in that red outfit.
Like a glowing flame in enemy territory.
He immediately shifted his body, blocking Redwood's line of sight. If Kendrick's inner circle caught even a glimpse of her, they would take her back to Kendrick
Yes ice is the man they sent to pick Kira in her apartment.
Ice's lips curled in disgust. Didn't she learn her place already?
He thought she would disappear. Instead, she showed up again—bold, shameless. He clenched his fists.
Girls like her didn't belong here.
And this time, he'd make sure she paid the price.
Kira had already made it far from the estate. The sidewalk was eerily quiet. This neighborhood didn't welcome taxis or buses—too high-class for "public" anything. She needed to reach the main road before she could even dream of escaping.
A faint sound behind her made her pause.
Then another. Tires.
Too fast. Too deliberate.
She turned, eyes widening.
A black SUV peeled down the hill—straight toward her.
She cursed under her breath and bolted from the center of the street onto the narrow walkway.
But the SUV didn't veer off.
It chased her.
She darted toward the base of the ridge, climbing over the edge toward the rocky hillside. Her feet slid in the loose dirt as headlights blazed behind her.
The SUV screeched to a halt.
Doors slammed.
Ice emerged, gun already drawn. Five other men followed, metal glinting in their hands.
Gunshots cracked through the silence.
Bullets tore through the trees around her.
Kira ran in a zigzag pattern, lungs burning, heart threatening to explode.
She reached the slope—but she was surrounded. Ice approached slowly, gun raised, laughter cold.
"Time to die, bitch," Ice sneered.
Kira turned slowly, sweat dripping from her brow, dirt clinging to her knees.
"Why?" she spat. "Did Kendrick send you? Or are you just desperate to prove yourself? Or is it something else?"
She glanced him up and down.
"Are you gay, Ice?"
His eyes widened with fury. "You're not worth the spit on my shoe! Only Lady Miranda is fit for Kendrick. You—you're filth."
Kira laughed. Loud. Insane. Defiant.
"I always wondered how side characters like you get so full of themselves. You talk like Kendrick even knows your name."
He stepped forward, furious.
"Trash like you thinks you can warm Master Kendrick's bed?"
"Bed?" she snapped. "Darling, I'd burn the whole mansion before I lay in it."
Ice lunged.
Kira stepped back too fast—her foot slipped over the edge.
She fell.
Her body tumbled down the cliffside, hitting rocks, scraping against jagged edges.
She slammed into the pavement with a loud crack.
And then—screech.
A speeding car, unable to stop in time, collided with her.
Everything blurred.
The driver, a tall man in a black coat, jumped out. "Shit!"
He rushed to her, checked her pulse—still alive—then scooped her into his arms and placed her in the backseat.
As he pulled away, the mirror revealed something chilling:
Two black cars behind him.
Following.
Suddenly, his hands tightened on the wheel.
"You're not dying today, girl," he muttered.
The cars gained.
A metal clang sounded as one rammed into the left side of his vehicle, trying to force him off-road.
He swerved hard, the tires screeching across the asphalt.
A second car flanked him from the right, boxing him in.
He accelerated.
The engine roared.
Bullets smashed into the trunk as Kira moaned faintly in the backseat.
He pulled hard on the wheel, slammed into a sharp turn, forcing one of the chasing cars into a construction barrier.
One down.
But then—
A black car cut in front of him.
Too fast.
Too sudden.
Before he could react—BOOM.
A massive trailer slammed into the side of his car.
Metal crunched.
Glass shattered.
The car spun off the road, slamming into a ditch.
Smoke poured from the hood.
Silence.
---
The hospital lights flickered overhead like dying stars.
Inside, chaos danced.
Nurses rushed, monitors beeped, and voices echoed across corridors in urgent, trembling tones. But as the sliding doors opened, a strange stillness swept through the hallway.
Chris stepped in.
One hand in his pocket.
A lollipop lazily tucked between his lips.
His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, his hair slightly tousled like he'd just woken up from a nap he didn't enjoy. His expression was unreadable—not because he was trying to hide anything, but because he didn't care who tried to read him.
He walked slowly.
