<b>Chapter 55 </b>


    I let the hot water cascade over my skin, relieving the tension from the long journey. The shower facilities in this hotel lived up to its reputation–perfect pressure, consistent temperature, and body wash that smelled of expensive citrus and cedar. Finding this level of luxury in Venezu was something only someone like Haxton could arrange.


    Just as I was about to turn off the water, footsteps and low voices came from outside the bathroom door. With the heightened senses I’d spent a lifetime developing, I quickly shut off the water and held my breath, positioning myself closer to the door.


    “Sir, we’ve detected unauthorized personnel on this floor,” Connor’s voice was clear despite his attempt to speak quietly. “Security cameras caught at least three men attempting to ess the restricted elevator about ten minutes ago.”


    “Who are they?” Ethan’s voice remained calm but focused.


    “They seem to be searching for someone.”


    “Double the security detail on this floor,” Ethanmanded. “And get me everything you have on


    these intruders.”


    “Yes, sir.”


    I heard Connor’s footsteps fade away and the door close softly. I turned the water back on, letting it mask my presence while I quickly rinsed off the remaining soap.


    This feeling was familiar–being tracked, being hunted.


    After shutting off the water, I grabbed the hotel–provided towel and dried myself, my eyesnding on the clothing Ethan had arranged. A silk robe, soft andfortable, along with underwear. I picked them up to check the tags–perfect size.


    “Fucking impressive,” I muttered under my breath. This wasn’t luck but precise observation and calction. In my former life, I’d sized up targets with simr uracy, but for very different


    reasons<b>. </b>


    Dressed, I opened the bathroom door, letting steam billow out. Ethan sat on the sofa with a magazine in hand, appearing casual and rxed, but I could sense his vignce. The slight tension. in his shoulders betrayed his awareness.


    “Do the clothes fit?” he asked without looking up.


    “They’re fine,” I replied coldly, unable to hide my irritation. “Your eye for measurements is quite remarkable, Mr. Haxton.”


    Ethan looked up, a ghost of a smile ying on his lips. “Just experience. I often need to prepare gifts


    for business associates.”


    “Is that so?” I raised an eyebrow. “Do you prepare underwear for all your ‘business associates“?”


    He finally set down the magazine and studied me with those prating green eyes. “Miss Morgan, if you’re ufortable with my arrangements, I can immediately have another suite prepared for


    you.”


    I shrugged. “This is fine, thanks.” I turned toward the couch. “I’ll sleep here.”


    “Wait,” Ethan called out. “The bed is more thanrge enough. You take it. I’ll sleep on the couch.”


    I turned back, crossing my arms. “What’s this, Mr. Haxton? Interested in me?” I purposely made my tone challenging, watching for his reaction.


    His expression remained unchanged. “Purely courtesy. You’re my guest.”


    I noticed him pick up something and hold it out to me. “You might need this.”


    A hair dryer. I took it, somewhat surprised by his thoughtfulness.


    “Sleeping with wet hair can make you sick,” he exined matter–of–factly.


    “Wow, Mr. Haxton really knows how to take care of people,” I teased.


    “Basicmon sense,” he replied, returning to the sofa and picking up his tablet. “Make yourself


    I nodded and began drying my hair, wondering what game Ethan was ying. Men like him always


    had motives beyond simple courtesy.


    When I finished with my hair and returned to the main room, I noticed Ethan had changed into


    sleep clothes a simple t–shirt and lounge pants that likely cost more than my entire wardrobe. Even


    –


    in such casual attire, he maintained his inherent elegance, the kind that came from generations of wealth and power.


    <b>9:05 </b><b>Thu</b>, <b>Sep </b>18 B


    I was already lying on the bed, enjoying the silky sheets. “The bedding is really nice,” Imented absently, running my hand over the Egyptian cotton.


    “The hotel may be small, but the amenities are first–ss,” Ethan found afortable position on


    the sofa and used the remote to dim most of the lights.


    83


    The room fell into semi–darkness, and I suddenly blurted out: “Does Mr. Haxton have many women?”


    He was clearly caught off guard by my direct question, pausing briefly before countering: “What’s the purpose of that question?”


    “Just curious.” I rolled over to face his direction. “A man with your qualifications shouldn’t be short of femalepany, right? Young, rich, powerful… you must have quite the collection.”


    “My personal life is irrelevant to our… business rtionship, Miss Morgan.” His tone was calm but


    firm, establishing a clear boundary.


    Iughed softly. “Shy? Or is there something you’re hiding?”


    “Get some sleep, Miss Morgan. We have an early start tomorrow.” He deliberately changed the


    subject.


    Just then, my phone vibrated. It was an encrypted message from Ryan: “Are you safe? Word is that Apex Tactical Group is nning toe after you.”


    I quickly replied: “Apex Tactical Group’s men are already downstairs. Don’t worry, I have backup.”


    After sending the message, I nced at Ethan, who seemed focused on his own phone.


    “Let’s turn off the lights then,” I said, adding, “By the way, Mr. Haxton, isn’t making investments alone in a ce like Venezu more dangerous than solo traveling?”


    He looked up at me, his eyes evaluating. “Every choice carries risk. The key is managing that risk.”


    He reached over and turned off thestmp, plunging the room into darkness. “I’m a light sleeper,


    Miss Morgan. If you need anything, just say so.”


    “Same here,” I responded.


    “Goodnight, Miss Morgan.”


    9:05 Thu, Sep 18 B


    <b>83 </b>


    “Goodnight, Mr. Haxton.”


    The room fell silent except for the asional car horn and distantmotion from outside. Iy in bed, trying to rx my body while remaining vignt–a survival instinct ingrained through years of training. My mind kept working, analyzing the situation, nning my next moves for the approaching confrontation at La Corona.


    Time ticked by slowly. Ethan’s breathing gradually became steady and rhythmic, suggesting he was asleep. But I knew someone like him would never truly sleep deeply with a stranger present. Men who reached his level of sess developed the same kind of paranoia that kept assassins alive.


    I counted the minutes, waiting patiently. Around two in the morning, when hotel activity had almostpletely ceased, I quietly got up. Each movement was carefully calcted to make no sound. I padded barefoot to the door, gently opened it, and slipped out.