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Chapter_268
Despite noticing how close Felicity stood to Nash, Hera maintained a cheerful, excited smile. Her heart was full after learning that Yvonne’s crystal ball had been preserved. She pulled Yvonne aside, eager to chat.
Though Hera trusted Nash’s character and believed he wasn’t easily swayed by other women, a faint twinge of jealousy still lingered. It stung to see the man she loved laughing with someone else, even if it meant nothing.
Back near the entrance, Nash raised an eyebrow at Felicity’s teasing proximity.
“What is it? Do I know you that well?” he asked with a touch of irritation.
Felicity chuckled nervously, backing off. “Ah… never mind. Forget I said anything. Hehehe…”
She could sense that Nash didn’t want the others—especially his family—to make any assumptions. Felicity had boasted many times in front of her grandfather about her mysterious connection to someone powerful, but it was all fluff. Now, she actually had a real story to brag about—but the timing wasn’t right.
Just then, Liam glanced at the time. “Laurie, James, it’s getting late. I need to get back to the company to handle a few things. Let’s catch up again soon.”
Lauren nodded. “Alright. Drive safely, Liam.”
After Liam left, Felicity, sensing the shift in mood, quickly made her farewells and departed as well.
James remained behind and couldn’t help but pull Harrison aside. There was something about Nash that had stuck with him.
“Harri… who exactly is this Nash guy?” James asked, his voice low with curiosity.
The more James observed, the more enigmatic Nash seemed. The moment that stood out most to him was when Judas Deacon—head of the Special Security Institution’s Ninth Division—had shaken Nash’s hand. James had detected a trace of wariness in Judas’s eyes.
For a man like Judas to act cautious? That meant something.
“Oh, him?” Harrison laughed, clearly more relaxed after a few drinks. “He’s the son-in-law I picked up!”
James blinked. “You picked him up?”
The two men chuckled together. Their camaraderie had grown significantly over the evening, helped along by the wine and shared stories. Harrison was in such good spirits that he began to boast—partly to gain James’ favor, and partly to nudge Lauren to reconnect with her family through James’ influence.
He told James about Nash’s platinum membership with the Skyes, and even about how Nash had directly purchased a 7nm photolithography machine—a feat that very few in the country could accomplish.
James was stunned. This was no ordinary man.
Only then did he realize how foolish he had looked earlier—trying to act authoritative in front of someone like Nash. He’d been showing off his feathers to a tiger.
As the night deepened, Maria helped settle James and Yvonne into their rooms, then quietly took her leave.
Yvonne insisted on sharing a room with Hera, eager to catch up and confide, leaving Nash alone for the night.
At 3:00 a.m., silence blanketed Royal Bay Villa.
In the darkness behind the house, a man in a black suit crept along the perimeter wall, one hand bracing himself while the other clutched his abdomen.
“Damn… When will this dysentery torture end?” he muttered through gritted teeth.
He dashed into the nearby greenery, hoping for temporary relief.
Three grueling minutes later, he fumbled through his pockets in dismay.
No tissues.
He groaned, sweat forming on his brow, and began reaching for a handful of leaves.
Suddenly, a clean stack of tissues appeared before him.
Startled but desperate, he grabbed them and muttered, “Thank you…”
But a moment later, realization struck.
He’d arrived alone. There had been no sound—no footfalls, no rustling—just silence. Whoever had approached had done so with uncanny stealth.
He froze.
“Who… who are you?” he asked, rising with pants hastily pulled up.
Standing in front of him, illuminated faintly by the moonlight, was a man in casual pajamas.
Nash.
Coincidentally, Nash had woken up needing to use the bathroom. Just as he stepped into the hallway, he noticed movement outside the villa.
Curious, he followed the intruder and observed from a distance. When he realized it was the same man who had stolen Yvonne’s box—the man now groaning in agony—he recognized an opportunity.
A petty thief struck down by dysentery, trying to return and finish what he had failed to accomplish.
“Failed the first time,” Nash said coolly, “and now you’re trying again?”
His voice was calm—but cold as steel.