CHAPTER 436: CHAPTER 436: TARGET

Anton watched Adriana’s back as she spoke, and his brows slowly furrowed. Her response had been direct, sharp even, and it caught him off guard.

He had approached her with a smile, soft, friendly, charming, but she rejected him with a coldness that was impossible to ignore.

"Why do you act so hostile every time I speak to you?" he asked, unable to restrain his frustration. "I haven’t done anything to you. If there’s a misunderstanding..."

Adriana closed her eyes for a brief moment and exhaled, as if summoning patience.

"I am not obligated to explain myself to a stranger," she replied calmly.

Anton smiled, trying to lighten the air. "We’re only strangers because we haven’t spoken enough. If we talk more, we’ll naturally get to know each other. That’s how people form bonds."

Adriana chuckled, not kindly, but as someone amused by something only she understood.

"You said we should talk more to get to know each other," she continued. "But tell me, do I look like someone who wants to get to know you?"

There was no hesitation. No attempt to soften the blow. Just blunt truth.

Anton blinked. For a moment, he looked genuinely confused.

"So... you already have some impression of me? Or maybe you’ve misunderstood something..."

Adriana shook her head and finally looked directly into his eyes. Her gaze was clear, sharp, and entirely unbothered.

"I don’t misunderstand anything," she said. "If anything, I know more than I should."

She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need to.

She simply collected her things and walked away.

Anton stood frozen for several seconds after she left, watching her elegant silhouette disappear down the corridor.

’Does she know something?’ he wondered, his eyes narrowing.

Then his phone chimed. He glanced down.

A WhatsApp group lit up the screen. The group name: F*ckers of Whores.

He already knew what it would be. He tapped it open.

[Marc]: @Anton How long is that mission going to take?

[Felix]: Yeah bro, updates?

[Leo]: Don’t tell me the famous Anton finally met someone he can’t handle! Lol!

Anton rolled his eyes. He typed back:

Anton: This target is complicated. I might not complete the mission on time.

The reaction was immediate.

Marc: No way. The Anton? Struggling?

Leo: The campus heart-stealer is losing game? I never thought I’d see the day.

Felix: Is she ugly or something?

Anton frowned.

Anton: She’s not ugly. She’s... different. Too loyal. Too decisive. Already attached.

There was a pause in the group before chaos resumed.

Marc: Ohhh, so you’re telling us the target has a boyfriend rich enough to keep her?

Leo: Money problem? That’s nothing. Your charm has broken engagements before.

Felix: Yeah, didn’t one heiress dump her fiancé for you last year? Anton never loses.

Anton’s jaw tightened. He stared at the screen, but the comments began to feel grating rather than encouraging.

Because they didn’t know the full truth.

He typed slowly:

Anton: Adriana is not like those women. She won’t look at anyone else if she loves someone. That makes this... interesting.

He put his phone away at last.

His thoughts spiraled in a direction dark and exhilarated.

He didn’t believe in love. He had seen what love did... his mother blindly adored his father, a man who cheated repeatedly. She cried, begged, broke, yet stayed. That pathetic loyalty left a deep impression on him.

He didn’t want love. He wanted possession. A woman who stayed no matter what.

A woman who considered loyalty a promise stronger than common sense. A woman like Adriana.

If he married her... she would wait for him, forgive him, love him even when he didn’t deserve it.

The idea thrilled him. Dangerously.

’Yes,’ he thought, a slow, unsettling smile appearing. ’She is worth the chase.’

Meanwhile, Adriana walked across the university, brows furrowed.

She had heard rumors about Anton long before he appeared. She hadn’t even wanted to know, but whispers spread easily in universities.

A boy who flirts with wealthy young ladies as if collecting them. Ending engagements, stirring scandals, and moving on before consequences settle.

Picking women like choosing Pokémon cards. And every time, he changed his method, so the girl would feel like she was special, chosen uniquely.

His reputation was infamous.

So yes, she knew.

She knew more than he thought.

And she had no intention of entertaining him.

Across the city, at a film set wrapped in scaffolding and lighting rigs, Theodore waited.

