The Villain Who Stole Hearts
Chapter 125: Laying a Trap for Caspian

Chapter 125: Laying a Trap for Caspian

In the backseat of the Bentley, Blood Mandala stared coldly at the departing convoy.

"If you’ve done nothing wrong, you wouldn’t be afraid of demons knocking at your door in the middle of the night," she said icily. "How terrified must he be to show up with that many bodyguards?"

Caspian—her biological father.

Outwardly, he seemed impressive, always flanked by a stylish secretary and an entourage of bodyguards, with assistants holding umbrellas to shield him from the sun.

But in truth, he was nothing more than a man who’d abandoned his wife and daughter to marry into a wealthier, more powerful family.

His entourage was even more extravagant than Veil’s, and Veil was one of the most powerful heirs in all of Luxhaven City.

"Why did you help him offload that development?" she asked, frowning. "His business dealings in the family are falling apart. If you’d just let the project stall, even deliberately blocked any buyers, he would’ve crumbled. The big family in Luxhaven would’ve dropped him in a heartbeat."

Blood Mandala didn’t understand.

She knew Veil was only dealing with Caspian because of her—but she couldn’t wrap her head around the reasoning.

"You really are too naive," Veil said with a wry smile, gently tapping her forehead. "Sometimes, the best revenge isn’t swift and violent. It’s slow. It’s letting someone rot from the inside, piece by piece. Caspian abandoning his wife and child has nothing to do with me—but it sure as hell has something to do with you. You think I’d let him walk away clean?"

A strange warmth stirred in her chest, but confusion still lingered in her eyes.

"But... didn’t you just help him? He got the money he needed to plug the hole. Isn’t that exactly what he wanted?"

Veil let out a quiet chuckle. "Sure, he has the money now. Give it a few days—he’ll be bleeding it out faster than he can count. You’re only looking at the surface. You need to learn to think beyond that. Like me—use your head a little more."

He pulled her into his arms.

Blood Mandala glanced down at his chest, and suddenly it clicked.

She rolled her eyes in mock irritation. "God, do you ever think about anything that isn’t a twisted game or some convoluted scheme? You always start serious and end up talking nonsense."

Veil laughed.

The more time he spent with her, the more he felt her changing—shifting from a cold, top-ranked assassin into a real woman. Not a girl. A woman.

And more importantly, she was starting to understand his jokes.

He slid his fingers along the edge of her lips.

"Think about it. The only way Caspian could marry into that Luxhaven family was by charming that woman so thoroughly she’d defend him no matter what. Even if he screws up a little, she’ll cover for him. But if he crashes hard—really hard—if he screws up big enough, it won’t matter how much she wants to protect him. She won’t be able to. So sure, he has cash today—but very soon, he’ll be coughing up everything, with interest."

Blood Mandala frowned, tugging at the collar of her slightly wrinkled dress. "Wait... are you saying you’re scamming him?"

"Scamming? That’s a harsh word." Veil snorted, giving her a playful smack on the butt. "It’s called business. A partnership. Sometimes people win, sometimes they lose. That’s how it goes."

He grinned. "I’ve spent so much time plotting this out for your sake, and here you are acting like it’s worthless."

"Fine, fine." Her voice softened. "Thank you. I won’t call it that again."

Her hand slipped away from his, letting him touch her freely.

"That’s more like it," he murmured.

Veil wrapped both arms around her waist, holding her close, silently reflecting.

For her—for Blood Mandala—he’d orchestrated this entire setup to dismantle Caspian’s world, piece by piece. Not only would the deal seal Caspian’s fate, it’d generate a solid return. Lisa and Jodie had mentioned the company needed funds recently—this deal would patch that up nicely.

And as for Sierra? This power play would also push her development along another step.

Three birds with one stone?

No—who was he kidding?

He only did all of this for one person.

The rest? Just convenient side effects.

The car didn’t return to the estate. Instead, it drove straight to Blood Mandala’s apartment—one of the luxury duplexes in Veyport City’s downtown district.

Her home spanned two floors, a little over a hundred square meters, furnished in vintage style.

Maybe it was a professional quirk, but instead of paintings or abstract art, the walls were lined with weapons—blades of all shapes and sizes, displayed meticulously with no duplicates.

