Chapter 4 Closed Deal

Danika's Pov

“You want me to help you kill your husband, Jared?” The man questioned, his gaze filled with shock.

“Ah, don't say it like that. It sounds wicked when you put it like that.” I waved my hands dismissively, and then sat on the bed, “Let's just say you're getting rid of a thorn in your flesh. It's nothing more than nipping the bud. Very easy and efficient. It'll benefit you as well.” I said, crossing one leg over the other, completely at ease despite the gravity of the conversation.

The man frowned, running a hand through his hair. He was pacing the small, worn rug in front of the bed. “Look, I appreciate the offer, I really do. You know how badly I want him out of the way. But you don't understand the reality of the situation. I’ve tried to think of ways for years. Despite Jared’s shortcomings, his arrogance, his love for control, he's very cautious. Paranoid, even. He doesn't let anyone get too close to him, not business rivals, not new associates, and especially not anyone he suspects might be a threat. And security? Forget about it. He always has a rotating team of bodyguards around him. Two in the car, four flanking him in public, surveillance everywhere. It’s practically impossible to get near him for more than a few seconds, let alone arrange an ‘accident.’ I’d be signing my own death warrant just by trying.”

I let him finish his little speech, watching him with a calm, almost bored expression. When he finally stopped, looking defeated, I laughed. It wasn't a mean laugh, just a dry, self-assured sound that held a tinge of mockery.

“Impossible for you, maybe. For his rivals? Yes, completely impossible.” I slid off the bed and walked towards him, stopping just a foot away. I used my finger to lift his chin, forcing him to meet my gaze. “But there’s a reason why I’m his wife, isn’t there? The perfect, loving, loyal accessory on his arm.” I dropped my hand.

“I’ve lived with him for three years. Three years of listening to his boring meetings on the phone, three years of seeing his calendar appointments pop up on the shared system, three years of noticing the subtle shifts in his security detail. I already know everything about his schedule, the exact timing of the guard rotations, the one blind spot in the garage surveillance, the days he insists on driving himself to the country club. The man might be cautious with strangers, but he’s complacent with what he thinks he owns, and he thinks he owns me.”

I walked past him and stared out the grimy window at the streetlights below. “Don’t worry about the impossible. I’ve already figured out the how and the when. You just need to follow my words exactly. Do what I say, and we both get what we want. It will be very easy and efficient, just like I promised.”

He stood there, silent for a long time, his face a mask of conflicting emotions. He looked at the torn, expensive fabric of my dress, at the determination in my eyes, and finally, he seemed to accept the sheer lunacy of the situation. This was his chance, and I was holding the key.

He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “Alright,” he said, his voice low and firm.

A triumphant smile finally broke through my cool facade. “That’s much better. This is going to be the easiest business deal you’ve ever closed.” I walked back to the door. “I wish you a happy cooperation.”

I paused with my hand on the knob. “And one last, very important thing. Don't you leave now, you need to act like you’ve just had the most passionate few hours of your life with me. Mess up your own hair, stumble a little, have that satisfied, slightly guilty look on your face. Make it convincing. I’ll contact you tomorrow with the final details.”

I didn't wait for his reply. I pulled the door open and stepped out into the dimly lit corridor of the private room, looking carefully. The place was empty, and all the cameras were down. After all, no one would want to risk a place like this having their photos or videos. I didn't care about my torn dress; the long tear along the side was revealing, but the adrenaline was pumping too hard for modesty.

It was part of the story now, anyway.

As I walked, I felt the slight discomfort of the ruined clothes against my skin. With a silent curse, I reached under the skirt and ripped the last piece of unnecessary fabric off. My panties were cheap anyway. I balled them up and threw them into the nearest trash bin outside the elevator landing.

I picked up my pace, heading toward the emergency stairs that would lead me to a discreet back exit. I was turning the corner, my mind already calculating the time it would take to get home and compose myself, when I collided with something solid.

The impact sent me stumbling backward, and I cried out as I fell hard onto my tailbone, the pain radiating immediately up my spine. My elbow scraped against the rough plaster of the wall as I tried to break the fall.

“What the hell!” I hissed, already scrambling to my knees, ready to unleash all the pent-up tension on the person who had knocked me down. I looked up, ready to yell at the clumsy idiot, when I saw his face.

He was standing over me, swaying slightly, his hands pressed tightly against his temples as if trying to hold his head together. His expensive suit was rumpled, his tie was loose, and his eyes were wide, glassy, and unfocused. He wasn't looking at me; he was staring right through me, trembling uncontrollably. His skin was slick with a cold sweat that glistened under the weak hallway light.

He was muttering something under his breath, a low, panicked whine that I couldn't quite make out.

He didn't look like an ordinary drunk or a simple hotel guest. He looked like he had been drugged. I had seen my own fair share of drugged men and women so I knew how they acted and what they looked like.

And I was alone with a drugged handsome man who looked like he wanted to eat me raw.