It had been hours. He had been rehearsing lines, filming scenes, giving retakes, but his mind was somewhere else.

Eleanor. She hadn’t come.

He worried she had given up. The last time they had come across each other, and Eleanor had given him a packet of chocolate, he had almost accepted it but held back.

He knew he had acted cold that day. He had forced himself to remain composed, to not crumble in front of her. But now...

Now he regretted it.

He was lost in thought when he saw someone approaching. A familiar silhouette, a lively cadence of steps.

"Aurora?"

She beamed at him.

"Brother! I brought you something."

Theodore raised a brow, amused despite his mood. "You, sharing your snacks? Is the sun rising from the west today?"

Aurora laughed and dramatically placed her hand on her chest. "Hey! I am capable of being a loving sister. These chocolates were given to me by Mia, and they were so good I thought of you immediately."

She handed him a small transparent bag.

Chocolate cookies.

Theodore froze.

His expression shifted instantly, subtle, but unmistakable.

Because he recognized them.

The shape. The texture. The faint shine of melted chocolate near the edge.

The packaging was identical to the cookies Eleanor always brought him, the ones she claimed she baked herself, saying she stayed up late making them because she wanted him to eat something sweet.

His voice came out quiet. "Where did you get these?"

Aurora didn’t notice his tone. She smiled brightly. "There is a bakery at the far end of the city. Very small. Hardly anyone knows it. But Mia swears their cookies are the best she’s ever eaten."

Theodore’s fingers tightened around the plastic.

He tasted one.

The flavor hit instantly, sweet, soft, deep cocoa with the exact same warm crumble.

This was the exact packaging... the exact flavor... the exact cookies Eleanor always claimed she baked for him personally.

His mouth felt dry.

His breath hitched, something sharp lodging in his chest.

And Aurora kept speaking, oblivious to the emotional blow she had just delivered. Or maybe she pretended to be...

"Oh, and apparently, the bakery owner had some sort of agreement. A blonde woman promised to give him one million dollars after five years if he only sold these cookies only to her during that time. That’s why no one knows the shop."

Theodore stopped breathing.

Blonde woman. One million. A secret contract.

He didn’t need more clues.

It was Eleanor.

The same Eleanor who shyly told him she made the cookies herself.

The same Eleanor who had looked nervous every time he complimented them.

He stood. His chest tightened, confusion, betrayal, disbelief, pain twisting together.

"I need the address."

Aurora nodded without hesitation. The smile on her lips was small, almost invisible, but it was there. Sly. Satisfied.

She led him to the bakery.

Outside the little store, Theodore paused. His hands trembled.

He forced himself to enter.

The bakery smelled like sugar and warmth. An elderly man stood behind the counter and greeted him politely.

Theodore walked forward and placed a thick stack of cash on the counter.

"This," he said quietly, "is yours. If you tell me the truth."

The old man blinked, startled, then nodded slowly.

Theodore’s voice was steady, but strained.

"Did a blonde woman make a contract with you... restricting the sale of these cookies for five years?"

The bakery owner looked at the stack of money, more than ten thousand dollars, then lifted his gaze to Theodore’s expression.

And he understood instantly.

He sighed.

"Yes," the old man said. "There was such a woman."

Unsatisfied by mere confirmation, Theodore pulled out his phone with trembling fingers and opened his gallery.

He found the picture of Eleanor he had taken long ago, one where she was smiling gently next to a window, sunlight soft against her face. He held the screen toward the bakery owner.

"Is it this woman?"

The bakery owner took one look. The recognition was immediate. He nodded, not hesitantly, not vaguely, but with certainty.

"Yes. That’s her."

Theodore felt something in his chest snap, not loudly, not violently, but like a quiet tear in fabric that revealed a far deeper wound beneath.

His heart felt heavy, unbearably so, as if it were sinking inside him. He inhaled deeply, trying to steady the storm rising in his chest.

"Do you have proof?" he asked, voice low and strained.

The bakery owner’s expression changed instantly. Wariness clouded his face. He stepped back slightly and narrowed his eyes.

"Are you from her side?" the man asked cautiously.