Chairman's Beloved Wifey

At the mention of China, Bella felt an unexpected unease settle in her heart. The fleeting thought of Li Hua crossed her mind, but she quickly pushed it aside, unwilling to entertain it.

If anyone told Bella that Kartik had reduced the world to ashes, she might have believed it. But the idea that Kartik could betray her—this was simply unimaginable.

She gently caressed Bartika's cheek and asked, "Darling, would you like something to eat? Are you hungry?"

"No, Mommy. Daddy already fed me. My tummy is completely full. I just want to sleep now. Can I rest in your lap?"

"Of course, sweetheart. There's no question about it. You can sleep as long as you like."

With Bella's gentle affirmation, Bartika nestled into her chest, closing her eyes in peaceful slumber.

As the night deepened, Bartika fell into a sound, restful sleep.

As Bella ran her delicate fingers through Bartika's hair, she turned her gaze toward Bin and inquired, "Is something happening in China today?"

Bin flashed a knowing smile before responding, "Ah, I almost forgot to mention the latest development. You're aware of President Mao Zedong of China, right? Five years ago, he signed a contract with Rockwave, which helped him ascend to the presidency. The terms stipulated that after five years, he would step down from politics. But, after gaining power, he became consumed by greed. Instead of honoring his agreement, he altered China's constitution to make himself a lifelong president. Even worse, he began forming a rebellious faction to challenge Rockwave, blatantly ignoring the Black Notice."

Bin paused briefly before continuing, "He even enlisted the cannibal tribesmen into his faction. Today, the Chairman himself was supposed to go to China to deal with him, but given that today is his grandmother's funeral, he's likely refraining from going. If he did, the focus would shift to this issue, and people might start questioning their identities."

Two years ago, Rockwave had all but eradicated the cannibal tribes, but a few remnants of these groups still lingered in the shadows. Their web was vast, stretching into every corner of the world, and eliminating them entirely remained an impossible task. Yet, Rockwave continued its efforts.

Bella listened intently, though she said nothing about Kartik's secret journey to China. She had never been one to indulge in gossip.

Her gaze shifted towards Sam, who sat across the room. His sharp eyes met hers with a mischievous glint.

Sam, the prince of the British Royal Family, was roughly Bella's age. He was Kartik's cousin and had earned a reputation as the captain of the England football team. Despite the significance of today, his grandmother's funeral, Sam seemed wholly unconcerned with royal matters.

Without breaking his relaxed posture, Sam said, "Sister Bella, I'm not interested in the politics and power plays that William obsesses over. I've long since abandoned the notion of playing the royal game. As for my image, I don't care. People already call me a rebel. I've embraced it. I don't need to maintain some noble façade. I'd rather be a rebel than live a life shackled by pretense."

Bella listened to Sam's words with a sigh. Understanding him was like trying to hit a stone with one's head—fruitless and exhausting. He had never cared about the royal court and had always preferred to live carefree, free from the expectations that governed the rest of his family.

Before she could respond, the door to the study creaked open, and a tall, broad-shouldered man entered, his presence commanding the room. He wore a vintage black suit that only highlighted his strikingly handsome yet stern face. His cold demeanor was palpable, his eyes betraying no emotion.

Bella, without missing a beat, looked him up and down and asked, "Where have you been these past two days, Charlie?"

Charlie gave no immediate response. Instead, he approached Bella, his gaze steady as he gently took her injured right hand in his. His eyes softened as he carefully examined her bandaged wound.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked, his voice gentle yet laced with concern.

Bella ignored his inquiry and pressed, "Charlie, I asked you something. Where have you been these last two days?"

"I was in Sri Lanka. There were unfinished matters that required my attention. Didn't your husband inform you?"

"No, he didn't. You hate him as much as he hates you. So, tell me—when did you return?"

"Yesterday," Charlie replied simply.

Bella's eyes narrowed as she processed this information. "Yesterday, Emma was murdered, Charlie. A striking coincidence, don't you think? You return yesterday, and Emma dies. Coincidence or something more?"

Charlie didn't flinch. Instead, he regarded Bella with an inscrutable gaze. After a moment, he responded with a sinister smile, "Very good. The burden on this earth just got lighter."

Bella's expression hardened. "Charlie, did you kill Emma?"

Charlie, still unfazed, tilted his head slightly and said, "Sister Bella, you're asking me about that insignificant girl? Is she really more important to you than I am?"

Bella's lips parted, her frustration building. She had already seen the security footage of Charlie entering Emma's room the night before. It was clear that Charlie had fired the first shot, but the person who ultimately killed Emma wasn't him. It was someone who had used the opening Charlie had created to slip past Akira's meticulous security.

Bella opened her eyes, locking her gaze with Charlie's. "Tell me the truth now, Charlie. Did you kill her?"

Charlie, undeterred, only smiled coldly. "You'll have to ask yourself that, Sister Bella."

Inside the grand Parliament House of Beijing, China, countless leaders were seated, their expressions a mix of focus and tension.

At the center of the room stood Mao Zedong, the current president of China, delivering a speech with a commanding presence. Suddenly, a sharp and distinct sound of footsteps echoed through the chamber, shattering the composure of the moment.

Before anyone could react, the Parliament House was enveloped by a group of enigmatic guards clad in immaculate black suits. Their faces were obscured by sleek masks, adding an air of mystique to their presence.

They carried no weapons, yet the palpable aura of danger around them, coupled with the ominous black wing emblem on their suits, sent a chilling wave of fear through every individual in the room.

Mao Zedong, struggling to maintain his composure, leaned towards his personal assistant and whispered, "What are the Black Wings doing here?"

The assistant, visibly trembling, swallowed hard before replying in a hushed tone, "Sir, as far as I know, the Black Wing never appears without reason. Their arrival means only one thing—the Chairman is coming. Sir, ignoring the Black Notice was a grave mistake."

A cold sweat broke out on Mao Zedong's brow as dread seized him. He had underestimated Kartik Kapoor and the significance of the Black Notice. His decision to disregard it now seemed catastrophic.

For what felt like an eternity, the chamber was drowned in an oppressive silence. Then, the sound of deliberate, heavy footsteps reverberated through the hall.

Every gaze turned towards the source of the sound. The figure that emerged was both commanding and terrifying—a tall, broad-shouldered man in a black overcoat and leather boots. His face was entirely concealed behind a meticulously crafted mask, yet there was no mistaking who he was.

Mao Zedong's knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, his voice trembling with desperation as he pleaded, "Chairman Sir, I beg you! I made a mistake, a terrible mistake. Please, give me one chance. I will not only leave politics but this country altogether. Please, just one chance!"

The seasoned politicians in the room were rendered speechless. Those new to the political world, who were unaware of the Chairman's reputation, watched in stunned silence as Mao Zedong groveled.

The Chairman remained unmoved, his silence more menacing than any words could be. Slowly, his gaze shifted to the man standing beside him—the Captain of the Black Wing.

With a mere glance, the Chairman conveyed his command. The Captain stepped forward, unsheathing a gleaming sword with a swift, practiced motion. The air grew thick with tension as the Captain raised the blade.

A blood-curdling scream pierced the hall as Mao Zedong's head was severed in one brutal stroke. Blood pooled on the pristine floor, spreading like a river of crimson.

The sight left everyone paralyzed with terror. Many shut their eyes tightly, unable to face the grim reality unfolding before them.

Without a word, the Captain carried Mao Zedong's severed head and mounted it on the pinnacle of the Parliament House—a stark warning to all. The guards retreated as silently as they had arrived, leaving no trace but the blood-stained floor and a haunting memory.

__________________________________

What will happen next?

To know…

To be continued…