CHAPTER 35: THE KING’S HAND

—Damon—

Korea. She’s probably in South Korea. I’d already guessed that. That’s where the bastard is—the one Damien warned me about. I’d seen his face. It was familiar, though I can’t quite place where. We’d been hunting him too.

But my wife... my damn wife was always ten steps ahead. I have to hand it to her—and to the ghosts she commands.

I’m already on the plane, heading straight for her. I don’t know where in Korea she is exactly, but her beauty is unmistakable. Unless she’s wearing some kind of disguise, people will notice her.

I tapped my fingers against the armrest as a flight attendant handed me a drink.

"I still don’t get why you dragged me along," Damien muttered from the seat beside me.

"Think of it as a vacation."

"Vacation? Damn it, I don’t want a vacation. Laura’s alone, and—"

"Laura’s a big girl," I cut in. "She can handle herself. She doesn’t need a bodyguard every second."

He groaned dramatically. I ignored him, slipped on my headphones, and leaned back. We still had a few hours of flight time, and when we landed, I expected answers.

I want to see her with my own eyes—see how she handles the man who ordered the hit. We need the mastermind, not just the puppet. The so-called pepper spray used on her wasn’t ordinary—it was laced with something far more dangerous.

I remember that night like it was yesterday. More than three years ago. I nearly lost her in my arms. No pepper spray kills that fast. I had my suspicions then—and now, they’re confirmed. Tyrona might be involved. She had a photo of me and Livana that night—the night. She nearly drowned Livana in the school pool. And she’s a chemist, which makes sense considering the toxic crap she’s been mixing into my wife’s lotions and sunscreen.

I woke a few hours later to the sound of Damien’s voice—low, flirtatious. Of course.

I opened one eye and glanced over. He was smirking, licking his lips slowly.

"Why are you always so horny?" he chuckled. "Changed your mind already? Thought I’d never satisfy you?"

I rolled my eyes. We had landed, and the sleeping pill I’d taken had done its job. After a sleepless night—thanks to my wife leaving without a word—I needed it.

I stretched and stood, just in time to catch Damien mid–video call. A very explicit one, from the look of it. Laura’s face filled his screen, lips parted in a smirk.

I slapped the phone from his hand. It landed on his chest with a thud.

"Hey!" he barked, sitting up.

"Finish that in the bathroom. We’re leaving."

"Oh, for fuck’s sake!" he grumbled, dragging himself away. I ran a quick check on our gear.

The engines shut down. Damien returned a minute later, phone still in hand.

"Send me something like that again and I swear, Laura..." he hissed under his breath, stuffing his phone in his bag. The poor bastard didn’t even get to pack. I’d dragged him here without warning.

Now we were at Incheon International Airport. Our car was already waiting. I grabbed my bag and stepped out. My Korean assistant, Min-jae, greeted us.

"Ajikdo mot chajasseo?" I asked as he handed me a tablet and opened the sedan door.

I slid in and watched the footage.

There she was. She’d landed about ten hours ago. Pink dress, white cardigan, scarf, sunglasses. Jane was with her. A man approached them. Then they left in a plain, forgettable car.

And disappeared.

"Tch," Damien muttered, peering over. "Why drag me here when you already have people doing the work?"

I tilted my chin. "I don’t know." I smirked. "Maybe to piss off Laura."

He groaned. "Why do you love teasing Laura so much?"

"Because..." I grinned. "It makes Livana happy. She loves Laura’s chatter—and she really loves it when she gets annoyed."

Damien was quiet for a moment, arms crossed. "Really? She doesn’t show much."

No one else really sees it. But I know her. I’ve watched her for years. She knows I used to stalk her back in high school—hell, I saved her more times than she knows.

Livana adores it when Laura gets flustered from teasing. She even enjoys the back-and-forth bickering, whether it’s with me or anyone else who ruffles her sister’s feathers.

Min-jae climbed into the front seat. I handed him the tablet.

"Find out where they went."

"We traced the man who picked them up. He works under the White King."

"White King?" Damien echoed, beating me to the question. "Not the White Queen?"

"Yes. White King." Min-jae confirmed.

I leaned back against the seat, thinking. Had she changed her code name here?

"Did you track their locations?"

"We identified several of their warehouses. Using traffic cams from nearby towns, we picked up a similar figure in Cheongsong."

