Chapter 305

Michael, refusing to surrender, struggled to his feet, wiping blood from his mouth and silently cursing Finley for this predicament. He seized a nearby security guard, barking, "Quick—use the stairs! Warn Finley and Yvonne to escape through the back door!" Startled, the guard hurried toward the stairwell. Michael frantically tried calling Finley, but his phone remained off. At least Atlas's men would require time to search every room; a slim chance of escape remained.

Meanwhile, Andrew, Dylan, and Natasha sat calmly in a café across from the hotel, sipping coffee. "Darling, your plan worked perfectly," Natasha exclaimed to Andrew. "Atlas just stormed in. Now we watch the show." Andrew smiled, setting down his coffee. "We'll enjoy the show, but first, we need to block all the back exits." "Always thinking ahead, Mr. Lloyd!" Dylan praised, giving a thumbs-up.

Natasha swiftly summoned her associates. "Get those reporters here now," she commanded. Soon, over a dozen journalists, equipment in tow, arrived to secure the hotel's rear exits. "When did you arrange for reporters?" Dylan asked, impressed. Natasha gave Andrew a smug look. "Darling, you're clever, but I'm no amateur. I had them on standby before we even arrived." Andrew chuckled. "Finley had the worst luck crossing paths with someone as ruthless as you." "They don't call me the Black Widow for nothing," Natasha replied coldly. "Catching cheaters is my specialty."

In the hotel room, Finley leaped from the bed, completely naked, nearly losing his balance. His usual agility was hampered by the lingering effects of the drug. Even his training and physique struggled against its influence. He hastily threw on his clothes while roughly shaking Yvonne awake.

"Yvonne, wake up! We need to leave—now!" he urged, his voice trembling. Yvonne batted his hand away. "Leave? Why? You beast, you nearly broke me last night," she murmured. "I can't even feel my legs. Let me sleep." In his panic, Finley fumbled with his clothes, even putting on his underwear backward. "Damn it, stop sleeping! We're in serious trouble!"

Annoyed, Yvonne retorted, "If you want to leave, go! I'm not moving. Don't think I'll let you touch me again!" Finley's patience snapped. He slapped her, his voice a growl. "Idiot! Do you realize what's happening? Mr. Giordano is downstairs! If we don't leave, it'll be your funeral—literally! And you're talking about 'next time'? You've got to be kidding me."

Regret churned within Finley. Last night's thrill had been intoxicating, but the consequences were far deadlier than he'd imagined.