Meanwhile, at the location where Leo was being held captive, at the same time.

Leo knew one thing for certain: if Sean had called Clara to meet him in person, then his attention was divided. And that was the opening Leo’s people had been waiting for.

Since the crack of dawn, the detention site hadn’t changed. Two guards at the outer door. One in the hallway. One in the small control room with the CCTV screen. Everything looked normal—too normal.

Leo sat in a metal chair with his hands still bound. He wasn’t fighting back. He wasn’t provoking anyone. In fact, he seemed even more resigned than usual.

The guard in the hallway glanced at his watch.

"Boss, we can take a short break; our boss is in a meeting," the guard mutters to his colleague. "Looks like it’s important business."

That sentence was the first mistake. Because at that very moment, the power in the control room flickered once. It didn’t go out completely. Just a delay of a fraction of a second.

Enough to freeze one camera. Enough for one person to slip in undetected.

Leo smiled wryly. "Now’s the time."

★★★

A soft knock sounded from the wall behind Leo. Not a door. Not a window.

Leo didn’t turn around. He just let out a soft sigh.

"Two minutes late," he muttered.

The panel wall shifted slightly. A hand slipped in a small knife and immediately cut through the restraints quickly and cleanly.

"Sorry, Boss," whispered a low voice he recognized all too well.

"Sean’s security is tighter than expected."

Leo stood up slowly. His legs wavered for a moment, but two men immediately steadied him.

"Status?" Leo asked briefly.

"Sean is off-site. Full focus on the primary target," one of his men replied.

"This is our only window."

Leo nodded. "Don’t kill anyone unless it’s necessary."

★★★

They moved through the hallway in silence.

One guard turned around, but it was too late.

Leo’s subordinate immediately pressed a pressure point on the guard’s neck. His body collapsed without a scream.

Outside the building, the second black car was already running. The engine was on, the door open.

Leo got into the back seat.

"We’re not taking the main route," he said quickly. "Sean will snap the moment Clara touches his ego."

The car sped off.

In the front seat, one of his men turned his head. "Boss... Clara?"

Leo closed his eyes for a moment.

"She’s standing in front of a lion," he replied softly. "Our job is to make sure that lion loses its prey."

A few minutes later, Leo’s phone vibrated.

A message came in. It wasn’t long.

Clara:

"I’m still holding him off."

Leo typed a short reply. "I’m out. Keep going."

He put his phone away, then stared straight ahead.

"Sean is going to go berserk," he said coldly.

"And when that happens... don’t leave Clara alone."

The car vanished into the morning traffic.

Leo had managed to escape Sean’s grasp.

"Sean, the war between us has begun!"

******

The door to the room swung open halfway, then closed again with a sound too quiet to be a coincidence.

Sean didn’t look up when his phone vibrated. It was as if he already knew what his subordinate was about to report.

"Boss," the voice on the other end sounded tense. "The target... got away."

Sean slowly closed his eyes.

No curses. No slamming of the table. Just a long, deep breath—the breath of someone who had just lost a key piece on the chessboard.

"Repeat," he said softly.

"Leo managed to escape. With the help of his men. They waited for the moment when you... were distracted."

That last word stung like a needle.

Sean opened his eyes and looked at Clara, who was standing a few steps away from him. Her face was calm, but those eyes—eyes that showed absolutely no panic—were the very thing that made Sean’s chest feel tight.

"It all seems so meticulously planned," Sean muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Clara didn’t deny it.

Sean hung up the phone, then gave a brief signal to the two people at the door. Within seconds, the room was locked from the outside.

"You’re not going anywhere," he told Clara. "You have to stay here."

"Are you going to lock me up?" Clara asked flatly.

"I’m going to make sure you don’t become a distraction again."

Clara smiled faintly. "Or are you afraid I’ll disappear like Leo?"

Sean didn’t answer. He turned, walked quickly to his desk, and pressed the conference button.

"Find Moana," he ordered briefly. "Now."

Several minutes passed in oppressive silence. Clara sat down without being asked. She knew that every second in that room was chipping away at Sean’s patience bit by bit.

Reports came in one by one to Sean.

"Boss... we’ve tracked her down."

Sean looked up. "Where’s Moana?"

"She betrayed you, Boss!"

