The Villains Must Win-Chapter 222: No Second Chances 22

Lina’s eyes welled up, but she blinked them away. She wouldn’t cry here. Not now. She didn’t even know this man. Not really. And yet, she felt . . . seen.

After a long pause, Fredrich stood. "Come."

She frowned. "Where?"

"Up front. You’ll want to see this."

Curious and still clutching her food tray, she followed him through the cabin. The crew gave respectful nods as they passed.

Finally, Fredrich opened a door near the cockpit, revealing a panoramic viewing room with wide glass panels stretching from floor to ceiling.

The sky outside was glowing—a rich, molten gold bleeding into orange and crimson. Below, the distant outline of land was visible.

Greece.

Islands scattered like gems over the Aegean Sea, kissed by sunlight.

Lina stepped closer to the glass, awe replacing the ache in her chest.

"It’s beautiful," she breathed.

Fredrich stood beside her, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed on the view.

"You’ve never seen it like this before, have you?"

She shook her head. "Never. Not even in pictures."

He tilted his head slightly, watching her expression more than the view. "Good. Then this memory is yours now. Not his."

Lina looked up at him. The sun framed his blond hair like a halo, but his features were carved in shadows and solemn lines. He looked powerful, yes—but also like someone who had lost something too.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Fredrich nodded. "We’ll be landing soon. My estate is just outside Thessaloniki. It’s private. Quiet. You can stay as long as you need."

She didn’t ask why he was offering this. She didn’t trust him completely—not yet—but she was tired of being afraid of every hand offered to her.

"I’ll pay you back," she said. "Eventually."

He turned toward her with that faint smile of his. "If you like. But not everything needs a price."

Lina stood in silence, letting the sun warm her skin for the first time in days.

Maybe this wasn’t a detour after all.

Maybe this was mean to be.

=====

The motorcade rolled through a long, private driveway bordered by thick cypress and olive trees—ancient sentinels that whispered secrets in the breeze.

The estate ahead of Lina was vast, more like a secluded compound than a simple villa. Tall stone walls, weathered by time and ivy, enclosed manicured gardens with the scent of lavender and jasmine.

Fountains gurgled in shaded courtyards. Statues of marble figures watched silently as their sleek black SUV glided past lanterns and under archways that would have been at home on a Mediterranean palace.

Lina pressed her forehead against the back seat window, taking in the sight with both awe and unease. She had expected privacy—Fredrich had promised as much—but not this: a fortress disguised as serenity.

"Told you he wasn’t just any businessman," muttered her inner-self.

"Yeah," she murmured back, but she didn’t mean the compliment. The scale of this place, and the way guards lined every entrance, made her skin prickle.

They stopped at a wrought-iron gate carved with intricate designs. As it swept open, another guard stepped forward—but they treated her carriage more like a VIP motorcyle than a would-be fugitive.

She stepped out cautiously, her heels clicking on flagstone. The driver disappeared behind her, and in moments, a tall butler—black suit, white gloves, a discreet earpiece—appeared.

"Welcome," he said smoothly. "Mr. Jones and Miss—" freewebnøvel.coɱ

"Lina," she said.

"—We’re expecting you. Please, this way."

He offered a polite nod, and though his eyes were kind, they were too calm.

They weaved through archways into a grand courtyard. A small fountain bubbled with lemon water; citrus trees cast dappled gold across the flagstone.

Yet the transition from the manicured chaos of nature to the stillness of marble was eerie—the serenity felt calculated, curated.

Lina brushed her handbag to one side as she followed the butler up a flight of stairs carved in dark stone. "This place . . . it’s a bit . . . mafia chic, no? I mean, you don’t keep bodyguards in stately robes for an afternoon tea party."

He didn’t so much as smile. "Mr. Jones takes his security seriously."

Lina laughed softly, but it sounded brittle. "Right. Of course."

"Don’t be intimidated," Fredrich said softly at her side, his voice calm but commanding as they stepped through the arched stone entrance. "They know you’re my guest. They won’t touch you."

The guards lining the path didn’t smile. Their eyes followed Lina with unnerving intensity, guns holstered but visible beneath their tailored jackets.

She kept close to Fredrich, matching his stride even as her heart pounded. The air here felt thick—not with danger, exactly, but with power. Silent, unquestioned, and absolute.

They passed through double oak doors and into a long corridor that felt more like a museum than a home. The walls were lined with gilded portraits and carved crests, each proudly bearing the family name.

Men with powdered wigs and icy eyes stared down from their frames. Women in lace and silk sat frozen in solemn grace. They seemed to watch Lina as she walked, their judgment silent but suffocating.

At the end of the hall, a statue stood on a pedestal—a man carved in white marble, arms crossed over his chest, face severe and proud.

The resemblance to Fredrich was unmistakable, though this figure seemed even more intimidating. The details were so lifelike it felt like the statue might step down at any moment and pass judgment.

"Is that . . . your grandfather?" Lina asked, her voice tentative.

Fredrich gave the sculpture a quick glance. "Great-grandfather. The founder of all this."

"All this," she echoed under her breath, eyes scanning the expansive space. She tried to sound casual. "Honestly, it feels like I’ve walked into a mafia film set. All we’re missing is a long dinner table and an ominous toast."

He didn’t laugh. Not even a twitch of amusement crossed his face.

Instead, he turned to a nearby butler with a clipped nod. "Show her to the guest suite. And have dinner brought up."

Lina blinked at the sudden dismissal and shot him a sideways glance. "You’re not coming?"

This 𝓬ontent is taken from f(r)eeweb(n)ovel.𝒄𝒐𝙢