Rebirth Of The Heiress And The Tycoon's Lover (Alina) novel Chapter 289

Chapter 289

The door clicked softly as it swung open, and Damien stepped inside, his expression a mix of hesitation and curiosity, as if unsure whether he was barging in or arriving just in time. In his hands, he carefully balanced a tray—on one side rested a laptop, on the other, an assortment of snacks. His eyes immediately locked onto the sight of Alina and Talia, arms wrapped tightly around each other in a warm embrace. He paused, caught off guard.

He blinked, breaking the silence. “Alright… what did I miss?”

Talia slowly pulled away from the hug, casting him a quick, playful eye-roll paired with a teasing smirk. “Nothing that concerns you. Just put the tray over there, on that table.”

She didn’t flinch or show any sign of awkwardness. Instead, she glanced over her shoulder with complete ease, radiating confidence and a mischievous readiness to stir the pot.

“Nothing that concerns you,” she repeated, her tone light but pointed. “Just set the tray down on that table.”

She pointed as if Damien were her personal servant, and for a moment, he froze—just a fraction of a second—before his mouth dropped open in mock offense.

“Do I look like your servant?” he asked, voice dripping with exaggerated indignation.

Talia stared back, expression deadpan, eyes unwavering, utterly unrepentant.

“Yeah, you do. Absolutely,” she replied without missing a beat.

Alina burst out laughing, the kind of genuine, hearty laughter that shook her shoulders and eased the weight of tension she’d been carrying since dawn.

Damien rolled his eyes so dramatically it was almost theatrical, as if his eyelids could power a windmill. Yet, despite the playful protest, he stepped forward and placed the tray exactly where Talia had indicated.

Of course, he had no real choice. It was two women against one man, and the odds were clearly not in his favor.

He muttered under his breath, “Unbelievable,” but the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him—he was trying, and failing, to suppress a smile.

Talia dusted her hands off like a commander ready to lead her troops into battle.

“Shall we?” she asked Alina.

“Sure,” Alina replied, her voice steady.

They rose together, the atmosphere shifting from lighthearted camaraderie to focused determination. Talia moved to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down with the calm assurance of someone stepping onto a battlefield they knew well. The soft glow of the afternoon sun filtered through the window, casting a warm light that highlighted the intensity gathering in her eyes.

Damien and Alina naturally fell into place behind her, standing close enough that their presence felt like a protective shield on either side.

The moment Talia began typing, the energy in the room sharpened and focused.

Her fingers flew over the keyboard—fast, precise, purposeful.

Lines of numbers and strings of code blossomed across the screen, forming constellations only she could decipher. To anyone else, it looked like nonsense, but to her, it was a language—a map guiding her toward the answers they desperately needed.

Damien leaned in, captivated but clearly out of his depth.

He had no clue what those numbers meant and didn’t bother pretending otherwise.

Instead, he reached for a cookie from the tray.

Then, as if it were the most natural gesture in the world, he gently nudged it toward her lips.

Talia didn’t pause her typing.

She didn’t even glance at him.

She simply parted her lips slightly, bit into the cookie, and kept going.

Damien blinked in surprise, then grinned—his smile saying silently, “Ridiculous woman.”

Alina followed suit, lifting a glass and guiding the straw toward Talia’s mouth.

Talia leaned in to sip without breaking her rhythm.

It was absurdly domestic.

Absurdly wholesome.

And yet, beneath this calm surface, they were chasing a ghost—a dangerous, elusive figure linked to the destruction of two of the most powerful families in Ravinne.

Damien’s eyes widened as he watched the scrolling code.

“Wow, she’s amazing,” he murmured.

Alina’s pride was unmistakable. “Yeah, she’s the best at what she does.”

Damien nodded in agreement. “I can see that.”

Leaning closer to Talia, Alina asked softly, “Any luck?”

Talia didn’t look up.

“Shh, don’t interrupt while I’m working,” she said quietly, but with a tone that hinted she might snap a pencil in half if pushed any further.

Alina whispered, “Sorry.”

Silence enveloped the room again—thick, intense, filled with unyielding focus.

Meanwhile, somewhere far across Ravinne…

Lucian Blackwood stood alone in a dim, abandoned warehouse converted into a makeshift headquarters. This neutral ground was Ace’s choice—untraceable, quiet enough for thought, though Lucian hated the silence. It echoed with memories he wished to keep buried.

A long table before him was cluttered with scattered files, worn maps of the Ravinne region, and torn photographs pulled from the darkest corners of the past.

His jaw was clenched tight, his shoulders heavier with tension than usual, and his sharp eyes narrowed with frustration.

For days, they had chased one dead end after another.

Every person they tracked had turned pale at the mere mention of the man they sought.

No one would speak.

No one wanted to risk death.

And that told Lucian something crucial.

This man wasn’t just dangerous.

He was feared.

Terrifyingly feared.

Ace scrolled through his tablet, sighing as yet another report dissolved into uselessness.

“Damn it,” he muttered. “Another dead end. The next person we saw—also a dead end.”

Lucian pinched the bridge of his nose, voice low and steady. “There has to be someone who worked for him and is angry. Someone who’s been burned, someone who wants revenge.”

Ace looked up.

“Boss—”

“No,” Lucian interrupted sharply. “There’s always an enemy inside. Always. We need to find the one person who hates him more than they fear him.”

Ace leaned against the table, nodding.

“I get it, boss. We’re working on it. But everyone keeps shutting down. It’s like this man’s name is a curse word. They don’t want to say it, don’t want to remember it, don’t want to die for it.”

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