THE RED QUEEN'S GAME

CHAPTER 2

SCARLET

I jolt awake, blinking to adjust to the dim morning light. The bitter scent of coffee lingers in my nostrils as I take a long, sharp breath. Stretching, I feel a sudden warmth slip from my shoulders and remain perfectly still for a couple of minutes, letting my body bask in winter's cool embrace. Time seems to pause as I clear my mind of the uncertainties ahead. My gaze drifts to a pair of light hazel eyes gleaming in the sunlight, their porcelain skin soaking in the warmth of the morning or afternoon—I've lost track of time.

The night's events playback —Min pulling me to safety, the explosion, the realisation that our every move is being watched. Whoever orchestrated this wants us unnerved, unsure. And it's working like hell.

"How are you?" Min's voice cuts through the silence. He doesn't look at me, but I can feel his attention, as he flicks through more records and files.

I nod. "They knew we'd come to the warehouse. They planned everything, down to the second."

Min's jaw tightens. "We're dealing with someone who understands tactics, psychology, and timing. They're playing a game, and they want us to dance to their tune."

My mind races, trying to keep up with his reasoning. "So what's our next move?"

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "First, we need to gather every detail we missed. Any piece of information we didn't see before—"

Before he can finish, his phone buzzes, cutting through the quiet. He glances at the screen and his face darkens.

"What is it?" I ask, a feeling of dread creeping up.

He doesn't answer right away, but after a tense pause, he finally speaks. "Its my sister."

My pulse quickens. "Oh, is she alright—?"

Min's gaze meets mine, his hazel eyes hard and unreadable. "No."

I swallow hard.

"What happened?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He runs his hand through his dark brown locks, nearly black, damp with beads of sweat that cling to each strand. I'm at a loss for words, I don't know what to say, the sight of him crippling and flailing bewilders me.

"There was an attack. Eureka Square, 2:13 am, she was found unconscious and bloodied up..." I could clearly see his jaw clench as he vaguely pictured his sister, lying on a cold concrete floor, alone in the darkness.

"When was she admitted?"

"3:30 pm, just ten minutes ago." His cold voice hits the emptiness of the office, soulless, pure anger, and it seemed everything was breaking apart, but it was certainly not him. If anything, it was a man on the verge of war.

The room falls silent, the weight of the news settling between us like a dark cloud. I search for words, something to offer as comfort, but the hardened look in Min's eyes tells me he's not looking for solace—he's looking for answers.

The air is thick with tension, each second dragging by as he processes what's just happened. His fingers tighten around his phone, knuckles white with barely restrained fury. I can almost feel the fire simmering under his cold exterior, restrained only by the thin thread of control he holds over himself.

Finally, he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper, but laced with steel. "They're crossing lines now."

I feel a shiver run down my spine. Whoever orchestrated this attack didn't just choose a random victim—they targeted his family. They're trying to break him, push him over the edge. And by the look in his eyes, they might be succeeding.