"Good. You send out contacts?"

"Yes, sir. We’re confirming now."

"Let’s head to the apartment first," Damien interrupted. "I need clothes, Damon."

I smirked. "Hmm."

"What the hell?" he snapped, clearly irritated. "You dragged me here with nothing but my wallet, passport, and phone. I haven’t had a change of clothes in hours."

I shrugged, unmoved. Then I reached into my coat, pulled out my credit card, and held it out to him between two fingers.

He took it with a smirk—grateful, but still annoyed.

We had hours to burn before Livana’s exact location could be confirmed. Until then, let him shop. Let him distract himself with overpriced clothes and useless comfort.

–Livana–

A hot bath was enough to wash away the fatigue clinging to my skin. I had considered soaking in a natural spring—something untouched, healing—but business came first. I still had a man to break.

"Miss Liva, they’re ready," Jane said quietly.

I nodded and extended my hand. She placed the towel into my palm. I rose, wrapping it around my body with practiced ease.

"Did Damon try to contact you?"

"No, Ma’am. I left my phone in the Philippines."

"Good."

I stepped out of the tub. Jane guided me gently toward the main bedroom. She held out my robe, and I slipped into it. My fingers grazed the bed, feeling the outfit laid out for me. White. Simple. Efficient. It would do—with a black coat layered over, of course.

Jane helped me dress. She dried my hair, brushed it, and twisted it into a neat bun. I felt the wide-brimmed hat settle over my head, veiling most of my face.

My fingers traced the hat’s fabric, its structure sharp and elegant. I turned slightly, bending down to where Jane had placed my boots. Warm. Autumn-ready. I slid them on, one foot at a time, and zipped them up. I stood, assessing the fit. Perfect.

She handed me my walking stick. It felt heavier than usual. Modified. Probably for defense. Good.

Jane led me outside. The forest was quiet except for the low hum of the car engine. She helped me in, and we drove—down winding roads and away from the sanctuary. The anticipation simmered inside me.

The man we captured... he must be good. They hired him for a reason. Years of eluding capture don’t come easy. Perhaps he was even tied to a syndicate like Blackwell.

An hour passed before we stopped. Jane guided me out. I extended my cane, tapping the earth—dry leaves, soft soil. We moved forward. I heard the metallic rattle of an iron gate swinging open. Concrete now under my boots. The clicks of my heels echoed with every step.

Then I heard the voice:

"Baek-wang-nim-kke gyeongnye-rakai!"

One of my men. He spoke several languages, always mixing reverence with dramatic flair. "White King" again. Not Queen. I didn’t mind. Let them name me as they see me. King, Queen—it didn’t matter. I ruled either way.

"Sparrow," I called.

"Yes, my King?"

"Has he spoken yet?"

"I beg your forgiveness, but no. Even after the beating, he holds his tongue."

I let out a breath—calm, deliberate. "Alright," I said, snapping my fingers.

Footsteps approached. Something was placed behind me. I reached back and lowered myself into the chair.

"Start with the toenails," I said coolly.

The man didn’t scream, but I could feel the shift in the air—the tension in his breath, the panic he tried to contain.

"Perhaps we’ll move on to the toes," I added, casually.

I heard metal tools clinking. The man let out a guttural growl, biting it back. Stubborn. But they all break eventually. I could sit here all day and listen to the slow unraveling of a man’s pride.

I needed answers. I suspected Casey, but Tyrona... if she was involved, I would scorch her world to ashes. Her name, her bloodline, her family—erased.

Gunfire cracked outside.

I tilted my head slightly. "Jane," I said.

She nodded, already moving. "Chong meomchwora!" she shouted in smooth, fluent Korean. Hold your fire.

"Continue," I told Sparrow.

Then I heard it—a voice that turned everything electric.

"Oh, wow..."

Damon.

The man’s scream was cut off.

Footsteps. Chaos outside. They were trying to stop him. Useless.

Jane spoke rapidly to the guards. I recognized the gait that followed—confident, arrogant, mine.

"Wife," Damon said, voice brushing against my ear, dark and amused. I felt his lips press against my cheek. "You’ve caught a big fish here."

His next words came as a possessive whisper, hot and shameless:

"You look so sexy right now... it’s making me hard."