The Contract Ex-Husband of Wealthy Widow

Chapter 20: Darma's Trap

"Damn it! Why am I risking everything like this?" Raka muffled his groan, his voice hoarse in the apartment's silence.

A dark shadow enveloped him, even though the sun had just touched the horizon. The anonymous note, which he had slipped into Julianna Vance's book last night, felt like fire burning his back. Darma knew. He knew it, he could feel it. The cold sensation at the nape of his neck wasn't the lingering effect of a nightmare, but a premonition so real, piercing deep into his gut.

Raka got up, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that enveloped him. He walked to the small kitchen, pouring dark, strong coffee into a mug. His hands trembled slightly, not from lack of sleep, but from the adrenaline that had been pumping since he opened his eyes. Had Julianna read the note? Would she believe it? Or would she ignore it, dismissing it as a strange joke? An uncertainty far more terrifying than facing Darma directly. He had taken a huge risk, not just for this mission, but for that woman.

He couldn't ignore Julianna. Her intelligent yet weary face, her sharp eyes that held a hint of loneliness—all of it disturbed Raka more than he expected. I can't let them destroy her life like Bianca, like Mrs. Anya. That promise, the one he made to himself, now became a burning trigger within him, overcoming the gnawing fear.

Suddenly, a strange, heavy voice filled the room. The voice came from behind him.

"You're too reckless, Raka. Or perhaps, you're just too romantic."

Raka's heart sank into his stomach. His body tensed. He hadn't heard anyone enter. He hadn't felt anything. The voice was so close, so casual, yet deadly. He turned slowly, the coffee mug still clutched in his hand, ready to be a weapon or a shield.

Darma stood in the kitchen doorway, his bulky silhouette filling the frame. He wore a perfect black suit, without a wrinkle, without a flaw. His icy gaze locked onto Raka, his lips curving into a thin smile, the smile of a predator who had finally found his prey. There were no signs of forced entry, no banging on the door. Darma was just there, like a real ghost.

"How did you get in?" Raka asked, his voice choked. He could feel cold sweat drenching his back.

Darma merely shrugged. "The Architects have their own ways. We know everything. We see everything. Especially when our little pawns start thinking they can change the game." His eyes swept over Raka, assessing him. "Do you really think your little letter will save Julianna Vance? Or, will it merely hasten her destruction?"

Raka felt anger burning in his chest. Darma knew about the letter. He knew about Julianna. This was no longer a cat-and-mouse game. This was a fight for life or death. Darma wasn't just a hunter; he was an executioner.

"You won't touch her," Raka snarled, trying to control his emotions, but failing.

Darma chuckled softly, the sound dry, devoid of warmth. "Oh, I will touch her. And I will watch her break. Just as I will watch you break. The Architects don't like traitors, Raka. And you, you're not just a traitor. You're... a foolish sentimentalist."

Darma stepped forward, slowly, casually, yet each step felt like thunder in Raka's ears. His aura of menace was so thick, filling every corner of the room. Raka knew he had no chance in a physical fight. He was just an executive, not a street fighter. But he wouldn't back down. Not now.

"You'll never understand what I'm doing," Raka said, his voice steadier than he expected. "You're just their pet dog, Darma. Without a soul. Without a conscience."

Darma's smile vanished. His eyes narrowed, his cold expression turning into burning rage. "Those will be your last words."

Darma lunged. Fast, brutal, without warning. Raka had no time to react. A solid punch slammed into his jaw, sending him stumbling backward, crashing into the kitchen counter. His coffee mug flew from his hand, shattering on the floor. The bitter taste of coffee, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, filled his senses. He felt dizzy, but he didn't fall. Not now.

He tried to retaliate, throwing an awkward punch, but Darma easily parried it, then countered with a knee to Raka's stomach. Raka gasped, his breath caught, his body doubling over in pain. Darma grabbed his collar, lifted him, then slammed him against the wall. His head hit, stars danced in his eyes.

"You're so weak," Darma whispered, his voice in Raka's ear sounding like a whisper of death. "You think you can fight the Architects? You're just an ant who thinks it can bring down a mountain."

Darma raised his hand, ready to deliver the final blow. Raka closed his eyes, feeling despair creep in. Was this the end? Was all of this for nothing? Julianna's face flashed in his mind, followed by Mrs. Anya's smile and Bianca's desperate one. No.

Suddenly, the lights went out. Not just in Raka's apartment, but throughout the entire building. Darkness enveloped them, swallowing Darma and Raka. A momentary confusion seized Darma. Raka felt the grip on his collar loosen. This was his chance. He didn't know what was happening, but it was a miracle.

"Ridiculous!" Darma snarled, his voice sounding annoyed in the darkness.

It was then that a voice sounded in Raka's hidden earpiece. Lena's voice, calm and slightly... amused. "You really need to stop provoking him, Raka. Darma's thugs like to play rough."

Raka flinched. Lena! Ghost! He didn't know Lena could cut the power to the entire building. This plot twist felt like a shot of pure adrenaline.

"Evacuation route behind the kitchen, air vent. I've opened it. Don't take the wrong path, Darma has a sharp sense of smell," Lena said, her tone so casual, as if they were having afternoon tea.

Raka didn't waste the opportunity. With his remaining strength, he elbowed Darma, who was still disoriented. The man staggered slightly. Raka immediately crawled towards the back of the kitchen, fumbling in the darkness. He found the vent Lena had mentioned, a hole he had once thought was just an ornament.

"You think you can run?" Darma's voice boomed, but Raka was already halfway into the hole. He felt his body bruised and aching, but his will to live was far stronger.

Raka slid into the darkness, feeling the dust and cold metal. He could hear Darma cursing, then the deafening sound of a gunshot. He shot at me! Lena was right, Darma wasn't messing around.

He managed to escape, sliding out of the ventilation shaft into a dark, narrow alley, a few blocks from his apartment. The cold morning air stung his sweaty, bruised skin. He staggered, leaning his back against a dirty wall, gasping for breath. Darma knew now. Completely. The game had turned into an open hunt.

"Are you okay?" Lena's voice returned in the earpiece, this time with a hint of concern.

Raka gave a dry laugh, the pain in his jaw spreading. "I'm... I'm okay. Maybe. Thanks, Lena. Or... whoever you are." He knew he had to contact Elena immediately, demanding answers.

Who was Lena really? And how could she do all of this? Ghost's identity was no longer just a mystery, but a pressing question he had to answer. This fight was far more complicated, more dangerous, and also more personal than he had imagined. Darma, the Architects, and now Ghost. Raka was now a pawn moving between various shadows, and he had to know who he could truly trust.