Saintess's Worthless Husband Turned Dragon Commander novel Chapter 95

CHAPTER 95

Jade Phoenix Restaurant – Downtown Grayson City – 7:34 PM

Quinn Hartford walked beside Marcus Steel with something she hadn’t felt in three years-lightness. The Hartford Group board meeting victory still hummed in her veins, her Sacred Saintess aura glowing with quiet confidence that turned heads on the sidewalk.

“I’m paying,” Quinn said firmly, her cold indifference warming slightly at the edges. “This dinner is my idea. My celebration.”

“You’re the acting chairman of a multi-billion-dollar corporation,” Marcus replied with a slight smile. “I think you can afford it.”

“Permanent chairman,” Quinn corrected, and something about the word-permanent-made her Saintess aura pulse with golden warmth. “Thanks to your mysterious relative at Titan Group.”

“Very generous family,” Marcus agreed innocuously.

Quinn glanced at him sideways, her sacred intuition probing the answer she couldn’t quite reach. But before she could press further, she caught Marcus doing something that had become familiar-his eyes scanning their surroundings with that predatory precision that no ordinary man possessed.

“What is it?” she asked quietly.

“Probably nothing,” Marcus said. But his dragon senses were screaming.

The street outside Jade Phoenix Restaurant was busy-couples strolling, businessmen rushing, the ordinary theater of Grayson City’s evening foot traffic. But Marcus’s enhanced perception detected wrongness beneath the surface. Heartbeats elevated with controlled tension rather than natural exertion. Eyes that moved too precisely for casual pedestrians. Bodies positioned too strategically for coincidence.

We’re being watched. Multiple positions.

“Quinn.” Marcus took her hand, guiding her toward the restaurant entrance. “Walk normally. Don’t look around.”

“Marcus, what-”

“Trust me.”

They were fifteen feet from the entrance when a man stepped directly into their path.

Mid-thirties, athletic build, expensive casual clothes that couldn’t quite hide the combat-readiness in his posture. Dark sunglasses despite the evening light. He looked at Quinn with focused intensity that made Marcus’s dragon aura flare.

“Excuse me,” the man said, his voice professionally neutral. “Are you Quinn Hartford? Sacred Saintess of ”

“Wrong person,” Marcus interrupted smoothly, stepping between them. “My wife’s name is Sarah. We’re visiting from Chicago. First time in Grayson City.”

The man’s expression didn’t change. “Sir, I just need to speak with -”

“I said wrong person,” Marcus repeated, his hand gently but firmly pressing Quinn’s back. “We should get inside, honey. Our reservation.”

He steered Quinn through the restaurant entrance without looking back, feeling the sunglasses man’s gaze drilling into his back.

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Inside, Marcus positioned them at a corner table with clear sightlines to both the entrance and emergency exit –a habit so ingrained it was automatic.

“That man was looking for me,” Quinn said, her Saintess senses confirming what she’d felt. “Who was he?”

“Someone who shouldn’t know where we are tonight,” Marcus said. “Which means we have a leak somewhere, or we’re being tracked.”

Quinn’s cold indifference settled back into place like armor, replacing the brief warmth she’d allowed herself.” The Potter family?”

“Or someone connected to them.” Marcus’s dragon senses expanded outward through the restaurant walls, mapping heartbeats on the street. “We have time. Order something. I need to think.”

Quinn studied her menu with practiced calm, but her Sacred Saintess aura flickered with subtle alarm that only Marcus could detect.

Through the restaurant’s large front window, Marcus watched the sidewalk. The sunglasses man had stopped twenty feet down the street, ostensibly checking his phone. But his body angle maintained perfect line of sight to the restaurant entrance.

Then a second figure appeared-a heavyset man in a rumpled jacket staggering with exaggerated drunkenness, weaving through pedestrians with theatrical incompetence. He lurched directly into the sunglasses man, sending them both stumbling.

“Watch where you’re going!” the sunglasses man snapped.

“Sorry, sorry!” The drunk man grabbed his arm to steady himself, nearly pulling them both down. “My phone- you knocked my phone-”

The device clattered to the sidewalk, screen shattering.

“That’s not my problem-”

“That phone cost eight hundred dollars!” The drunk man’s voice rose with aggressive indignation. “You broke it! You’re paying for that!”

“I didn’t break anything-you walked into ME-”

Marcus watched the argument with perfectly still attention, his dragon senses detecting what ordinary eyes would miss. The drunk man’s stumbling was too precise. His balance too controlled. The “accidental” collision had been executed with martial arts footwork disguised as clumsiness.

