?Chapter 1723:


    A surge of irritation red in Alban without warning at Gillian’s remark. Was she that intent on putting distance between them? Or was this simply another act—a deliberate refusal meant to provoke him?


    Gillian caught the shift in his gaze as it grew heavier, more ominous, and fear swept through her in a rush. Had she spoken out of turn? Would Alban suddenly lose himself and end her life? And if that happened, how could she possibly protect herself?


    “Mr. Martel, remember—I didn’te here on my own. The Jones family brought me,” Gillian said, forcing calm into her tone as she used the Jones name as a shield. “Do you really believe you could make me vanish without anyone realizing?”


    The deep-rooted feud between the Jones and Martel families meant that her sudden disappearance would hand the Joneses the perfect excuse to strike, and Gillian was convinced they would chase the truth without mercy if she vanished. Even so, she could not tell whether a warning like that would truly restrain Alban.


    Her heart mmed violently against her ribs, her palms damp and trembling.


    All at once, Alban let out a chilling sneer and bent toward her, his breath brushing her ear as he whispered with calcted malice, “You’re nothing more than a servant in the Jones household. Do you really think they’d start a war with my family over someone like you?”


    If the two families truly shed, the only real winners would be outsiders—those lying in wait, ready to topple both the Joneses and the Martels and crown themselves the new rulers.


    The color drained from Gillian’s face. She bit down on her lower lip, desperation flickering through her eyes.


    Alban was right. She was nothing more than a servant. No matter how warmly Christina treated her, the Jones family would never stake their future on someone of her standing. If matters spiraled that far, it could even redraw the bnce of power in Lionesspaw. Should both families fall into decline over this, others would rush in, swiftly swallowing the market and grinding them into dust.


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    “What do you want?” Gillian asked, her teeth pressing into her lower lip.


    Alban lifted a brow, clearly entertained by the chance to toy with her fear. “So long as you follow my instructions and help me obtain Jones Group’s trade secrets, I’ll see to it that you spend the rest of your life in luxury.” His eyes sparkled with mockery as he dangled the promise before her, eager to see whether she would reach for it.


    “Keep dreaming!” Gillian snapped back instantly, her re sharp with open contempt. She would never betray the Jones family.


    “You’re not scared of dying?” Alban asked, a faint curve tugging at his lips. He studied her unwavering expression with curiosity. She was unexpectedly interesting.


    “Afraid of dying? Of course I am,” Gillian replied, her voice steady. “But if you think I’d ever sell out the Jones family, forget it. I would never do that.” Her tone turned to steel. “If you have the guts, then kill me.”


    She feared death, yet she refused to survive by groveling. She owed everything to Christina’s kindness and would never turn her back on the Jones family, even if it meant paying with her life. She knew that if she were gone, Christina would look after Adide—and might even help her recover. With that thought, death no longer felt quite as terrifying.


    Watching Gillian lift her chin in unyielding defiance, Alban let out a soft, amused chuckle. There was something oddly charming about her.


    While Gillian was still stunned into silence by that reaction, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.


    She jolted back to herself and sank her teeth into his lip in retaliation.


    Alban hissed in pain and wiped the blood from his mouth, his voice sharpening with irritation. “Are you some kind of dog?”


    “If you dare touch me like that again,” Gillian said coldly, fire zing in her eyes, “biting your lip will be the least of what you’ll suffer.”


    Alban leaned closer, a dangerous smile curving across his face. His voice sank low—close, enticing, and unmistakably suggestive.


    “Then tell me,” he murmured, “where would you like to bite me next?”


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