Sean’s eyebrows furrowed. "Explain."

"She’s under Roberto Alvarez’s supervision. Not as a guest. Not as a partner."

Sean stood up slowly.

"As what?"

There was an unnervingly long pause before the answer came.

"As a prostitute."

The word hung in the air.

"She’s being moved around," the voice continued. "Heavily guarded. And... used by Roberto’s men. She’s being passed around openly."

For the first time that day, Sean’s expression changed.

Not anger. Not jealousy. But something darker—a mix of disgust and betrayal that struck at his pride.

"She... chose that?" Sean asked softly.

"We saw no signs of direct coercion," his subordinate replied cautiously. "Quite the opposite. Moana seemed... cooperative."

Sean laughed softly. There was no humor in that sound. "Moana is truly disgusting!"

"So I was right," Clara muttered. "She really does learn fast from you, Sean."

"Are you mocking me?"

Clara lifted her face. Her gaze was sharp.

"Do you still want to deny it?" she asked.

Sean turned his head. For the first time, his gaze toward Clara was no longer in control. There was something unsteady there.

"She sold herself to my enemy," Sean said coldly. "And you—you let it happen. Didn’t you say Moana once contacted you for help?"

"I’m not responsible for Moana’s life," Clara replied. "Just as I’m not responsible for the way you treated her."

Sean stepped closer. Too close.

"Do you know what this means?" he whispered.

"Roberto didn’t just attack my business. He trampled on my dignity, Clara."

Clara stared back at Sean without flinching. "No, Sean. Moana did it."

Sean fell silent. In his mind, the final piece fell into place. Moana wasn’t hiding carelessly. She wasn’t seeking protection. She traded herself for a position.

"Moana, that wicked woman is truly insolent. How dare she become a whore and trample on my self-respect? I’ll kill her!" Sean clenched his fists.

"Pull everyone off the old route," Sean ordered his men, his voice cold and precise once more. "I won’t take Moana."

Clara frowned. "Then what?"

Sean smiled, a smile that made the air in the room feel even colder.

"I’ll make Roberto get rid of her himself."

He turned to Clara. "And you’ll stay right here. Until I make sure Leo is truly out of my reach."

Clara leaned back in her chair. "You’re holding the wrong person, Sean."

Sean walked toward the door.

"No," he said without turning around. "I’m holding the only person who can still make me think twice."

The door closed. And out there, the war was no longer about a love triangle. It was about an endless entanglement.

Clara snorted. "You’re such an idiot, Sean. Willing to be fooled by Moana, who’s been a venomous snake all along."

*****

Moana couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt safe.

The room was cramped, the light a dull yellow, the walls reeking of cigarettes and cheap alcohol. There were no windows. Just a single iron door with creaking hinges, always locked from the outside.

She sat on the edge of the bed, wearing the thin dress that had become her uniform. Her wrists were bruised—not from being hit, but from being pulled too often.

Outside the room, the sound of men’s laughter could be heard. Crude. Drunk. Indifferent.

Roberto kept his promise. But not the way Moana had imagined.

"You’ll be safe with me," he had said once, with a slick smile. "I’ll protect you from Sean."

In reality, Roberto didn’t protect her.

He sold her—slowly, systematically, and without emotion.

Moana is no one’s wife now. She is a commodity. She is a prostitute.

Every night, one or two of Roberto’s men come to have their way with her. No names. No faces to remember. Just transactions and brief orders.

"Shut up."

"Hurry up."

"Don’t make a scene."

Moana learned one important thing: disgust is easier to bear than guilt. Because what destroys her most isn’t her body, but her mind.

Sean.

Clara.

Mrs. Weasley

Her own parents.

Those names spun like knives.

She thought she’d defeated Sean by betraying him. Thought she’d become a clever player who used Roberto to escape a suffocating marriage.

But in reality, she’d only moved from one cage to another—an even filthier one.

The bedroom door opened. A man entered—not just any henchman. He was well-dressed. A dark suit. Expensive shoes.

Roberto.

Moana reflexively stood up. Her knees were shaking.

"Sit," Roberto said curtly.

Moana was anxious, but she still looked composed.

"Sit down, Mo ...! Don’t glare at me!" Roberto shouted.