The Underworld Boss's Notorious Lackey Is Actually A Hidden Beauty?!

A heavy thump echoed as the car door slammed shut beside Avery, rattling the quiet.

Settling into the seat, Avery let herself breathe out slowly. Her fingertips brushed the fresh scrape at her neck, where a smear of blood still lingered as a reminder.

Images from the underground garage swirled in her mind—Kellan's presence radiated danger, and her instincts had kicked in without warning.

She realized that if Kellan ever caught wind of her true intentions, she could forget about getting anywhere near him again.

"Just my luck," she muttered, knuckles whitening as she smacked the steering wheel in frustration.

Once she had a firm grip, Avery started the engine. The Benz G-Class surged forward, humming steadily as it carried her down city streets and toward the forest-lined outskirts.

After an hour on the road, the car coasted into a private lane shaded by trees, pulling up outside a discreet row of townhouses. The third security team's training base for Horizon Group was tucked away here, far from prying eyes.

Only then did Avery's nerves begin to settle, comforted by the temporary sense of security.

Moving quickly, she darted into the villa and caught the elevator just in time. Her room waited on the third floor. After pressing the button, she slumped quietly against the chilly elevator wall.

Before the doors could seal, a hand wedged into the gap, stopping them. Eben Harris—one of her subordinates—stood there, concern written on his face. "Avery, are you alright? Did you get hurt?"

For a moment, she blinked in surprise. Eben's sudden appearance was the last thing she expected.

Almost by reflex, she shielded her neck with her palm, then gave a small shake of her head. "I'm fine. It's nothing, just a scratch."

Suspicion flickered in Eben's eyes. "You didn't have any injuries yesterday. Did someone ambush you on the way back?"

After a brief pause, Avery offered a reassuring smile. "No ambush. Just a bit of bad luck in the club's bathroom—some broken glass, that's all. Really, it's nothing worth worrying about."

"You really ought to get that cleaned and wrapped up. That cut doesn't look minor." Eben frowned, eyeing the fresh blood as it stained Avery's neck.

Avery's face hardened, her stare turning sharp as glass as she fixed her eyes on him.

That piercing look unsettled Eben, but he continued, "Look, Avery, you're tougher than most, and I get that you shrug off pain. But the word just came down—there's a confrontation match at headquarters in three days. If you show up hurt, you'll be benched."

A murmur escaped her, more to herself than to him. "So, I'm the target this time? How pathetic."

She crossed her arms with a scoff, irritation flickering across her features.

All she had done was toss a few taunts at Kellan out in the open, and now he was stooping to petty payback. Some men could never let things go.

A short, dry laugh escaped her. If he thought little tricks like this would back her into a corner, he was dead wrong.

The elevator's ding cut through her thoughts as they arrived at her floor.

Eben was just about to mention calling the medic, but Avery shot him a look that left no room for argument—she would not have anyone else fussing over her.

As the doors began to slide shut, Avery turned back and called out, "Eben, go get me a bottle of whiskey. And don't bring anything else."

Eben offered a silent nod, accepting her request without protest.

Avery's private room lay at the far end of the hallway—a space she guarded fiercely, never allowing anyone inside.

Stepping into the solitude of her room, she let out a weary breath. Instinct told her that peaceful days were out of reach now.

Once Kellan marked someone as his target, he never gave up the chase.

For a split second, a cold edge appeared in her eyes, but she hid it almost instantly.

A short while later, Eben's voice floated through the door. "Avery, do you want help with that cut? I brought some supplies."

She had just finished her shower and slipped into a loose, white shirt when she pulled open the door. Eben stood outside, whiskey in one hand, a small medical kit in the other, worry etched into every line of his face.

Avery snapped her fingers with a smirk. "Relax. It'll take more than this to bring me down."

She took a long drink from the whiskey bottle.

Refusing to back off, Eben insisted, "That's no paper cut, Avery. You don't want it getting infected."

After a brief hesitation, she reached for the kit, fixing Eben with a serious look. "Alright, message received. You can get back to what you're doing. I'll handle it."

Still, Eben planted his feet and shook his head. "I'm not leaving until I see you treat that wound."

Even though she found his stubbornness frustrating, Avery respected his loyalty—there was no one else at the base she trusted more, their bond forged by years of facing adversity together.

Giving in, she stepped back and shut the door with a decisive click.

Alone, Avery stood before her reflection and slowly unbuttoned her shirt. The angry, fresh wound came into view. She dabbed disinfectant on the area without so much as a wince—she was no stranger to pain.

She had opened the gash further while showering, leaving the skin inflamed and tender.