Chapter Forty-Four Abby

Ihit the floor with a thud, Nathan's shadow looming over me for just a fraction of a second before he was gone, the door slamming shut with a finality that echoed through the empty space.

I lay there, my cheek pressed against the cold tile, a bitter cocktail of hurt and fury stewing in my gut. Slowly, I pushed myself up, ignoring the dull ache along my jaw where his fingers had dug in too deep. The man I thought I was beginning to understand, to connect with, had just shown me another shade of his true colors—dark, twisted, unpredictable.

But as I stood up, steadying myself on the kitchen counter, my resolve hardened like the edge of a blade. I was an FBI agent, not some damsel to be tossed around. I filled a pot with water, set it on the stove, and grabbed eggs from the fridge. My hands worked automatically, cracking shells and whisking yolks, but my mind raced, forging a plan out of raw, seething intent. Breakfast was a mundane task, a cover for the chaos churning inside me.

I was going to make him pay, make Nathan "Fangs" Zhou regret ever laying a hand on Abigail Harper.

He was a killer, a rapist—the monster who had violated me, thinking he could control me. But he was wrong. Every glance at the cameras dotting the corners of the room fueled my anger. Was he watching? Did he think he had broken me? I kept my face impassive, the perfect mask of indifference while inside, a storm raged. This was the chance I needed, the moment to act.

Nathan might be a revered figure in the underworld, his philosophy degree and tender care for orchids doing nothing to soften the brutal nature of his existence. He held life and death in his hands, and I knew all too well how quickly his whims could turn lethal. Yet, here I was, cooking breakfast in his kitchen, plotting the downfall of the most powerful Triad boss's son. There was no turning back now.

My thoughts drifted briefly to my father, to the lessons he taught me about survival and justice. I wouldn't let him down. I wouldn't let myself down. With each sizzle of the eggs in the pan, I felt my determination solidify. Nathan didn't know who he was dealing with. He didn't know that behind this fa?ade of a recent UCLA grad was a woman forged in fire, fluent in Mandarin, and trained to take down men like him.

I was just lucky I hadn't actually been a normal student trying to make it in San Francisco. He could've captured one of them. He could've raped one of them.

The idea of that made me so furious my hands actually shook.

As I plated the food, making it look as normal as any other morning, I vowed to see this through. Nathan had made it personal, and I'd use every skill I possessed to bring him to his knees. He may have closed himself off to me, but I saw through him clear as day. And soon, he'd see exactly what I was capable of.

I ate. Slowly, deliberately. Trying to calm myself down. I knew if I just acted while I was still enraged, I would make mistakes.

The simple act of chewing my breakfast and sipping my coffee grounded me, but it did little to abate the fury.

Just turned it more productive.

I slipped out of the kitchen, leaving my dirty plates untouched on the counter. My heart was a drumbeat in my chest as I crept up the stairs, each step calculated to avoid the creaks that might give me away. He wasn't here, and yet it felt important that I didn't make a sound.

Fuck that.

I got to exist.

I got to make sound.

I found myself back in the bathroom again.

The room was clinical, all sharp lines and marble, but I hoped it was safe from the ever-watchful eyes of cameras. My backpack was here, and I covered it with my body as I slid my essentials out. With practiced ease, I palmed my phone and utility knife, nestling them into the folds of a towel as I gathered my shampoo and body wash. I took my clothes off then, just in case. If he walked inside, he should see me showering.

If he saw my bag, I would tell him I needed tampons because I had started my period.

That felt good enough.

I locked the door and turned the shower on, the hot water cascading down in a veil of steam.

I waited, counting the seconds, ensuring the noise would mask our conversation. Then, with a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, I powered on the phone, the screen's glow the only betrayal of light in the mist-filled room.

"Matthews," I whispered as soon as the call connected, "it's Harper."

"Abby, what the hell is going on?" His voice was laced with concern and confusion, but I couldn't afford to soothe him now.