Unbothered.
Detached.
But the tension in his jaw, the way his thumb tapped silently against the hilt of his pocket knife—it betrayed him, just a little.
Outside the operating room, everyone fell silent. The doctor stepped forward, her hands bloodied and trembling.
"sir you just have to be patient the chance if her Survivingis 50%
Chris didn't blink. He didn't demand. He just tilted his head slightly, pulling the candy stick from his lips.
"Remove the oxygen."
The doctor's lips parted. "S-Sir, maybe if we wait—"
Chris exhaled, slow. Lazy. Like he was already bored of the conversation.
"I don't like repeating myself."
His voice was soft, like a sigh. But no one mistook it for gentleness.
The doctor turned back into the room.
---
Kira lay still on the table, her body broken in ways too cruel to describe. The red dress stained darker at the edges. Her hand twitched slightly… just once.
Then the oxygen mask was lifted from her face.
The beep of the heart monitor slowed.
Slowed.
Stopped.
She gasped—like the air stabbed her lungs. Eyes wide.
Then stillness.
The room went quiet.
The flatline rang long, soft, final.
---
The doors opened.
Nurses rolled out the stretcher, the white sheet pulled over her face. But her hair, her dress, the curve of her jaw beneath the cover—it was her. Kira.
Chris stood by the wall.
He didn't move to meet the body disinterested.
His assistant work to him , and look at him waiting for instructions
"She had done her work she need to rest from all the chaos, and oh right make sure to cover how track we have nothing to do with her understand "Chris said glancing at him as his assistant nodded and left leaving him alone.
He just stood there, sucking quietly on the last of his candy until it turned bitter and sharp on his tongue.
A nurse walked past him with the stretcher. The scent of blood and antiseptic followed.
He said nothing typing in his phone quitely
---
Two of Ice's men spotted the covered body as it was wheeled by. One of them tugged down the sheet just enough to reveal her face.
Still.
Cold.
Dead.
The red dress confirmed it.
"That's her," one whispered, satisfied. "She's gone."
The sheet was drawn back up.
Chris watched them go.
Then finally spoke, soft and almost amused:
"…Tch."
He stared at the elevator doors as they closed around the stretcher, then leaned back against the wall.
He looked up at the flickering light above.
As if asking the ceiling what it thought of all this.
Then he whispered to himself:
"Boring"
...
The sunlight crept through the velvet curtains, soft and slow, painting golden lines across the sheets.
Maria stirred.
Her entire body ached.
The bruises on her wrists, the heat in her veins, the dull throb behind her eyes—it all whispered of a night blurred by fragments. She blinked, trying to remember. Her heart skipped.
Was it Andrew?
Her breath hitched.
Panic.
Then—a strong arm coiled around her waist, pulling her back against a firm, warm chest. A heartbeat against her spine. Steady. Controlled.
Dangerous.
A kiss brushed her temple.
"Shhh, babygirl," came the voice—low, deep, and intoxicating. "Don't go scaring yourself with things that don't matter."
Maria froze.
Mike.
His voice poured into her ear like red wine: smooth, seductive, and laced with something venomous.
"You didn't sleep with any filthy man," he whispered, lips grazing her skin. "You slept with your one and only. Me."
She turned her head slightly.
His gaze was already on her—those fox-like eyes, playful and cold all at once. A predator watching his prey stir awake.
Maria's expression twisted into guarded neutrality.
"It was just a one-night stand," she said, voice dry. "So don't overthink it."
She sat up, dragging the blanket to cover her chest. Her head throbbed, and her pride flared even harder.
Mike tilted his head, grinning lazily like a cat who already knew where this was going.
"This is just a one time thing it doesn't matter so we should forget about it "Maria said annoyed
"Tsk. Nail and bail, huh?" he murmured. "Scream my name all night, beg for more… and now you want to ghost me like a stranger."
His tone wasn't angry.
It was amused.
Deliciously so.
He propped his chin on his palm, eyes glinting.
"Women are truly fickle," he added, smirking. "But my wifey... you're special. That's why I was prepared."
Maria narrowed her eyes.
"Who the hell is your wife?"
