Or maybe they <i>did</i> know who she was, Andarta Aria, and Phantom, reigning champion of both the international jewelry design and the racing scene. Either way, it was clear they hadn’t settled for a cheap price. Regardless of how they viewed her or what rank their mission held on the board, Hera knew that the only leverage she had right now was money.


    Luckily, that was something she wasn’t short on. Between the pocket money her grandfather had given her when she returned to her roots and the untouched funds sitting in her ck Dragon Card, Hera had more than enough financial ammunition to back up her offer, and right now, she was ready to spend every cent if it meant surviving this encounter.


    "Stop jesting." The leader let out a sharp cackle, the soundced with disbelief, like a man jolted from a dream he <i>wanted</i> to believe, only to remind himself it was too good to be true. Yet no matter how he searched her face, Hera’s expression remained calm, resolute. That flicker of doubt crept in.


    "I’m serious," Hera replied evenly, her voice low but firm.


    Xavier and Alexandre didn’t move an inch, their broad frames shielding her protectively. Only her face was visible through the narrow space between them, calm,posed, and unshaken.


    The leader’s eyes narrowed. "What now? You gonna sweeten the pot and ask us to kill our employer instead?" he sneered, his voice sharp as a de, his gaze cold and cutting as it locked onto hers.


    "No," Hera said inly. "All I want is for you to take the money and walk away."


    The leader’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of surprise shing across his face. But just as quickly, suspicion hardened his expression. The offer was too clean, too easy. It screamed of a trap.


    "You think I’m stupid enough to believe that?"


    "I don’t think you’re stupid at all," Hera replied coolly, one brow lifting. "But I <i>am</i> serious. This is my life we’re talking about. Do you really think I’d joke about it?"


    She stood there like a negotiator at a high-stakes table, not a frightened girl facing a group of seasoned killers. Her poise unsettled him more than he cared to admit. His instincts told him to stay alert, but his skin was already damp with sweat, betraying the cracks in his resolve.


    "What if I throw in another five hundred million?" Hera said smoothly. "You take the money and leave, without looking back."


    Her words sliced through the tension like a de. The leader’s expression flickered; she could see the cracks forming in hisposure. He was tempted, undeniably so. Hera had thrown another piece of meat into the pit, and it was only a matter of time before the wolves gave in.


    This wasn’t just negotiation anymore. It was psychological warfare, and Hera was winning. Despite being bound to a chair, she radiated control and confidence, like a lioness eyeing her prey or a queen seated on her throne,manding from a ce of power. The killers around her, once smug and bloodthirsty, now shifted uneasily. Greed gleamed in their eyes.


    They were seasoned assassins, yes, but mercenaries at heart. They had always killed for money, and now they were staring down the kind of offer most could only dream of. With that kind of cash, they could vanish off the grid and livefortably, evenvishly. They wouldn’t need to ept risky missions ever again.


    They weren’t lone wolves either. This group’s high rank on the mission board came from operating as a unit, pooling resources, and splitting the pay. Large individual payouts were rare.


    And right now? Hera was offering them a feast, and they were starving.


    After casting the bait, all Hera needed to do now was wait, wait for them to bite. So she stayed perfectly still, seated with an air of calm andposure. The game had shifted. She no longer needed to stall for time. Now <i>they</i> were the ones hesitating, torn between epting her offer or carrying out the mission.


    Then the leader’s expression darkened. From his earpiece, or perhaps a signal from across the street, he seemed to pick up chatter from the team engaging Hera’s bodyguards. His jaw tightened, and a flicker of concern crossed his face.


    Hera noticed.


    Though her guards were outnumbered, just like she and the two men with her, they weren’t average fighters. They were elite, battle-hardened veterans, retired soldiers with real experience. It was clear that the assassins were starting to lose ground. Hera could sense it in the tension, in the subtle shift of momentum.


    The tides were turning, and the assassins knew it.