Top Assassins Call Me The Lady Boss-Chapter 119: Acting like a jealous a girlfriend

Chapter Hundred and Nineteen

The bowling alley buzzed with laughter and the rhythmic crash of pins. Neon lights danced across polished lanes, reflecting in Matilda’s eager eyes. She clutched a vibrant bowling ball, its weight grounding her excitement.

"Come on, Markus," she beckoned, gesturing to the adjacent lane. "Join me for a game?"

Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, Markus shook his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "I’m good. Watching suits me."

Matilda rolled her eyes, setting up her stance. "At this rate, everyone will think you are just my bodyguard."

He chuckled softly. "Technically, I am."

’Even Cole doesn’t do this much.’ she thought to herself as she rolled her eyes.

She released the ball and watched it glide smoothly down the glossy lane. It curved slightly to the right, then struck the pins with a crisp, satisfying clatter. A small victory, but when she turned, the smile slipped off her face.

There Markus was. He did not have the usual stoic look and neither was he silent like he had been with her all day.

He stood there not as detached or brooding as usual. No, now he was... relaxed. Talking. Laughing.

With them.

A cluster of girls stood just off the edge of the arcade carpet. They were around her age. They were her peers. What was special about them?

One of them touched his arm mid-laugh, and another twirled her hair as she giggled at something he had said. Markus did not pull away. He smirked and just nodded along. He looked engaged.

Matilda’s jaw tensed.

So this was his definition of "technically her bodyguard"?

She marched back toward him, her footsteps sharper than they needed to be, the clunk of her bowling shoes hardly muffling the annoyance bubbling in her chest.

"You are not even watching," she snapped, arms folded tightly across her chest.

Markus glanced at her, brows raised. "I saw the strike. Good job."

"That was three throws ago."

He sighed and straightened, the easy grin he had worn with the others fading like it had never existed. "What is the problem now?"

She flinched. Now?

Matilda narrowed her eyes at the group of girls still watching from a distance, giggling behind their hands. "No problem. Just funny how you’re allergic to fun when it is me, but suddenly you are Mr. Nice when the little giggle club shows up."

The amused light in his eyes dimmed. "Are you seriously doing this here?"

"You would not even bowl with me," she said, voice cracking slightly as the frustration caught up with her. "I ask you for one game, one moment, and you stand there like you are too important. But them? You are practically flirting."

Markus stepped closer, dropping his voice to a firm murmur. "Watch it, Kiddo."

"I am not a kid," she hissed, chin lifting defiantly.

"That is exactly what you are acting like," he snapped. "Throwing a tantrum because someone else is talking to me? You are barely eighteen."

Her lips parted, stunned by the sharpness in his tone. "Barely, huh? Well, today happens to be that exact day; my eighteenth birthday, Markus. In case you forgot. It’s ’barely twenty- four hours."

Something shifted in his eyes. Regret? Guilt? It passed too quickly to catch.

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly irritated. "This is not the time or place—"

"No, you know what?" she said, brushing past him. "Don’t worry. Go back to entertaining your fan club. I’ll go celebrate by myself."

As Matilda stormed off, her bowling ball clunked to the floor with a dull thud behind her. Markus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had not raised his voice much, but it had been enough to draw attention and not just from her.

From the corner of the lane, the cluster of young women watched the entire exchange with rapt interest, their amusement dimming into confusion.

"Was that his girlfriend?" one of them whispered to another, eyes still following Matilda’s retreating figure.

Though they whispered, she still heard them.

"She looks too young," another muttered, pulling her ponytail tighter. "Maybe she is just his little sister. Can’t you see him and then her?"

"I don’t know," the first girl said. "Did you see the way she looked at him? That wasn’t a ’little sister’ kind of glare."

A third girl laughed under her breath. "She was jealous. Definitely. The ’why are you smiling at them and not at me’ kind."

Then they laughed. It was irritating Matilda.

Markus, overhearing just enough, exhaled through his nose and offered them a tight, apologetic smile.

"Not what you think," he said.

"Oh?" the ponytail girl raised a brow, intrigued. "She seemed upset."

"She is just... young," he said, hoping to end the conversation there. "Her birthday is today. Her emotions are running high."

"So you are close," one of them nudged.

He did not answer. Just gave them a nod and turned away, eyes scanning the room for Matilda.

Because as annoyed as he was, and as ridiculous as she was acting, she was still his responsibility for the day.

