wrongfully owned by noah Zhang

chapter 4

"I can't do this, Silas," she whispered, mouth bone-dry. "It's not just the cameras. He notices everything. I swear he can tell when I've been in a room even if nothing's moved."

Silas's voice came through flat and ugly. "Three million dollars, Octavia. That's what your mother owes me. You begged me not to kill you , and now I'm trying my best not to reconsider. You better end him or I'm sending someone to end you both. You get close to Noah Zhang, you find your moment, and you kill him. Quietly. Cleanly. I don't care how-just make it happen. The boss want wants him gone and their ledger back. Two birds, one bullet. You have limited time Octavia, because my hand is starting to get itchy . I don't know how long i will be able to keep my promise, and don't see it has joke honey, the punchline can always be you."

The line clicked dead.

Octavia shoved the phone into the waistband of her silk trousers, hands shaking badly. "Kill him." The words sat like lead in her stomach. She wasn't a killer. She was a desperate daughter who'd taken a deal with the devil to stay alive. Now the devil wanted blood.

She'd barely steadied herself when sharp knocks rattled the door. Three impatient raps. Octavia smoothed her hair, wiped her palms on her thighs, and opened it.

Elena stood there in her crisp uniform, lips pressed thin. The head maid's eyes scanned the dark room like she expected to catch someone hiding.

"Talking to yourself again?" Elena asked.

"Long day," Octavia snapped. "I don't need an audience in my own room." She shut the door before Elena could reply, catching the flash of resentment on the woman's face.

Octavia leaned against the wood, heart hammering. Killing Noah Zhang felt impossible. Surviving long enough to even try felt harder

The smell hit her first in the east wing-burnt paper, scorched leather, and ruined history. A knot of servants clustered outside Noah's private study, faces pale and tight.

Octavia pushed through.

On the center of the obsidian desk lay the charred remains of the 17th-century manuscript. The one Noah had shown her weeks ago with rare pride in his voice. Now it was black flakes and curled edges.

"I saw her," Elena announced, voice ringing out. She pointed straight at Octavia. "Two in the morning. She was creeping around here with a lamp. Looked guilty as sin when she left. Must have knocked it over while she was snooping."

All eyes turned. Octavia's stomach dropped. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Any excuse would sound weak. The truth-that she was here to kill their employer-was unthinkable.

The air changed.

Noah walked in.

He didn't shout. He didn't look at the ruined book. His dark eyes locked on her with flat, terrifying focus. The servants shrank back, heads bowing low.

He crossed the room in three strides.

His hand closed around her throat-fast, precise. He slammed her back against the cold stone fireplace. The impact rattled her teeth. His thumb pressed hard under her jaw, right on her frantic pulse.

"You think you can bring your chaos into my house?" he said, low and only for her.

With his free hand he grabbed the crystal carafe of ice water. He tilted it slowly.

Cold shock hit her forehead, then flooded her eyes and nose. She tried to twist away but his grip was iron. Water poured down her throat while his fingers cut off her air. She choked, gagged, clawing at his wrist. Her legs kicked uselessly. Her lungs burned. The edges of her vision sparked and darkened as the roar of blood filled her ears. "I can't die here,"she thought desperately. " is this the end".

A maid whimpered behind her. Elena had backed against the wall, face ashen, hands shaking so badly she had to press them flat.

Just before blackness took her, he let go.

Octavia crumpled to the floor, knees cracking against the tile. She coughed violently, expelling water, spit, and bile. Each ragged breath scraped her raw throat. Tears mixed with the water soaking her face and clothes as she fought for air.

Noah stood over her, polished shoes inches from her dripping hair. He crouched, bringing his mouth close to her ear.

"If anything else burns in this house," he whispered, breath cool against her wet skin, "I won't use water next time. Understand?"

She couldn't speak. She managed a quick, jerky nod, body still trembling.

Noah straightened, gave the servants one flat warning look that sent them scattering, and walked out.

Octavia stayed on the floor a long time, coughing, shivering, trying not to vomit. Her throat throbbed. Her knees ached. Worst of all was the sick twist in her gut-the fear, the shame, and that tiny, traitorous spark of something else when his hand had been around her throat.

She finally pushed herself up, legs unsteady. Three million dollars. Her mother's life. And now she had less than forty-eight hours to assassinate one of the most dangerous men she'd ever met.

She wiped her face with a soaked sleeve and forced herself to stand straight. The ledger might give her an opening. But after today, she knew the truth: Noah Zhang wasn't just a target. He was a predator who could end her with a flick of his wrist.

And she still had to find a way to kill him