novelraw Chapter 168: Ashes After the Fire
Chapter 168: Ashes After the Fire
Ashes After the Fire
As Julian and Bianca left the corridor, walking beneath warm pools of golden light toward the elevator, Julian’s thoughts churned with quiet amusement, a dangerous sparkle flickering behind those gold eyes.
(This is hilarious... the drug effect lasts three hours.)
The corner of his mouth twitched.
(Three hours... Even if you were starting a fire by rubbing sticks together, you’d have a flame by then.)
He nearly laughed.
There was something deeply satisfying about turning another man’s trap back on him.
(You wanted to mess with your dad? In your dreams.)
His gaze darkened with wicked amusement.
(I do hope you enjoy your father’s—meaning my—gift to you. Once you’re exhausted... and then someone ambushes and kills you? Hah.)
The thought almost made him laugh aloud.
(Trying to scheme against me using my own playbook... amateur.)
Beside him, Bianca clung lightly to his arm, and she caught that shifting expression immediately.
"You’re smiling like a villain," she murmured, narrowing her red eyes.
Julian gave a dry cough.
"I’m smiling like a philanthropist."
Bianca stared at him for a beat—
—and then, hearing enough from his expression alone, her lips curved.
Dangerously.
First exhaust them...
Then strike?
Her mind seized the logic instantly.
A very good idea.
Without changing expression, she lowered her gaze as if casually checking messages.
Her fingers moved across the phone screen in swift, practiced taps.
A coded message shot toward the two Old Martial Arts bodyguards shadowing her.
Prepare.
If there is a chance to strike a drowning dog—do not hold back.
Send.
A cold gleam flashed through her eyes and disappeared before anyone else could have noticed.
But Julian noticed.
Of course he noticed.
He turned, suspicious.
"What are you plotting now?"
Bianca leaned in, close enough that her breath ghosted against his ear.
"Just helping karma work faster."
A faint shiver ran down Julian’s spine.
Half from amusement.
Half because she was genuinely terrifying.
The elevator doors slid open.
They stepped inside.
Silver walls mirrored them standing side by side—co-conspirators reflected in steel.
As the lift descended softly, Bianca looked up and said in an almost lazy tone,
"President Thalia is nowhere to be found. Let’s go back and rest."
"Alright."
Julian answered easily.
His goal accomplished, his mood was absurdly good.
There was even a strange heroic satisfaction blooming in his chest—
like a righteous man who had just defended morality through creative retaliation.
Bianca looked at him, half amused, half incredulous.
"You’re far too pleased with yourself."
"I saved society."
"You sabotaged someone."
"With elegance."
She laughed.
A real laugh this time, bright and low.
And for one fleeting moment—
amid schemes, ambushes, poison, betrayal—
everything felt almost ridiculous.
Almost light.
As if the two of them were not walking deeper into danger...
but sharing a private joke the world was too slow to understand.
------------
But the commotion above was far from over.
Because the uproar was so loud, after three hours, the hotel couldn’t handle it anymore.
Half the hotel’s guests knew about it.
Complaints poured in.
Calls reached the front desk every few minutes.
Some demanded refunds.
Some threatened bad reviews.
Some asked if the building was haunted.
One old woman reportedly told reception,
"If that noise continues, I’m calling the police or a priest."
Helpless, the hotel had no choice but to send several security guards upstairs.
"If this continues," one manager muttered wiping sweat, "we won’t have a business left to run."
And by the time security reached the floor... things had become even worse.
Several internet celebrity streamers had arrived.
Phones up.
Lights on.
Whispered commentary flowing.
"These days you need hot topics," one muttered while filming.
"And brother... this is nuclear."
Short clips had already gone online.
Views exploded.
Tags multiplied.
Luxury Hotel Passion Mystery.
Presidential Suite Scandal.
Somebody even started livestreaming outside the door.
"Excuse us, please."
Several guards pushed through the streamers and hurried over.
They began knocking hard.
"Hello, guests, could you please come out?"
Bang. Bang. Bang.
At first the sounds within continued.
Then gradually subsided.
And in the heavy silence after chaos... someone inside breathed like a dying beast.
Finally regaining his senses, Lucas’s face was ashen.
His blue eyes looked hollow.
Dead.
Broken.
A man who had glimpsed the abyss.
Then he looked ahead.
At the mountain of flesh before him.
And vomited on the spot.
Violently.
His stomach twisted.
His soul nearly followed.
Thalia stirred lazily nearby, dazed and satisfied, but Lucas looked as though heaven had betrayed him.
Once, during a mission, he had hidden in a cesspool three minutes to avoid detection.
He had survived filth.
Worse—he had even choked on some.
And endured.
Yet compared to this...
What was cesspool disgust?
Nothing.
"Just mud," he muttered hoarsely, trembling.
"Just filth already in the body..."
How dirty could that be?
Could it be dirtier than this sow?
His face convulsed.
Another wave of nausea hit.
He bent over retching again.
And the cruelest part—
after three hours he had no idea how many times he had... exercised.
His body had not even fully recovered from Julian’s punch days earlier.
Now he was depleted again.
Bones aching.
Nerves trembling.
Qi disordered.
His Silver Realm circulation felt unstable.
He almost wanted to cry.
Outside—
Bang bang bang.
"Guests, could you please open the door?"
Lucas froze.
His expression turned savage.
Who?
Who drugged him?
His gaze shot toward the wine.
Then realization struck.
His subordinates.
Someone had turned his own trap against him.
And in his mind one black-haired bastard with golden eyes appeared smiling.
Julian.
"...You!"
His teeth nearly cracked.
Thalia, still dazed, reached toward him.
"Lucas, what’s wrong? That was—"
"Don’t touch me!" he roared.
Outside the guards knocked harder.
"Sir? Madam? Please respond."
Streamers were whispering.
The entire hallway held its breath.
Lucas looked around wildly.
If he opened the door now—
everyone would know.
His reputation.
His dignity.
Gone.
Humiliation hotter than murder burned his chest.
And deeper than anger... fear stirred.
Because if Julian could do this once...
what else could he do?
His hands clenched.
His voice became ice.
"Julian D’Aurelius..."
He whispered it like a curse.
Then another knock shook the door.
"Guests, could you please open the door?"