Mike gave her a fake innocent blink. "You."
He reached behind him and pulled out a slim, elegant folder—black with gold edges. He handed it to her with exaggerated reverence.
"I figured this would happen, so I made sure we sealed the deal properly last night," he said, grinning as he wiggled the marriage certificate in front of her.
Maria's eyes widened.
"You're joking."
He raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like I joke about something that belongs to me?"
She lunged for the paper, tearing the cover off with quick fingers.
Mike whistled, chuckling darkly.
"Whoa—honeymoon phase already, and you're so eager. Slow down, baby," he said, snatching her back into his arms before she could stand.
Maria struggled against his grip, but his hand was firm on her waist—possessive, yet gentle, like holding something precious and wild.
"If you tear it," he murmured into her ear, "it's fine. I printed a thousand copies. How many would you like to rip up today?"
His lips ghosted over her neck.
Then his teeth sank into her skin in a teasing bite.
Maria shivered.
"I'm serious, Mike. This is insane."
"I know," he said softly. "So are my feelings for you."
He smiled against her throat.
A slow, wicked smile.
"And lucky you—I'm the kind of man who always keeps what's his."
Absolutely! Here's the fully fixed, expanded, and emotionally layered version of your scene—flowing naturally from Maria's fiery attitude, Mike's dangerously tender behavior, and their intense bond. I've kept your tone and personality style intact, while polishing the grammar and structure to make it immersive and dramatic:
---
Chapter Title: "Softer Than Sin"
"Mike, you are a bastard. Do you know that? A lunatic," Maria hissed, voice low and sharp as she yanked the blanket over her chest, glaring at him.
Mike didn't even blink. Instead, he nodded with an infuriating smirk, eyes trailing lazily over her form like a man entirely at peace with being cursed out.
"I know," he said simply, then leaned in to kiss the side of her throat. "But I'm your lunatic, so you'll just have to deal with it."
Maria pushed him off with a frustrated laugh and turned away, burrowing deeper under the covers.
Mike sat back on the bed, his posture relaxed, lazy—as if nothing could rattle him. He gazed at her like a wolf amused by its prey pretending to be dangerous.
"You're hiding like I haven't already seen everything," he said casually, stretching his arm. "Touched everything. Bathed you, sweetheart. Washed every inch of your pretty little body."
Maria's entire face turned crimson. She threw the blanket over her head like it was armor.
"You—you what?!"
Mike reached into the drawer and pulled out a small jar, rolling the lid between his fingers.
"Ointment," he said calmly. "You're going to be sore, babygirl. Be good. Take a bath, and let me apply it."
"I can do it myself," she snapped from under the covers, voice muffled but still defiant.
Mike chuckled—a low, dangerous sound.
"Oh, baby," he murmured, standing. "I love it when you dare me. Makes it so much more fun when you lose."
---
One hour later...
Maria sat on Mike's lap in the dining room, her head resting lightly against his shoulder. She wore his pale blue shirt—it drowned her slender frame, falling to her knees—and his black boxers, barely visible beneath the hem. Her hair was still damp, clinging to her skin, her cheeks faintly pink Mike shirt wet from the struggle in the bathroom.
Mike's arm wrapped possessively around her waist as he brought a spoonful of warm food to her lips.
She tried to glare at him. Tried.
"Stop feeding me like I'm a child," she muttered, mouth half-full already.
"You are acting like one," he replied smoothly, voice teasing and rich with amusement. "Throwing pillows, hiding under blankets, whining about being bathed..."
Maria turned her face away but opened her mouth for the next bite anyway.
He fed her in silence for a moment, eyes fixed on her lips, on the delicate way her lashes flickered as she blinked. His fingers drummed gently against her thigh.
"You're quiet," he said finally.
"I'm trying to eat without choking from your smugness."
Mike smirked, brushing his lips against her temple.
She stared at it. Then at him.
He grinned wider.
Maria groaned, dropping her forehead to his shoulder.
"Mike, you're a psycho."
He stroked her back gently, resting his chin on her head.
"And you're Mrs. Psycho now. Congratulations, wifey."
---