LOSER IS THE BILLIONAIRE HEIR

More secrets

 The Moon mansion radiated like a magically and snow-sealed citadel. As the convoy passed the iron gates, wards whispered protection and lighted the air around it. Marcus was the first to leave, motionless and composed, his gaze sweeping the grounds of the mansion. Not a threat. The shadows are gone. 

He said, "You're safe." Victor came out next, his coat blowing a little in the breeze.

 "And you're heading out?" Marcus remained still. 

"I've accomplished my goal." Victor stepped forward. "My granddaughter has been saved twice by you. You are more than gratefully owed by this house. Why don't you spend the night? Marcus remained silent. He turned his gaze to the glistening windows.

Then, softly yet sharply, Sarah's voice pierced the atmosphere. She referred to it as the Elite Circle party. 

"You promised to come. Tomorrow evening is the date. Unreadable, he turned to her. "So stay," she continued. "Until then. One evening won't suffice. 

Another long silence. Marcus then let out a small breath. "For two days. That's all. 

Victor gave one nod. 

 The butler's shoes tapping softly reverberated down the corridor as they went in quiet. Perhaps on purpose, the light was subdued in this place. The air, the walls, and the floor all buzzed with subtle enchantment. Old money. Traditional power.

 Marcus hardly paid attention to the portraits that lined the hallway. All regal, rigid faces. Until someone stopped him. He stopped in his tracks. 

There hung a painting of a woman in an elaborate frame adorned with silver from the ancient Moon family. She was sitting on a deep violet-draped chair with a high back. She looked forward with the peaceful assurance of someone who has never bowed to anyone, her eyes calm, piercing, and nearly unblinking. 

She wore her hair in a crown braid, black as midnight. Her palm landed lightly on a book that was bound in leather. 

But Marcus didn't stop because of the painting's beauty. It was the emotion. Pressure. An odd constriction in his chest.

 As if something were attempting to pass through or reach him from the canvas. His vision became hazy. He gave one blink. The corridor surrounding him then began to tilt. 

He saw wind tearing through the vast skies in a second. In a gleaming court, torches burn. A crown tumbling. 

A woman's voice shouting a name was too far away to be heard clearly.

 Not his name. Still, it tugged at him. 

The butler murmured, uncertainly, "Sir?" "Your room is right in front of you." 

Marcus remained still. He looked more intently. His voice was firm but low as he questioned, "Who is this?" 

The butler moved to stand next to him and gave the image a courteous bow

“That is Lady Persephone Moon. Mr. Victor’s late wife.”

 Marcus took some time to answer. He gazed for a moment more. Behind his eyelids, a quiet gasp, a broken mirror, and a fire-lined battlefield all flashed once more. 

As fast as it appeared, it vanished once more. 

He walked again, following the butler down the hallway, carefully turning his head. But he was walking more slowly now. His mind was agitated. 

Why is it that I think I've seen her before?

 Why does it feel like I've lost something when I was standing in front of her face?

 He turned his head away. But she followed him with the weight of her eyes.

In the guest suite's corner, the fire flickered softly, illuminating the bookcases and velvet curtains with a soft amber glow. 

Marcus stood with his back to it, arms crossed, and his gaze fixed on nothing. However, his thoughts were not still. He couldn't get the image of the woman's face off his mind. He had previously seen her. 

Somewhere. Where, though? He attempted to follow the sensation. Not the feeling, not the memory. It was her presence, not just her appearance. Her aura. It was as if she had been in front of him once before. Or somewhere outside of time. He shut his eyes. As usual, now, flashes appeared.

Stone pillars. Golden skies. A throne room? No battlefield?

 Wordless voices. Faceless crowns. Then it was gone. His jaw clenched as he opened his eyes once more. 

Who are you? 

What makes you feel like a warning, 

and why? 

Just outside his door, a gentle shadow shifted over the corridor. His body instantly froze. His fingers moved to the amulet under his shirt, which was now pulsing softly. 

Without making a sound, he opened the door and took three silent strides across the room. There was silence in the hallway. And then, at the far end, a glimmer of activity. The thing was moving in slow, purposeful movements, more like someone keeping a commitment than someone retiring to bed. Or concealing one.

 Marcus trailed behind, his footsteps soundless, his existence vanishing from the atmosphere like smoke. only to see that it had won Victor stopped at a blank wall part. flattened his hand against it. Outward, a gentle golden ripple appeared. A door with no hinges or knob emerged. Only silence and light. Victor entered. The door disappeared as if it had never been there, closing behind him. 

Marcus paused a few feet away and observed the location. There was an old vitality in the air. refined. As if on the other side something holy was being preserved.

He did not proceed nor make contact. He had no business knowing what was behind that door. Without a word, he turned back toward his room. 

However, the woman's visage continued to follow him without showing fear or providing answers. Simply the burden of recognition in the absence of recollection In the meantime

However,

 The smoke of sour incense and one flickering lamp illuminated the dim chamber. Harrison Drake was standing close to a round table, his face stern and his demeanor unusually icy. In front of him were three mercenaries. older. hardened. Expert.

 Harrison said, "I hired a team to intercept the Moon girl and her grandfather."

 "They didn't succeed." The tallest of all the mercenaries cocked his head. "Amateurs?" 

Harrison said, "No." "Just not well-equipped."

 He strolled to the window and gazed out into the nighttime metropolis. 

“The next assignment requires precision,” he continued. "This task won't be noisy. It must be quiet, clean, and long-lasting.

 The second mercenary stepped forward. "Target?" 

Harrison said, "Victor Moon and his granddaughter. Security will exist. There might be a backup. Don't take any chances.”

What about the man? The first person inquired. "The person who accompanied them?" 

Harrison hesitated. "Take good care of him too." 

He looked back at them. "Do double your normal pace. Before the next Circle meeting,

 I want results. Don't be theatrical. Don't raise your voice. Cold strategy, that's all. 

After a quick glance at one another, the mercenaries nodded. 

They have killed for less. 

Harrison gave his cane a single tap. "All right," he said. 

"Then let's remind them of why a Drake is not to be messed with