Top Assassins Call Me The Lady Boss-Chapter 115: Was she not Seventeen?

Chapter Hundred and Fifteen

The lunch box sat on the passenger seat, its foil-wrapped contents sending faint waves of heat into the confined space of the car. Markus stared at it, one hand lazily gripping the wheel as he waited for the gates to open.

Matilda’s aunt had done it again, always shoving food into his hands like he was one missed meal away from starvation. He hadn’t even said yes. One minute, he’d said he wasn’t hungry, and the next, the damn thing was warming his car like it belonged there.

Now, he was used to it. He was used to getting his lunchbox before leaving.

He sighed and started driving. It was his off day, the one day he wasn’t expected to train anyone, kill anyone, or drag anyone to safety.

If Ahmet’s mother, his aunt, ever found out he was eating someone else’s food like he had paid her to cook for him every single day, especially that woman’s food, he was a dead man.

Not a swift, painless death either. No, she’d string him up by his ear and lecture him with enough fury to rival a full-blown Mafia tribunal.

She also prided herself on her cooking and, to be fair, so did the woman from Asli’s Suite. Why did every strong, terrifying woman he knew also wield a kitchen knife like a crown?

He glanced again at the lunch box, his mouth twisting.

"Great. Now I’ve got a food war going on."

His fingers tapped the wheel in rhythm with his thoughts, but no matter how many corners he turned, something else itched at him.

Matilda.

He let out a low groan and leaned back.

"What the hell was that all about?"

The flashback came uninvited, vivid, and annoyingly sharp.

She had met him at the hall like she... never did. Not that particular time. Matilda never woke up that early. Not even when she had exams.

She smiled like an innocent girl. Her steps toward him were light, and even her voice lighter. She asked if they could start training. Which, he didn’t believe because she had complained throughout the first training.

And when he said no, she pressed him about the technique he had on the phone... like it was a matter of life and death.

He began to recall her words. ’Alright then, if we are not training now, and if you have a video of it on your phone, show me,’ she had said, stepping closer.

Then she reached for his wrist. The girl held his hand. ’For no apparent reason.’ he almost yelled.

His hand had shot out instantly, grabbing hers.

He noticed how her eyes widened, not with guilt, nor was she surprised.

She didn’t even panic.

For a second, he had studied her. Her skin was warm. Her pulse flickered against his fingers. Something was off. It definitely was.

The moment the silence had stretched between them, he wondered... Was this kid seriously trying to flirt with him?

It all made sense. The last time she had invited him in for dinner. Claiming Asli wouldn’t be around. It had sounded off but he tried to brush it off but now, this morning, he knew what she was doing.

Was she not like Seventeen?

He had let go before it got weird. He then muttered something about boundaries and brats with no sense.

Even now, behind the wheel, his face twisted in distaste.

She was just a kid. What the hell was happening?

Was she even done being a teenager?

He squinted at the road ahead.

"Has the whole Villa lost their damn minds?"

It wasn’t the first time she’d been unusually chirpy around him. But today felt calculated like she was working toward something. But what?

He knew some teenagers had secret crushes on older men. They would gush over them and wiggle their legs in the air as they talked about them. However, Matilda grew up around Asli. She couldn’t have a normal teenage life.

That made it more weird.

He scratched his neck and let out a breath.

Maybe she was just being friendly. She was always friendly.

Hell, he couldn’t believe that? Yes, she was a friendly person but who woke up before their waking time just to be friendly towards someone?

And if maybe... just maybe, Matilda liked him, he was going to tell Asli... to warn her.

He cringed visibly and knocked his knuckle against the steering wheel.

"Nope. I’m not tolerating that bullshit."

She was a sweet kid. Carefree, sure. But how was that any of his cup of tea? If she was infatuated, it would die out. And if it was something else, he would sniff it out soon enough. freewёbnoνel.com

Still, his gaze flicked to the rearview mirror.

Was it just him, or was there something on his shoulder?

He leaned slightly, adjusting his view. Nothing obvious.

"The damn kid is making me paranoid now," he muttered.

He rolled his neck and turned up the volume on the radio, letting the old jazz beat fill the silence.

Still... something was off.

He thought back to how she had leaned closer than usual. How her fingers had brushed his jacket. How that weird grin stayed on her face even after he let go of her wrist.

Why would she want to be that close unless... "Bruh! Forget about it!" He yelled at himself while he looked in the mirror.

He stopped the thought again and slammed his fists lightly on the wheel.

"Focus. You’re thinking too much. Eat the food, drop the box back, and sleep for the rest of the day. Done."

Markus kicked his shoes off by the door as he stepped into his room, the familiar scent of worn leather and faint detergent wrapping around him. He shrugged out of his jacket, barely sparing it a glance before tossing it into the laundry basket sitting by the dresser.

The lunch box he set carefully on the bedside table, shaking his head slightly at the absurdity of it all. They now had the information they needed and all that was left with was Ahmet’s go ahead signal.

However, Asli had started to matter to Ahmet, he could see that. And somehow, she, along with everyone she cared about, was starting to matter to him too.

He needed a break from these people.

Markus pulled a bloodstained novel from his small bookshelf. It was a worn crime thriller he had half-finished months ago and flopped onto the bed.

Flipping open the creased pages, he tried to lose himself in the gritty words, the fictional violence strangely comforting compared to the missions he had in his head.

Fifteen minutes passed.

Maybe twenty.

He heard footsteps outside his door... very heavy, and dragging ones. Muffled voices followed, the low thrum of guards exchanging instructions.

He frowned, closing the book on his thumb to keep his place.

More movement. Keys jangling.

He sat up.

From the sounds of it, they were relocating someone. And it wasn’t normal for prisoners to be moved without good reason.

Also, why would they use his front door?

Markus stood, stretching once before grabbing his door handle and twisting it open just as two guards rounded the corner, dragging a familiar figure between them.

Cole.