THE BILLIONAIRE STILL WANTS HER!
Chapter 118: Deep in the room...

Chapter 118: Deep in the room...

The man Tryson had been staring at bore a distinct mark on his wrist—a tattoo of a serpent coiling menacingly like a twist on his skin.

It was an unmistakable symbol, a silent declaration of loyalty, worn by every member of the notorious Alexander mafia clan.

That meant only one thing.

They were Arthur’s men.

A shadow passed over Tryson’s expression as his gaze darkened, his mind piecing together the puzzle at an alarming speed. His voice, low and edged with certainty, broke the tense silence.

"He’s been here."

The weight of those words settled heavily in the room, and every man present instinctively turned their attention toward Tryson.

They knew exactly who he was referring to—Arthur.

These men hadn’t just been stationed in the room as mere security personnel; no, this was a setup.

A carefully orchestrated move by Arthur, a play in his grand scheme. And if Arthur had been involved for this long, it only confirmed what Tryson had feared the most—Angel’s disappearance wasn’t a coincidence.

It was Arthur.

A muscle in Tryson’s jaw tensed, his clenched fists betraying his rising fury.

He stood.scraping harshly against the floor, his every movement charged with raw determination.

The men who weren’t occupied immediately moved toward the unconscious bodies sprawled across the floor, searching them with a sense of urgency, knowing Arthur wouldn’t have left things to chance.

And they were right.

One of the men cursed under his breath as he pulled a small, discreet device from one of the unconscious men’s pockets—a sound recorder.

A chilling realization dawned upon them. The moment they had spoken, their voices had already been transmitted to someone.

To Arthur.

Tryson’s eyes flickered with something dark, something dangerously close to unrestrained wrath. Arthur had known he was coming. He had laid this trap, not just as a warning, but as a challenge.

For a fleeting second, Tryson considered waiting—gathering more proof, finding a way to use this against Arthur.

But the thought was gone as quickly as it came, drowned beneath the sheer weight of his rage. Evidence no longer mattered.

Arthur had made this personal.

Without another word, Tryson stormed toward the door, his stride powerful and unyielding.

He was done playing Arthur’s game. As he pushed past the threshold, heading straight for the auditorium, he left behind one final unspoken order to his men:

Finish what needs to be done.

As Tryson’s sharp gaze swept across the auditorium, his frustration deepened—Arthur was nowhere to be found.

That bastard.

Only God knew what he was up to at this very moment.

Tryson gritted his teeth, his jaw tightening with restrained fury. He wasn’t going to let Arthur get away with this. But as the weight of the situation sank in, a disturbing thought began to gnaw at him.

Arthur was cunning, yes, but even he couldn’t have pulled this off alone.

Everything had been executed too smoothly, too precisely. Arthur had managed to infiltrate the security room—something that should have been impossible without explicit permission.

Permission from either his aunt or—

His father.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

His expression darkened, a flicker of conflict passing through his stormy eyes. He wanted to dismiss the thought, to believe that his father wouldn’t betray him like this.

His father had always been a man of his word. Why would he break his trust now, after everything?

But the pieces fit too well.

Tryson clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

He had given his father his word—he would bring Angel back. Yet Arthur’s aunt had no idea that they were even after Angel, which left only one explanation.

His father was behind it all.

A slow, burning rage took root in Tryson’s chest as he scanned the room again, and then—he saw him.

A familiar figure.

His father.

Something inside him snapped. His breath came out harshly, his vision tunneling on the man who had betrayed him.

Without thinking, Tryson swung his fist into the nearby wall with brutal force, the impact reverberating through the room. A sharp jolt of pain shot up his arm, but he barely felt it. The wall trembled under his assault, cracks forming where his knuckles had landed.

The men around him tensed, but Tryson didn’t care.

His hands trembled as he pulled out his phone, quickly dialing a number. He lifted it to his ear, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes burned with fury.

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t waver.

His gaze locked onto one place, one figure, one man.

His father.

At that moment, Tryson’s sharp eyes caught movement—one of the men within the room stepped forward, his posture composed, his demeanor smooth and unhurried.

With a calculated grace, the man approached Alex and handed him a phone, his actions subtle yet deliberate.

Tryson’s grip on his own phone tightened. His gaze darkened as he watched his father accept the call, his every movement slow and composed, as if he had nothing to hide.

The tension in the room thickened.

"See me in the lounge," Tryson commanded, his voice cold and unyielding, a sharp contrast to the steady hum of chatter filling the auditorium.

The moment the words left his mouth, Alex turned his head, his gaze sweeping the room until it landed on Tryson. Their eyes locked.

Then—Alex smiled.

It was slow, deliberate, laced with an unsettling sense of knowing.

He understood.

He knew Tryson had put the pieces together. And yet, there was no trace of panic, no flicker of regret.

Instead, he seemed almost amused.

Still holding the phone to his ear, Alex whispered, his voice just loud enough to be heard, yet his tone disturbingly calm.

"It’ll be my pleasure to talk with you, son."

Despite the casual murmur of conversation around them, the weight of their locked stares was suffocating.

It was as if the very air in the room had shifted, thick with an unspoken challenge. A silent war had begun, one that would soon erupt into something far more dangerous.

Tryson didn’t move.

Neither did Alex.

But the chaos brewing between them was inevitable.