And despite how much she pushed his buttons or tried to he was not about to let her celebrate her birthday sulking in a corner.

She would tell Asli and Asli would rant about how she couldn’t even depend on him.

’Girls.’

Markus continued to scan the bowling hall, eyes sweeping over the crowds, the snack bar, the clustered arcade machines, the families and friends shouting and laughing over strikes and spares, but no sign of her.

He muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand down his face before heading toward the back hallway where the private lanes were.

The place had a handful of VIP rooms for those who did not like the noise, or maybe just wanted to be left alone.

It made sense she had retreated there. These girls were dramatic like that; cut from the same cloth as Asli in all the worst and most endearing ways.

As he approached the cracked door of the third to last private lane, he heard the soft roll of a bowling ball followed by the clatter of pins. He stepped closer, careful not to make a sound, and leaned against the doorframe.

There she was.

Matilda stood at the edge of the lane, her body stiff, posture too tense for someone supposed to be having fun. She moved without the bubbly energy she usually had like she was simply going through the motions. Her next throw was weak, it veered left and barely grazed the pins. She didn’t even flinch.

Markus did not say a word. He just watched.

Another round. Another roll. This time, she hit a few more pins.

She sighed, staring at the scoreboard, arms crossed over her chest. Then she reached for another ball.

And this time, something shifted.

Her stance sharpened. Her throw was more controlled. The pins scattered in a satisfying crash.

Matilda blinked.

A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

She reset the pins and tried again.

Another win.

Her smile bloomed like something she wasn’t expecting, light and triumphant. Her shoulders dropped slightly, the stress bleeding out with each throw. She bit her bottom lip to hide how proud she felt but it was there. In her eyes. On the way, she spun the ball in her hand like she owned the room again.

Markus leaned back against the wall, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Typical. She just needed a moment to be alone and win at something. That was Matilda. She hated losing, hated feeling overlooked, hated being the girl people saw as too young to take seriously.

He tapped lightly on the door, finally making his presence known.

Matilda turned, surprised and maybe a little embarrassed to be caught grinning so wide.

"What?" she said, folding her arms, trying to act unfazed.

Markus raised a brow. "You are hiding in a private lane."

"No, I am playing alone. It is called having fun," she retorted, lifting her chin defiantly.

"You indeed looked like you were having fun," he said, stepping inside, hands in his pockets.

She shrugged. "Maybe I was. No one is here to yell at me."

He chuckled under his breath. "Touché."

There was a pause between them. Not tense, just... quiet. Understanding. Like she had let down her walls just enough for him to see the birthday girl who just wanted to smile and not be seen as a child.

He tilted his head. "Ready to go ruin someone’s kitchen with steak orders?"

Her lips twitched, and then she nodded. "Only if I get to pick the place."

"Fine. But if it is one of those cutesy heart-themed restaurants, I am sitting in the car." He told her and she seemed to be thinking about it, jokingly.

"Deal," she responded. "But give me a second to throw the last one"

After a few more games and shared smiles, they left the alley, the evening air crisp against their skin. A nearby steakhouse caught their attention, its warm lights and savory aromas inviting.

Seated by the window, they perused the menu. Markus opted for a rare steak, while Matilda chose a medium-well cut, pairing it with a glass of red wine. The meal was punctuated by shared anecdotes and occasional laughter, the ambiance cozy and intimate.

Later, they wandered into a quaint coffee shop, its rustic charm and soft jazz music providing a serene backdrop. As they sipped their drinks, Markus’s gaze sharpened, scanning the room.

"Something feels off," he murmured, setting his cup down.

Before Matilda could respond, the door burst open. Masked figures stormed in, weapons drawn. Chaos erupted.

Markus sprang into action, overturning their table for cover. "Stay down!" he commanded, drawing his concealed firearm.

Bullets flew, shattering glass and splintering wood. Markus moved with precision, returning fire, his focus unwavering.

A sudden cry pierced the commotion. Matilda clutched her side, blood seeping through her fingers.

Time seemed to halt.

Markus’s eyes widened, a mix of fear and fury overtaking him. "Matilda!"

He surged forward, neutralizing the remaining assailants with calculated force. The room fell silent, the aftermath of violence hanging heavy.

Rushing to her side, he assessed her wound, tearing fabric to staunch the bleeding. "Stay with me," he urged, his voice thick with emotion.

She managed a weak smile. "Guess... this wasn’t the birthday surprise I hoped for."

Markus cradled her gently, his protective embrace shielding her from further harm.