In the living room, aside from a flatscreen TV, stood a massive floor-to-ceiling mirror... and a long rack filled with identical black bodysuits.

Veil walked over and let his fingers trail over the fabric, grimacing. "All black? Seriously? No variety? This is painful to look at."

Blood Mandala bit her lip. "They’re tactical suits. Of course they’re black. And after each job, they usually have blood or damage. It’s standard procedure to toss them after use."

Truth be told, money was never an issue for her.

Every mission she took abroad pulled in at least six figures.

Veil turned toward the mirror and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "So this is where you check yourself after disguises? Final inspection?"

She walked up beside him and smoothed the hem of her dress. "Exactly. One missed detail can ruin an entire operation. You have to be sure everything’s flawless."

Just as she turned to complain about something, he suddenly pushed her gently against the glass.

Both hands splayed on the mirror.

"What are you doing?" she snapped, turning her head to look at him with a mixture of annoyance and... something else.

Veil’s expression made her throat tighten.

"I’m changing. Give me a minute," she muttered weakly. "Turn around."

"You make it sound like we’re strangers," he said, amused, tilting her chin up between his fingers.

Blood Mandala had always inspected herself in front of that massive mirror—every time, without exception.

Before any mission, she’d stand there and meticulously examine every inch of her body, searching for even the slightest flaw that might compromise her cover. If there was anything off, she fixed it. No compromises.

She never imagined that one day she’d find herself standing in front of that same mirror, so thoroughly disheveled, so exposed—so vulnerable.

She was an assassin.

One of the top three in the international ranks. A name that, if whispered, could make high-ranking powerbrokers lose sleep for days.

And now, this?

Especially in front of this mirror—the same one tied to countless memories of precision, control, ruthlessness. Just being here triggered something buried in her—the killer instinct. That sharp, slicing energy began to pulse through her like a blade being unsheathed.

Assassins do not get humiliated.

"Leave the heels on," Veil murmured.

"Got it," she answered softly.

Without hesitation, she bent down and slipped her foot back into the high heel that had come halfway off.

Veil stood behind her, arms wrapped loosely around her waist, watching her reflection in the mirror. Slowly, deliberately, he took in her entire form.

And the mirror, large and silent, bore witness to every detail of what unfolded between them—each movement, each breath, each merging of skin and need.

It was both exquisite and consuming. The kind of connection that bled into the soul.

And for Blood Mandala, that was exactly what she craved—something raw, addictive, almost destructive in its intensity.

...

The Bentley rolled to a gentle stop in front of the estate’s courtyard.

Veil sat upright now, the hands that had been wrapped around her earlier now planted behind him, pressed to his lower back as he straightened his spine and squared his shoulders.

He took a deep breath, shaking his head slightly, a dazed look flickering across his face.

Something felt... hollow. Like a piece of him had been taken out and not put back.

Like something was missing, and he couldn’t quite name what.

In the living room, the Swarovski chandelier cast a soft, glimmering light overhead.

Sierra was curled up on one end of the couch, resting her cheek on one hand, half-asleep against a cushion.

Veil approached slowly, leaning in closer.

Her lashes fluttered faintly as she dozed, and her lips—full, dewy, and faintly tinted—seemed to glow under the soft light. Every detail of her face radiated a kind of delicate, effortless beauty.

As if sensing something, she stirred and blinked open her eyes—only to find a face suddenly right in front of hers.

Startled, she gasped and recoiled back into the couch.

"You... What are you doing here?!"

Veil didn’t move. He simply crouched beside her, smiling as he replied,

"This is my house. You’re the housekeeper. It’s the middle of the night—you’re not home, and I’m the one who has to explain why I’m here?"

Sierra blinked, exhaled, and sat up straighter.

"I was waiting for you. How was I supposed to know you’d be out for that long?"

She sniffed the air, narrowing her eyes. Then she waved a hand between him and herself, fanning the scent closer, and frowned.

"You smell like perfume."

It was faint—nowhere near the overpowering floral types you’d find in department stores.

But she was a woman. A stylish, sharp-eyed woman.

And that made her particularly attuned to scents like that—especially when they didn’t belong to her.

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