CHAPTER 153: CHAPTER 153

Hearing what Samuel just said, they exchanged brief glances, but none of them dared question him. One by one, the nine men filed out of the room, their heavy footsteps fading into the hallway until only the low hum of the camera equipment remained.

The cameraman adjusted his stance, nodding slightly. His fingers tightened on the camera grip, his single visible eye focusing through the lens.

Then Samuel stepped closer to him and said in a low voice, "You know how good you are with this. Make sure you give me a perfect shot. I want it to look like... both of us are doing this willingly. Freely. That’s why she’s drugged, to make it real."

The cameraman didn’t hesitate. "No problem. I’ll get you exactly what you want. You don’t have to worry about a thing."

Samuel’s masked face tilted slightly, a cruel satisfaction in the way he nodded. His eyes shifted toward Cora, who lay slumped against the couch, her chest rising and falling slowly, her gaze hazy yet aware. He moved toward her with deliberate slowness, the creak of the couch sounding loud in the tense silence as he sat beside her again.

He leaned in, his gloved hands hovering just above her shoulders before resting there with an almost mocking gentleness. The camera’s red recording light blinked on.

Samuel’s fingers slid from her shoulders down toward the collar of her dress, his movements slow and calculated, as if savoring the moment. He hooked a finger beneath the delicate fabric.

Again the cameraman adjusted his angle, zooming in slightly, making sure every detail was in the frame as Samuel’s hands began working at the neckline, tugging it down inch by inch, revealing the first hint of bare skin beneath.

The living room felt colder, quieter, the only sounds being the soft rustle of Cora’s dress and the rhythmic click of the camera’s focus adjusting capturing the moment Samuel started on unbuttoning Cora’s dress.

At that moment, Samuel’s fingers continued to work slowly, undoing each fastening of Cora’s dress with a calm, almost mocking precision. Then Cora’s breathing quickened, not out of desire, but from the raw panic surging through her veins. She wanted to push him away, to kick, to scratch, to scream but her muscles felt heavy, her arms unresponsive, her body betraying her as the drug coursed through her system. Her fingers twitched slightly, the only sign of her desperate struggle.

Samuel noticed her futile resistance and smirked beneath the black mask.

"You can’t fight, can you? That’s the beauty of this," he murmured with a chilling tone, his voice carrying the satisfaction of a predator that knew its prey was helpless.

When the last clasp gave way, the fabric loosened and slid off her shoulders. Samuel took his time, parting the first layer of her clothing as though unwrapping something precious. His breath caught for a moment, and then he chuckled lowly, tilting his head.

"Well, well," he said, his voice deep and taunting. "This... is very, very beautiful. Just look at what I almost missed... all because you thought you could play games with me." His gloved fingertips traced deliberately along the curve of her chest before he pressed his palm against her, rubbing slowly, almost lazily, as though savoring the control he held. "You really thought you could win against me, Cora. But tonight... you lose."

However Cora’s hazy gaze fixed on him, her mind screaming even though her voice would not come. Her heart pounded more furiously against her ribs, each beat echoing like a drum inside her skull.

And then outside the building, the night air was sliced apart by the sudden screech of tires. A car came to an abrupt halt, its headlights cutting through the darkness like twin blades of light. Even before the vehicle had fully stopped, the driver’s door swung open with force.

Immediately a figure emerged in one swift motion, it was shape sharp and commanding.

The door slammed shut behind him, and without breaking stride, the figure stood tall, squared his shoulders, and began walking toward the entrance of the building, each step carrying the weight of unspoken fury.

At that moment, as Oliver reached the entrance, his sharp eyes swept over the scene in one cold, calculating glance. Nine men broad-shouldered, thick-armed, and standing like a human barricade, blocked the door with the precision of trained guards. They were spaced perfectly, each one standing just far enough apart to cover every possible angle. Their faces were unfamiliar, hard and weathered, with the kind of eyes that had seen more than enough trouble in their lives.

However Oliver’s steps didn’t falter. The air between them tightened with each pace he took toward the door. He wasn’t just walking, he was advancing, radiating a quiet intensity that made a few of the men straighten their backs without realizing it.

One of them, a tall brute with a square jaw and a scar running across his cheek, stepped forward. His hand came up like a barrier. "This place is off-limits," he said, his voice low but laced with authority. "You don’t have any business here. Turn around."

Oliver’s gaze didn’t waver. "That doesn’t concern you," he replied, each word clipped and deliberate. His eyes moved over their faces again, taking mental notes. "From the look of things, you’re not part of Cora’s security. I know her men. You." his eyes narrowed slightly, " "are new faces. Which means something is wrong."

Hearing what Oliver just said, the man’s jaw twitched, but his tone stayed steady. "And what exactly are you going to do?" he asked, mockery creeping into his words. "Do you think you can threaten us and just waltz inside?"

That was when the others began to laugh a rough, dismissive sound that rolled through the group like a wave. One of them, leaning casually against the wall, smirked and shook his head.

"Just look at this little prick," he said, his voice dripping with derision. "Marches up here like he owns the place. Giving orders."

Another, a bald man with arms like steel pipes, chuckled darkly. "Kid, you have no idea what you’re walking into. Turn around and leave while you still can."

Their amusement was loud, but Oliver didn’t move, his expression remained stone cold, his eyes fixed on them with a calm that felt far more dangerous than anger. But still, the taunt came again this time from the scarred man in front.

"Last warning," he said. "Turn around and leave. Immediately."