SHARED CARDS

CHAPTER TWO — EMARA'S POV

Everything happened so quickly.

Mr. Bernard, our family butler, rushed forward and helped me back to my feet.

“Young miss,” he said, extending his hand towards me.

Dad stood two metres away, watching in anger. Before I could say a word or even properly look at him, Glady had already dropped to her knees, her face lowered as she began defending herself before an accusation had even been made.

“Dad, I didn't!” she exclaimed, raising her hands desperately.

I could sense Dad fuming with anger, but I wasn't satisfied. Putting on my most innocent expression, I walked towards him and held his hand.

“Old man...” I coughed, giving him a pitiful look before continuing. “Please don't be mad at Sis. She just reminded me that my mum wasn't your first wife but a mistress, and I lashed out out of jealousy.”

My words were carefully chosen, each one aimed at causing chaos.

“Glady!” Dad roared.

He pulled out his pistol and pointed it straight at her. Before he could pull the trigger, however, my stepmother had already thrown herself in front of Glady, taking the bullet meant for her precious daughter.

The bullet struck my stepmother in the thigh. Her eyes widened in agony as she slowly collapsed into Glady's arms.

Glady screamed for help, tears pouring from her eyes as though they had been stored away, waiting for the perfect moment to fall.

I watched in silence. Only then did I draw a breath of pure satisfaction.

My innocent expression remained untouched, concealing the satisfaction I had no intention of letting anyone see.

The maids rushed to assist Glady while Mr. Bernard carried my stepmother away for urgent medical attention.

Dad stood there, seemingly unmoved by what had happened. He turned his attention to me, gently caressing my forehead before cupping my cheek. He leaned towards me as though he intended to pull me into a hug, but before he could, a loud, deafening crack shattered the silence.

The sound of a Desert Eagle echoed through the mansion, sending a shock wave through my heart.

Dad remained calm. He urged me to retire to my room, but before he could finish speaking, the men standing on either side of the entrance bowed their heads. Their bodies stiffened, and their eyes lowered as though an unspoken command had been given.

A clear path opened, leading straight into the heart of the mansion.

Then he appeared.

Domino Herman stepped inside, his tall frame draped in a perfectly tailored black suit. At six-foot-two, he carried himself with the kind of authority that needed no announcement. His footsteps echoed against the polished marble floor, slow and unhurried, each one accompanied by an unsettling silence.

There was something chilling about him. Perhaps it was the coldness in his eyes, the unreadable expression on his face, or the effortless arrogance with which he moved, as though the entire mansion belonged to him.

His gaze travelled across the vast interior before settling on Dad and me, standing before him.

Domino's lips curved into a faint, humourless smile. He slipped one hand into his pocket, his eyes fixed on Dad with a calmness far more threatening than anger.

Then, with a subtle motion of his fingers, he signalled his bodyguards.

Two of them immediately stepped forward, carrying a chair to the centre of the room. One wiped the seat clean before stepping aside, his head slightly bowed.

Domino approached the chair without sparing the men a glance. He turned, lowered himself into it with unhurried ease, and leaned back as though he had all the time in the world.

He crossed one leg over the other, resting his ankle against his knee, then adjusted the cuff of his suit.

A slow breath escaped his nostrils as he tilted his head back for a brief moment, his expression unreadable. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled through his mouth, almost as though the entire situation bored him.

Only then did his gaze return to Sam Donald.

“Well done, Mr. Sam Donald.”

His deep voice rolled through the spacious mansion, smooth and unhurried, carrying a mocking note of approval.

He tilted his head slightly, studying the older man as though he were nothing more than an amusing spectacle.

“Quite a welcome you've prepared for me.”

The faint smile remained on his face, but there wasn't a trace of warmth in his eyes.

I calmly assessed the room and excused myself immediately.

“I'll head to the garden, Dad.”

Dad nodded with a sigh as he took his seat and watched me leave.

However, the moment his gaze shifted away, I slipped behind a pillar. I wanted to eavesdrop.

“Utterly worthy of being Hay City's most dangerous lord, my dear Domino,” Dad remarked as he settled into his seat, glancing at his wristwatch.

“We have only five minutes for this discussion, Mr. Herman. Five minutes, because”

“Five minutes is more than enough. I came to inform you, not to discuss anything.”

Domino's voice cut through Dad's words, leaving no room for argument.

Two of his men stepped forward, carrying a box between them. They placed it on the table while Dad sat silently, his attention fixed on it, his expression focused and observant.

Mr. Bernard returned and moved towards the box, but Dad waved him away with a dismissive gesture. The butler immediately understood and stepped back.

Domino slid a cigarette from his pocket and offered it to Dad. Then he flicked his lighter and held the flame out for him.

As Dad took the cigarette, Domino rose to his feet.

Curiosity got the better of me. I shifted my position slightly, trying to follow his movements, but that was when I lost sight of him.

I straightened up, searching for him with my eyes.

Suddenly, I felt a hand strike the back of my neck.

Pain shot through me, intense and immediate. My body weakened, and my vision began to spin. I could barely keep my eyes open. It felt as though the entire mansion were rotating around me.

My knees buckled.

I stumbled backwards, unable to steady myself, and began to fall.

The last thing I felt was a pair of arms catching me before darkness swallowed me whole.