The Bargain (Unseen)

The scent of expensive leather blended with the warm, deep aroma of cedarwood in the private space.

Vega and Juno were neither blindfolded nor shackled, but the presence of four tall bodyguards in black suits standing motionless like stone statues around the room was more threatening than any iron chain. This was the rooftop of a classic luxury hotel in the Loop district—a completely neutral location, neither a hideout nor a prison.

The Chicago night, filled with pelting drizzle, stretched out beyond the floor-to-ceiling arched glass windows.

Juno collapsed onto a dark blue velvet sofa, clutching her head with both hands, her whole body still trembling after the collision. Vega stood straight in the center of the room. Despite the scratch on her cheek still oozing a thin line of blood, her posture remained straight, arms crossed over her chest, her cat-like eyes flaring with absolute vigilance.

The double oak doors opened. Silas walked in, leisurely taking off his black leather gloves and tossing them onto the coffee table. He approached the mahogany desk in the corner of the room, picked up a classical brass rotary telephone, and pressed a shortcut key.

The connection ringtone sounded three beats.

Click.

The other end answered. There was no hold music, no conventional greeting. Only a deep, steady, and commanding breathing rhythm that instantly caused the air temperature in the spacious room to drop by several degrees Celsius.

Silas bowed slightly, his voice respectful: "Sir, the target is here."

Silas turned on the speakerphone, then stepped back three steps, yielding the central space to the phone.

From the classical brass speaker, a voice rang out.

It was a low, resonant, poised, sharp, and completely emotionless male voice. That voice didn't need to strain or threaten, but every word uttered carried the overwhelming weight of someone accustomed to standing at the pinnacle, deciding life and death.

"Miss Ghost Wheel."

Vega narrowed her eyes, stepping forward a step, her voice as cold as ice: "I'm not in the habit of chatting with people hiding behind a phone."

A soft smirk echoed through the other end—not a friendly smile, but the casual mockery of someone holding all the cards in the game.

"Form matters less than results," the voice hardened, calmly conveying. "You stole something that didn't belong to you, broke a security protocol of The Foundry, and caused the damage of three of my armored vehicles. Normally, the price for these actions is the complete disappearance of you and your friend from the earth."

Juno beside her startled, holding her breath. Vega clenched her fists tightly, a thin vein bulging on her temple: "Do you think a few armored vehicles can scare me? Kill me if you want, but I swear I'll drag a few of your men down to hell with me."

"Foolish courage," the voice continued, leisurely as if reading a financial report. "I don't kill tools with useful value. You drive very well, calculate escape routes brilliantly, and most importantly: you have no fear. I am in need of a driver for a series of special operations in Europe."

"I don't work for the mob," Vega slammed her hand hard against the wooden desk, her eyes blazing. "I've paid off my underworld debts. I'm free!"

"Freedom is a privilege, not a default right," the voice slowly crushed her resistance, cold and ruthless down to every word. "A two-year employment contract under my direct command. In exchange, all your blood debts with The Foundry are wiped clean. Your friend—Miss Juno—will be taken to a safe manor in Switzerland with all the server rigs she dreams of, under the protection of my men."

"And if I say NO?" Vega ground out each word through clenched teeth.

A three-second silence ensued. That silence was so thick and suffocating that one could hear the sound of their own heart pounding frantically.

"If you say no, Silas will inject a myocardial paralyzing toxin into your friend right in this room. After that, I'll give you five minutes to run before the cleanup squad starts. You choose."

"You ruthless monster!" Vega cursed, moving to lunge toward the telephone, but the two armored bodyguards immediately stepped forward to block her with cold submachine gun barrels.

Vega turned to look at Juno. Juno was trembling as she looked at her, her eyes behind her glasses brimming with tears without uttering a plea. Vega knew she could risk her life to fight and die, but she couldn't use the life of Juno—the only person left in the world who considered her family—as a gamble.

The pawn had been driven into a complete dead end. The pride of Ghost Wheel had been ruthlessly trampled upon by that hidden man.

Vega closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to suppress the surging resentment boiling in her chest. When she opened her eyes, her cat-like eyes held only the cold submission of someone accepting a pact with the devil.

"Fine," Vega spoke in a raspy voice. "Get Juno safely to Switzerland first. I'll work for you."

"A wise decision," the voice behind the brass phone maintained its terrifyingly calm tone.

A soft click echoed from the other end, as if he had just taken a sip of wine before issuing the final command.

"I don't like repeating a request twice, Callahan. Tomorrow, 8 a.m. Silas's car will be waiting for you in the lobby."

Click.

The call was completely disconnected. The long, droning busy signal—beep... beep... beep...—echoed in the silent room.

Vega stood frozen in place. Her entire body froze.

Callahan.

It was her family name—the surname of her late father, who had been a framed military colonel, a name she had buried deep beneath five layers of false records and never revealed to anyone in the underworld, not even the Broker or the Chicago mafia gangs.

That man... Roman Ashcombe... he didn't just hold her life in his hands. He had known exactly who she was even before she set foot into this game.