Fully recovered, his punch came without hesitation. Yet the man immersed in desire avoided it effortlessly. The punch brushed only the corner of Feston’s eye. Something small fell onto the carpet—a deep brown lens.

“So, you’re part of the Kaida Group. No wonder Greg is connected to you.” Stepping back, Feston Kaida seemed like a different person—not in appearance, but in his eyes. Pale gray, hard as steel, giving him the cold, officer-like aura of someone who never lets personal feelings interfere.

Feston had indeed served in the military. Short hair brushed back, he said, “One can never be too careful with you.”

Those pale gray eyes, in the light, looked like strange glass—hard to read. Both eyes had lenses; now one lay on the floor. Feston removed the other, asking, “Did Mrs. Maberry tell you about the Kaida family traits?”

“You didn’t call her a high-class prostitute just before?” Feng Zhannuo smirked, beginning to button his shirt.

Half-naked, Feston approached and helped him with the buttons. “She is indeed a high-class prostitute. Worldwide, business elites, politicians—even crime lords—have shared her bed.”

“I thought our negotiations had failed.” Feng seemed unconcerned that Feston had revealed another layer of his identity. He didn’t understand what this man was thinking. Feston glanced at him. “You refuse this contract, then next time we continue elsewhere.”

“So you’re trying to buy me off with yourself, asking me to give up the contract?” Feng crossed his arms, admiring Feston dressing. “Do you realize what’s at stake here? Thirty million dollars on a check… and you. Which do you think I’d choose?”

“Am I not worth thirty million?” Feston stepped closer. “Not everything is bought with money, Ian. If you were someone who does everything for money, you wouldn’t still be standing here.”

As if he knew him inside out. Feng noticed this was the first time Feston hadn’t called him the Ghost when they were alone. “You speak like this… it means there’s still a chance to continue what just happened. If it ends here, I’d regret it.”

Everything he said carried a unique flavor—slight hints of intimacy, never frivolous, yet profoundly affecting.

Feston studied him for a long moment, then picked up his gun and holstered it. “If you kill anyone here, I will arrest you.”

He also confiscated Feng’s gun. The killer shrugged, that inscrutable smile shifting subtly, without humor. “I’m not your subordinate, Captain Kaida.”

“Then you intend to comply with Mrs. Maberry?” Feston’s brow furrowed, giving him a grim aura. “Greg is my cousin.”

So that’s it. Feng realized, “You want to protect your family… I didn’t know you’d go this far—trading with a killer for it.” Suddenly, he recalled something. “I said I could use your family to make you obey… you didn’t care then, because no one knew you were Kaida Group.”

He had thought Feston as self-interested as himself. He had been wrong.

“This doesn’t need to be known.” Perhaps not the first time he’d done this, Feston slid another lens into place from his pocket.

Feng wondered why Feston had never joined the family business, instead becoming FBI. He wanted to ask, but didn’t.

“Go back, refuse this contract, then come find me.” Feston finished dressing and added, “This isn’t a deal.”

“Sounds like an order.” Used to giving them, Feston’s every word felt like a command. Feng sneered. “How I act is my freedom. You think you can control a Ghost?”

He stepped closer. “Don’t test my limits, Kaida.”

In sunlight, shadows stretched—this was where the Ghost thrived. Anyone approaching the darkness would recoil from its cold, then regret it. Feng left the room. Feston watched him go. In the ballroom, Feston had noticed him first.

Arm-in-arm with Mrs. Maberry, he drew the crowd’s eyes. His physique more perfect than last meeting, his elegance flawless. Handsome enough to attract many women—but no one guessed he wasn’t a wealthy tycoon, but a killer.

Only a trace gave him away: the faint cold left behind when his warm smile disappeared.

Feng Zhannuo… “Zhan” or “Zhanuo”? Mulling over the name, he was certain now—the Ghost had Chinese heritage. Feston could guess the characters and understand their meaning, yet the mystery remained unsolved.

Returning to the room, guests awaited. Mrs. Maberry turned at the door, anxious despite her composure. “My people saw you leave with that bodyguard. How is he? Why didn’t you handle him?”

“Don’t worry, ma’am. If we disturb your prey, we lose the best chance.” Calmly, Feng reassured her with a smile. She was no stranger to hiring killers; having witnessed his almost superhuman marksmanship, she trusted him.

“Kill him, or not—it’s your choice.” She sat elegantly, her intent clear. “Greg will be here three days, then he’ll visit the Sky Tower. By next year, it will be the tallest in Las Vegas. Inspired, he plans to invest not only in new casinos but several hotels.”

Her tone betrayed dissatisfaction. Las Vegas was prosperous; gambling profits largely under her control. Decades ago, in the ’90s, gangs dominated. Her predecessors once ruled. When law enforcement regained oversight, mob influence receded. Upon inheriting, she developed underground casinos.

“…Beyond the surface gains, the underground city is Maberry’s ace. Combined with hotels left by her late husband, she’s the undisputed queen of the underground. Kaida Group’s investment encroaches on her territory. It’s no wonder she hired someone to kill you.”

Elsewhere, Derrick adjusted equipment, explaining the setup. One of the people present was Greg Kaida.

The door opened. Seeing the man, Derrick couldn’t help standing. “Boss!”

“Switch this one.” Feston waved the broken earpiece and settled on the sofa. Derrick didn’t ask further. He had worried moments ago, but seeing Feston return unharmed, he announced it to the team, though lingering doubt remained.

Listening to Feston and the Ghost’s conversation, the earpiece had suddenly gone silent. Too coincidental.

“Agent Feston, this one’s on you.” Greg, a composed man, patted Feston’s shoulder, showing no fear.

“Mr. Kaida and our boss are close?” Hans asked cautiously, thinking: God, bold enough to pat the boss on the shoulder. They must know each other, otherwise he’d be insanely brave—or foolish. Yet if fearless, why request FBI protection?

“Ah, we met once before. I convinced your director to assign the famed Caesar for protection. Of course, I must cultivate him.” Greg laughed, lifting premium vodka. “A toast?”

“No, mission first.” Feston’s answer extinguished hopes.

No one knew Feston’s ties to the Kaida family. No one guessed this “Kaida” was the head of Kaida Group. A common surname, yes—but no one would think a scion would take such a dangerous job.

Feston avoided trouble by keeping his name. With custom lenses hiding his signature gray eyes, Greg often said he looked nothing like a Kaida.

“Boss, everyone’s in position. When the killer appears—even the Ghost—we can take him down!” Jonathan reported, overseeing external security.

Feston paused, cigarette in hand. “…Very well.”