The Billionaire's Intern (Maya Thompson) novel Chapter 545

Chapter 274: The Deadly Game of Cat and Mouse

Volkov walked toward his massive mahogany desk before lowering himself into the chair behind it.

“The fact that nothing points to him tells me nothing. He’s too smart… never reckless. Men like him don’t leave evidence behind.”

He reached for the wooden cigar box on his desk, took out a cigar, and lit it.

“No one would dare challenge me unless they possessed the power to do so.”

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he exhaled a slow stream of smoke.

“And Damien Blackwood is the only one who has that kind of power. Until I know otherwise, he’s still my most likely suspect.”

Volkov leaned back in his chair and made a small dismissive gesture.

“Tell Roman to stay on him. I want to know every move Blackwood makes.”

Igor inclined his head.

“Yes, Boss.”

As Igor turned to leave, Volkov called after him.

“Igor.”

He stopped immediately.

“Tell the doctors to make sure that bastard stays alive.”

A faint snicker escaped Volkov’s lips.

“I’m not finished with him yet.”

Igor gave a single nod.

“Understood.”

With that, he turned and walked out.

Once the door clicked shut, Volkov rose from his chair and made his way to the bar. He poured himself another glass before turning his attention back to the glittering city beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“You’re hiding something, Blackwood…” he murmured.

“And sooner or later… I’ll find out what it is.”

He took a slow sip of his whiskey, welcoming its familiar burn as it slid down his throat. He then walked back to his desk and set the crystal tumbler down.

But instead of taking a seat, he continued toward the wall behind his chair, where an enormous oil painting hung in an ornate gilded frame.

Reaching beneath the edge of the frame, he pressed a concealed button.

A soft click echoed through the office before the painting slowly slid aside, revealing a recessed compartment built into the wall.

Inside, resting atop a polished slab of white marble, sat an elegant gold urn. Beside it stood a framed photograph of a beautiful young woman wearing a radiant smile, her bright eyes forever frozen in a happier time.

Viktor’s gaze drifted to the photograph, and a faint, genuine smile softened his features.

With the utmost care, he reached for the urn and gently lifted it from its marble pedestal. Cradling it against his chest, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, holding it as though embracing someone he refused to let go.

“Moya sladkaya devochka,” he whispered. (My sweet baby girl.)

A low, maniacal laugh escaped Viktor’s lips. He slowly pulled the urn away from his chest, pressed a gentle kiss to it, then carefully returned it to its marble pedestal.

Turning away, he picked up the cigar he had left burning in the ashtray and took a slow puff, exhaling a thin stream of smoke.

“Destiny… or fate… or whatever the fuck you want to call it… has a very fucked-up way of doing things, moya sladkaya devochka.” (My sweet baby girl.)

A dark laugh rumbled from his throat.

“You won’t believe it… but of all the women in this world… it just had to be her.”

He took another long drag from the cigar before exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. Then he crushed the burning tip into the ashtray with a firm twist.

“So I’ll take that woman away from him with my own hands.”

He reached for the crystal tumbler on his desk and emptied the remaining whiskey in a single swallow before returning to the hidden compartment. There, he stood silently before the urn, his gaze settling once more on the smiling face in the photograph beside it.

“I’ll send her to you… and when the two of you meet in the afterlife, you can take your revenge however you see fit.”

A chilling silence settled over the hidden chamber as the warmth vanished from his face.

“If my beautiful Cassandra wasn’t good enough for Damien Blackwood… then no other woman will ever be.”

“Lamar de por memory my dear Cassandra will make sure he never finds happiness for

kva smile lingered on his lips as he slowly slid the painting back into place, concealing the

Gehanovened to him, the game had already begun, and the first move had never belonged to Kink Band is enemy was already two steps ahead.

In this deadly game of cat and mouse, Viktor Volkov believed he was the hunter, never 1ng he had been the prey all along