The Unexpected Enemy

CHAPTER 6: THE ORDER OF DEATH

As soon as Lysandra arrived home, she wasted no time and headed straight to her private office. The cold elegance of the room reflected her calculated personality—sleek black furniture, towering bookshelves filled with law and business books, and a massive mahogany desk at the center. The dim glow of the chandelier overhead barely softened the icy tension that filled the space, as though the room itself had absorbed the ruthlessness of its owner.

The walls, adorned with expensive artwork, bore witness to years of ambition, schemes, and carefully laid plans. Every detail of the office was meticulously arranged, exuding an air of control. But tonight, the room felt suffocating, as if its very foundations knew that something irreversible was about to take place.

With precise movements, Lysandra settled into her leather chair, exhaled slowly, and picked up her phone. Her manicured fingers, steady and sure, swiftly dialed a number—one she had never called before but had always known she would need one day.

It barely rang thrice before it was answered.

"Nannie," she spoke, her voice devoid of warmth. "Find me a hitman."

The words, delivered with unnerving calmness, sent an immediate chill down the spine of the woman on the other end of the line.

For years, Nannie had been Lysandra’s loyal secretary, privy to her business dealings, her affairs, and even her carefully concealed manipulations. But this—this was beyond anything she had expected.

A hitman.

A command for murder.

The silence stretched long enough for Lysandra’s patience to thin.

"Ma’am?" Nannie finally managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper, her fingers tightening around her own phone as if grasping something tangible might keep her grounded.

Lysandra’s grip on her device tightened in irritation. "I want Gustavo dead before the day ends," she repeated, her tone sharper, colder.

A deafening stillness filled the space between them.

Nannie swallowed hard. "Ma’am, this is dangerous," she finally said, her voice shaking. "Killing him like this—"

"Do not question me!" Lysandra snapped, her patience snapping like a brittle thread. Her palm struck the desk with force, sending papers fluttering to the floor. The sharp sound echoed through the room like a gunshot.

Nannie flinched, instinctively straightening in her chair.

"Just do what I say, Nannie," Lysandra continued, her voice lowering to a deadly whisper. "Or do you want to be next?"

The unspoken threat sent shivers down Nannie’s spine.

She knew Lysandra. Knew that she was more than capable of following through on such a warning.

Hands trembling, Nannie forced herself to nod, even though Lysandra couldn’t see her. "I—I’ll handle it," she whispered, before hastily ending the call.

Her pulse pounded as she immediately typed out a message, sending it to a contact she had hoped never to use. A name that existed only in whispered conversations and criminal transactions.

A hitman.

A killer for hire.

A man who would turn Lysandra’s command into a corpse.

But neither of them knew that someone had overheard their conversation.

Just beyond the slightly ajar office door, concealed in the dimly lit hallway, stood a silent figure.

Cerio Suarez.

Lysandra’s husband.

The man she had married not out of love, but out of necessity.

For years, he had turned a blind eye to her ambitions. He had let her chase power, let her build her empire, let her shape the world to her will. He had told himself it was easier that way.

But this?

This was beyond anything he had imagined.

A mixture of shock, fury, and disbelief coursed through his veins as he listened to his wife order a man’s death as though she were merely scheduling an appointment. His best friend—Gustavo—had just been marked for murder.

And Lysandra hadn’t hesitated.

His fists clenched at his sides. His breath came in short, sharp bursts.

He could not allow this.

Without hesitation, he stormed into the office.

The heavy wooden door slammed against the wall with a resounding thud, rattling the chandelier overhead.

Lysandra looked up, her sharp gaze meeting his immediately.

For a brief second, surprise flickered in her eyes. But it was quickly replaced with irritation.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, narrowing her gaze as she leaned back into her chair.

Cerio strode forward, his presence radiating fury. "What the hell are you planning, Lysandra?" His voice was low, but there was no mistaking the tremor of barely restrained rage within it. "You want to kill Gustavo?"

Lysandra tilted her head, studying him as though he were a mere nuisance rather than her husband. Slowly, a smirk curved her lips.

"And what if I do?"

Cerio’s nostrils flared. His body vibrated with anger.

"He’s my best friend!" he spat. "And you want him dead?"

Lysandra scoffed. "You think I care about your friendship?" she asked coldly. "Gustavo stands in my way. He has what should belong to me and my daughter. He made his choice when he abandoned us. Now, I’m making mine."

Cerio shook his head, his breath unsteady. "You’re insane," he muttered. "This… this is madness."

Lysandra chuckled, the sound hollow, devoid of true amusement. "No, Cerio," she murmured, standing to meet him eye to eye. "This is strategy. Something you, with your weak heart, will never understand."

Cerio took another step closer, his body rigid, his hands trembling with barely suppressed fury. "You call murder a strategy?" he seethed.

The smirk faded from Lysandra’s lips.

She placed her palms flat on the desk, leaning forward.

"If you have a problem with what I’m doing," she said, her voice as sharp as a blade, "then maybe you’d like to follow Gustavo to the grave."

Cerio stilled.

The words hung between them, thick with promise.

For the first time in their marriage, he realized—she was capable of it.

She would kill him too.

Would erase him from her life just as easily as she was about to erase Gustavo.

And he would not wait for that moment to come.

"I won’t let you do this," he declared through gritted teeth. "You will not touch Gustavo."

Lysandra sighed, rolling her eyes as if bored. "And how do you plan to stop me, dear husband?"

The word husband dripped with mockery.

Before Cerio could respond, a soft, broken sound interrupted them.

A sob.

Both of them turned their heads toward the office door.

There, standing in the shadows of the hallway, was their daughter—Ariana.

Her small frame shook, her hands gripping the fabric of her dress as silent tears streamed down her face.

She had been there.

She had heard everything.

She had listened as her mother ordered a man’s death.

She had realized, in that moment, that the woman who had raised her was not the mother she thought she knew.

Lysandra’s face faltered, her expression unreadable for the first time.

"Ariana," she called, her voice unusually soft.

But Ariana stepped back, her head shaking furiously.

"N-no," she stammered, her voice breaking. "No, Mama. You… you’re not like this. You can’t be like this."

Lysandra opened her mouth to respond, but for once, she had no words.

Ariana turned on her heel and ran.

Ran from the truth.

Ran from the monster that was her own mother.

Back in the office, silence settled like dust in the air.

Cerio watched as Lysandra stood frozen, her nails digging into the wooden surface of her desk.

For the first time in years, the mighty Lysandra Suarez had been shaken.

And for the first time in years, Cerio saw a glimmer of hope—

Hope that maybe, just maybe, his wife’s reign of terror could finally be stopped.