Chapter 751: Chapter 751 Three headed monster

Leo’s jaw tightened. His fingers pressed into the armrests of his chair, the leather creaking under the pressure.

He read further. The man who had died, Moofi Rizzo, had been targeted specifically. The truck had not just been chasing Bella. It had been trying to take out her protection first, isolate her, and make her vulnerable.

The guards in the car had been hit first, deliberately, with precision. Moofi had taken the brunt of the impact. He had died on impact, his body crushed, his life ended in an instant. The other guards were injured but alive, recovering in the hospital.

Leo’s hands curled into fists on the desk. His knuckles went white.

He thought about the spy he had suspected for months. The mole in his house. The person who had been feeding information to his enemies from the inside. Someone who knew the routines, the schedules, and the weak points in his security. Someone who had access to information that should have been impossible to obtain.

Now he had proof.

The stalker, Pablo, and the spy were all connected. Working together. Sharing information. A three headed monster, each head feeding the others, each one protecting the rest.

But who was the stalker? Who was at the center of it all? Who was pulling the strings, giving the orders, and watching from the shadows?

Leo stared at the reports, his gray eyes stormy with emotion. Anger. Frustration. Fear. He had faced enemies before. He had fought wars, survived assassinations, and outmaneuvered rivals who wanted him dead. But this was different. This was personal.

This was Bella.

The woman who had cried in his arms last night. The woman who had told him to stay calm and not let it consume him. The woman who was downstairs right now, dancing in the studio, pretending everything was fine.

He could not let anything happen to her.

Leo’s jaw tightened. His resolve hardened.

He would find him. He would find Pablo. He would find the spy. He would tear apart every shell company, every fake registration, and every hidden network until there was nothing left but the truth.

And when he did, they would wish they had never been born. They would beg for mercy, and he would show them none. He would make an example of them. He would ensure that anyone who ever thought about touching what was his would see their fate and think twice.

Leo leaned back in his chair, his eyes still fixed on the reports.

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Across the city, in a penthouse that no one knew existed, a man lay in a bathtub filled with rose petals. The petals were deep red, almost black, floating on the surface of the warm water like drops of blood. The scent was thick, cloying, and very sweet. Candles flickered on the edges of the tub, casting dancing shadows on the marble walls.

He held a glass of red wine in his hand, swirling it slowly, watching the liquid catch the light. His other hand rested on the edge of the tub, fingers tapping a rhythm only he could hear.

He laughed.

The sound was low, soft, almost gentle but there was nothing gentle about it.

He remembered her face. Last night, when the truck had slammed into her guard car, when the black car had chased her through the streets, when she had looked back and seen him, seen his car at least, her eyes had been wide, scared and terrified.

He wondered how she would look when she finally saw him. When he was close enough to touch her. When there was no one between them, no guards, no husband.

Would she scream? Would she cry? Would she freeze like a deer in headlights?

He hoped she would freeze. He wanted to see the fear in her eyes, up close, without any barriers.

He took a sip of his wine. It was dark, rich and bitter. He liked bitter things.

He had started looking for her because she was Leo’s weakness. That was the original plan. Find the weakness, exploit it and destroy Leo from the inside.

But then he had started digging. Reading about her. Watching her. Learning her routines, her habits, her smiles and somehow something had changed.

He did not want to destroy her anymore. He wanted her for himself.

He wanted to keep her in a cage where no one could see her but him. He wanted to hear her voice every day, even if she was crying. He wanted to touch her hair, her face, her skin. He wanted to own her.

Last night, he had not planned to kill her. The truck, the chase, and the fear were all for fun. A game. A test.

She had passed. She had been clever, finding a way out. She had surprised him.

He liked being surprised.

He stood up.

Rose petals stuck to his naked body, clinging to his chest, his arms, and his legs. Water dripped down his skin, leaving dark spots on the marble floor. He stepped out of the tub and walked across the room, his bare feet silent on the cold stone.

He picked up a towel, thick, white, and soft, and wrapped it around his waist. He did not dry himself completely. He liked the feeling of water on his skin, the way it cooled slowly, the way it reminded him that he was alive.

He walked into his bedroom.

The room was large, with floor to ceiling windows that faced the city. The walls were painted a deep, dark gray, almost black. The furniture was minimal, consisting of a bed, a dresser, and a single chair.

But one wall was different.

One wall was covered in photographs.

Hundreds of them. Thousands, maybe. They were arranged in neat rows, overlapping slightly, creating a mosaic of her face.

Bella.

Bella smiling. Bella laughing. Bella walking across campus. Bella sitting in a café. Bella pouting. Bella with her friends. Bella alone.

He had been watching her for months. Following her. Learning her.

He walked to the wall and reached out, his fingers brushing against one photograph in particular. It was his favorite. She was smiling, and she looked happy.

Her eyes were bright. Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips were curved.

He touched her face.

"Someday," he whispered, "you will smile at me like that."

He smiled back at her picture, his own eyes soft, almost tender.

Then he turned away, walked to his closet, and began to dress. He had plans to make after all.