More tellingly-when the drunk man grabbed the sunglasses man’s arm to “steady himself,” he held the grip two seconds longer than necessary. Long enough to pass something. Or take something.

Both trained. Both operatives. But working against each other.

“Those two men outside are fighting over something,” Marcus said quietly. “And neither one is drunk or careless.

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Quinn glanced through the window, then back at Marcus with sharp eyes. “An argument about a phone?”

“Cover story. Both of them are highly trained. The drunk man-he took something from the other one’s pocket when they collided.” Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “Which means they’re on opposite sides.”

“Marcus Steel?”

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The new voice came from Marcus’s immediate left. He hadn’t heard the approach-which was itself remarkable.

A young man had settled into the chair beside them with fluid, silent grace. He was perhaps twenty-five, lean and sharp-featured, dressed in nondescript clothing that somehow made him nearly invisible in a crowd. On the table before him, he placed a small jade token-intricately carved with symbols that Marcus’s dragon senses recognized as ancient protective seals.

“Willson Pavilion,” Marcus said flatly.

“Pavilion Master Amadeus Fairbanks sends his regards,” the young man said quietly, his voice barely carrying to their table. “My name is Cole Harrison. I was assigned to protect the Sacred Saintess as a personal favor from the Master-a gesture of continued commitment after the… failure during the parking garage incident.”

Quinn’s eyes sharpened. “You work for Amadeus Fairbanks.”

“I serve the Pavilion, which serves those under Pavilion protection,” Cole corrected respectfully. “Sacred Saintess, your safety is our highest priority.”

“How did you know we’d be here tonight?” Marcus asked, his dragon senses probing Cole’s aura. The young man was powerful-genuine cultivation, professionally honed. Not a fraud.

“We’ve maintained surveillance since the Hibiscus Mansion incident,” Cole admitted. “Discreetly. The Pavilion Master felt that visible protection might draw attention rather than deter it.”

Marcus picked up the jade token, examining it. The symbols were authentic-Willson Pavilion’s identification system, impossible to replicate without genuine access to the organization. He set it back down.

“The man in sunglasses outside,” Marcus said. “Who is he?”

“Deep Cold intelligence operative,” Cole replied. “Codename Specter. He’s been tracking the Sacred Saintess for the past three days-we believe he’s mapping her movements and patterns for a planned extraction.”

“Extraction,” Quinn repeated, her voice carefully flat. “They want to kidnap me again.”

“Attempt to,” Cole said firmly. “The drunk man-that’s one of ours. He just lifted Specter’s communication device to disrupt their coordination.”

Outside the window, the argument between the two operatives had escalated. The drunk man-Willson Pavilion- shoved the sunglasses man with force that sent him stumbling three feet. The response was a calculated strike that would have broken a normal person’s wrist, but the Pavilion operative blocked it with casual efficiency.

Their “street argument” was actually a highly technical martial exchange, invisible to ordinary observers but blindingly obvious to Marcus’s dragon-enhanced perception.

“There are more,” Marcus said. It wasn’t a question.

“Seven additional hostiles,” Cole confirmed. “Positioned around the restaurant in a containment pattern. They’re waiting for you both to be seated and comfortable before initiating. The plan appears to be a coordinated ambush -multiple entry points, overwhelming numbers.”

“Deep Cold?” Marcus asked.

“Combined operation. Deep Cold providing intelligence and extraction team. Outside contractors providing muscle.” Cole paused. “Whoever is funding this operation spent significant resources. This isn’t opportunistic— this was planned specifically for tonight.”

“The Potter family,” Quinn said quietly, her cold certainty carrying absolute conviction.

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“That’s our assessment as well, Sacred Saintess.”

Marcus’s dragon aura had been building steadily throughout the conversation-invisible but generating pressure that made nearby candles flutter despite no wind. Seven additional operatives. A coordinated ambush. Someone had planned this carefully, spending real resources to neutralize both him and Quinn simultaneously.

His phone vibrated on the table.

Aaron Jackson. Marcus answered immediately.

“Elder brother.” Aaron’s voice was breathless and urgent-a tone Marcus had never heard from his unflappable right-hand man. “Where are you right now?”

“Jade Phoenix Restaurant. Why?”

“Get out NOW! We’ve had three separate attacks in the past twenty minutes-your apartment, Hartford Group headquarters, and the parking garage at Skyline. Coordinated strikes, all simultaneous. Whoever is doing this has been watching your patterns for weeks. They know your routes, your security, everything.”

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