"I can't explain—"

"Yes, you fucking can. Harper, where are you?" Tyler's voice crackled through the phone, barely above a whisper but sharp with urgency.

"Embedded with a Triad operative," I answered, my own voice a hushed thread against the hiss of the shower. "I need time, Tyler. I'll report when I can."

"Christ, Abby, this is highly irregular." The frustration in his voice was palpable, even over the phone. "I have to run this by our superiors. They might want to extract you."

"Absolutely not," I countered, quick and firm. The thought of extraction sent a jolt of panic through me. If they tried, it would be a death sentence, and all the cards I'd carefully held would scatter to the wind. "I get killed if you pull me out now. Understood?"

There was a beat of silence, heavy and laden with unsaid things. Then Tyler exhaled, a sound that carried both resignation and concern. "Understood. Just...be careful."

"Always am." But even as I said it, doubt clawed at me. Was I? Careful enough to walk this razor's edge without slipping?

"I have to go. Don't do anything. I'll give you a status update when I can. I mean it, Tyler."

And with those final words, I pressed ‘end' on the screen and turned off the phone, cutting off my only lifeline.

My heartbeat thrummed in my ears, a staccato rhythm that matched the drumming water. Was Tyler going to abide by my wishes, or was his concern going to override protocol? I couldn't afford slip-ups. Not now. Not when I was so close to the heart of the Triad–to the Serpent's Fang himself.

As the steam enveloped me, a makeshift cocoon against the cold reality waiting beyond the bathroom door, I braced myself for what was to come. Whatever it was, I'd face it head-on.

Because that was what I did. Even when I was fucking terrified.

Especially when I was fucking terrified.

The water pounded near me, a veil of noise that was both cover and cacophony. I shut off the phone with a decisive click, its screen going dark as if it too knew the gravity of silence. There wasn't much time. Steam swirled around me, fogging up the glass as I turned to the rough stone wall, my gaze scanning for a sliver of sanctuary.

I was in the shower, but away from the water.

The utility knife felt solid in my hand, an extension of my will. I wedged its sharp edge into the grout, carving around a rock that seemed loose enough but not so obvious as to draw attention. Grit crumbled beneath the blade, and I prayed to every god that might be listening that this wouldn't be the mistake that unraveled everything. With a gentle tug, the stone gave way, leaving behind a hollow just big enough.

It was dry here on the wall. Nothing would happen to the phone. And Nathan would never think to look here.

I slid the phone in first, followed by the knife—my lifelines tucked into a makeshift grave in the wall. The stone fit back with a satisfying snugness, and I wiped away any lingering dust, leaving no trace of my intrusion. A simple shower had never felt so much like a covert operation.

My heart was pounding so hard in my chest I felt dizzy.

I managed to stand up, barely. As I stepped under the scalding water, the droplets pattered against my skin, an ironic mimicry of the tension coursing through me. I couldn't shake the feeling that Tyler might not understand the gravity of what I was doing, that he might try to pull me out before my work here was done. And every second wasted on extraction plans was a second closer to being found out.

With every moment in this house, every breath I took, I was closer to unraveling the secrets that bound these walls. The Triad's heartbeat was within reach, and I was the FBI's stethoscope—silent, concealed, listening. I dried myself when I stepped out with one of Nathan's towels.

As I pulled on my clothes, the fabric clinging to my skin, I couldn't shake the fear that one wrong move from Tyler could send everything crashing down.

I really hoped he would listen to me.

With a fleeting glance at the now indistinguishable stone, I stepped into the role of Abby Harper once more. The art history grad, the girl next door—none the wiser to the sins that seeped through these halls. My heart steadied itself, ready for another round.

Maybe he wouldn't think of me as just a hole when I put him behind bars for life.

But as I left the steam behind, stepping back into the lion's den, I couldn't help but wonder: Was I the predator or the prey?

And in the end, would it even matter?