Chapter 4

Marcus's POV

I stand at the floor-to-ceiling window of Stellar Entertainment's top-floor office, looking down at Nova City's nightscape. The glass reflects my expressionless face.

"Boss, the Montague family representatives are here again." My assistant pushes the door open, voice kept low but unable to suppress the tension. "They say if you don't give them an answer tonight, the partnership's off."

I turn, my gaze sweeping over the documents spread across my desk—dense numbers, codes, and areas circled in red pen. Each coordinate corresponds to a Donovan family location in this city, each set of data a tentacle of power reaching out.

"Let them wait," I say flatly.

The assistant freezes for a moment, as if unable to believe I'd actually make the Montague people wait, but ultimately says nothing and retreats.

The office falls quiet again, only the city lights silently flickering below. I slowly sink back into my chair, fingertips tracing the desktop, and without realizing it, my thoughts are pulled back three years—to the night that changed all the arrangements.

Olivia back then had also stood at a floor-to-ceiling window. The lights in that high-rise hotel suite were too bright, but her silhouette was cold as a paper cutout.

"You think I'd do this kind of dirty business with you?" She didn't turn around, voice full of disgust. "Marcus Donovan, I know what your family does. Arms dealing, human trafficking... We Montagues deal in weapons too, but we have standards. We only touch arms, not people."

I remember my fists clenched too tight then, knuckles white, nails nearly piercing my palms.

"I can change," I'd said, voice carrying a humility foreign even to myself. "I'll convince my father, make Donovan establish rules, stop touching those dirty—"

"Rules?" She'd finally turned, eyes cold as ice. "Marcus, your family's rotten to the core. You know what your father is. He'll never change. And you..."

She'd paused, her gaze examining me from top to bottom like a blade.

"You have no voice in the Donovan family." She'd enunciated each word clearly and cruelly. "You say you love me, but you can't even make your father stop one line of business. This kind of powerless love—I don't need it. Come find me when you actually control Donovan."

That night, the sight of her turning and leaving carved itself into my bones.

I swore to myself then that one day, she'd see with her own eyes—I was stronger than she imagined.

To make that oath real, I needed a legitimate shell to launder Donovan's dirty money, a platform that wouldn't easily attract FBI attention.

Entertainment was the ideal choice: massive cash flow, sufficiently complex finances and accounts, naturally suited for cover.

And becoming a world-class actor would push me into the spotlight—let me demonstrate my capabilities. Let Olivia see, and let those Donovan elders who looked at me coldly see too.

My phone vibrates, pulling me back from memory.

"Marcus." Father's voice is as always low and powerful. "Montague controls Eastern European arms channels. This partnership determines our voice in international markets. Olivia's the key—her family elders have softened. Now it just depends on whether you can handle her."

"I know," I answer.

"Then what are you hesitating for?" Father's tone already carries impatience. "That bookstore girl's just your cover tool. Can't lose her now. Our intelligence line in Maple District still needs that bookstore as a relay point. Once the new location's built, then deal with her."

I'm silent for several seconds, gaze unconsciously sweeping toward a certain direction outside the window.

"Understood."

After hanging up, I walk to the floor-to-ceiling window. Under the night sky, Maple District's lights are barely visible—where Haven Books is, where Isabella is.

Father wasn't wrong. Now isn't the time to completely come clean with Isabella.

That bookstore is too perfect for us: remote location, regulatory blind spot; old books coming and going frequently, inconspicuous; and Isabella's expertise and obsession with old books makes her an excellent "unwitting messenger."

As long as she keeps operating it, the old books can keep speaking for us—creases, page numbers, flyleaf digits, every detail can hide a code.

I need to keep her stable, at least until the new location is fully operational.

I have to admit, these past two years, Isabella has played a nearly perfect cover. She never suspected, just quietly restored books, organized shelves, occasionally looking up to ask me: "Do you really like this one?"

And her civilian identity has "polished" me into the media's good man—

"Top actor falls for ordinary bookstore girl, stays true to his roots."

This narrative greatly benefits my money laundering through Stellar Entertainment: the FBI is busier watching those actors living lavishly night after night, not a positive-image artist who "always goes to old bookstores and only dates one girl steadily."

Everything was going smoothly—until Olivia came back.

This time Montague needs to cooperate with Donovan, and Olivia is the only bridge that can tie both sides together. She needs my resources to stay at the top, maintain her star status; I need her family's arms channels to consolidate Donovan's international positioning.

More importantly, she finally admitted that her rejection years ago wasn't because she despised gangsters, but because—back then, I wasn't important enough in the Donovan family.

But now it's different.

I'm already Stellar Entertainment's CEO, controlling Donovan's largest money-laundering channel, the family's de facto heir. Now I'm qualified to negotiate terms with her, and qualified to represent Donovan at the same table as Montague.

But that doesn't mean I can immediately abandon Isabella.

At least not before Haven Books has been replaced.

I grab my coat and leave the office, determined to make a trip to Maple District.

Tonight is Haven Books' third anniversary. Isabella must be running around busy, and I need to appear in her world—maintain that perfectly calibrated "harmonious surface."

The car drives toward Maple District, streetlights on both sides painting the road a soft gold. Haven Books' window glows with warm yellow light, the entrance draped with strings of small colored lights, looking from afar like a shop from a fairy tale.

I push open the door. The bell above chimes crisply.

Isabella is standing on tiptoe on a ladder hanging decorations. Hearing the bell, she turns, and when her eyes meet mine, her whole face seems suddenly lit up.

"Marcus!" She practically jumps off the ladder, running over to me. "You came! I thought you'd be late."

Her hair's a bit messy, cheeks flushed from exertion, eyes full of undisguised anticipation and joy.

In that instant, I feel a brief moment of reluctance.

"Of course I came." I reach up to smooth her scattered strands of hair. "Today's so important, how could I miss it?"

"Right, it's the three-year anniversary." She grabs my hand, excited as a child. "Look, I rearranged the children's section, and set up a 'community reading corner' over there. We can hold book clubs in the future—"

She pulls me through the bookstore as she talks, pointing at every corner, explaining the little plans behind each change. Her eyes sparkle, as if this small shop is her entire world.

I listen quietly, occasionally adding a word to go along with her. Soon guests begin arriving. Isabella busily pours champagne for everyone, talking about the bookstore's journey over three years, always saying "thank you all for supporting me." I stand beside her, joining the conversation at appropriate moments, helping smooth things over.

I maintain my smile but feel my phone vibrating faintly in my pocket.

I pull it out—Olivia.

I frown and hang up.

A few minutes later, the vibration comes again. Still her.

Second time, hang up.

Third time, fourth time...

Isabella finally notices my unnatural expression.

"What's wrong?" she asks quietly. "Did something happen at the company?"

"Nothing." I try to make my tone sound relaxed. "Just a small work hiccup."

The fifth time the screen lights up, I know that continuing to stall won't just be a matter of impatience.

I lean down to Isabella's ear: "Baby, I need to step out and take a call. The producer has something urgent."

Her smile stiffens, her gaze pausing on my face for a moment.

"Now?" She glances at the guests still chatting animatedly. "Everyone's waiting for you to cut the cake together."

"I know." I squeeze her hand. "Ten minutes at most. I promise I'll be right back. Tonight's your big night, I won't miss it."

The words sound sincere, my expression open enough.

She's silent for two seconds but eventually nods. "Okay. But be quick."

"Thank you, baby." I kiss her lips lightly before turning and leaving through the back door.

I can feel her gaze following me, but I don't look back.