{Chapter: 140 - The Boat, the Blade, and the Dance}
Na Wei's breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling beneath the tight black leather of her combat attire. A tremble passed through her fingertips—something she hadn't felt in years. Not since her first kill, when she was still a teenage initiate in the Triad, drenched in blood and adrenaline. And yet, now, in the quiet of this boat cabin, she felt that same gnawing terror.
A voice in her head screamed: Run. Escape. Jump overboard and disappear beneath the waves.
But she didn't move. She couldn't. Aiden stood between her and the only way out—and something told her she wouldn't make it ten feet before her heart stopped or her bones shattered.
"You think this is a game?" she hissed, her voice laced with venom, though her eyes betrayed the flicker of fear.
"No," Aiden replied coolly. The dim lighting in the cabin caught the metallic glow of the strange ring on his hand. "But you've been playing games for a long time, haven't you, Na Wei?"
She tried to step back instinctively but found she couldn't move. That name on his tongue—it felt like a loaded weapon. No one had said it like that in years. Not with such knowing confidence. Not with the weight of someone who saw through her.
"You! What did you do to me?!" she shouted, panic creeping into her tone.
"Nothing much," he said, almost amused. "Just thought you deserved to understand the gap between us. Not in skill—though that's there, too—but in what we are."
He slowly lifted her short blade, which she hadn't even realized he'd taken. The steel shimmered under the light as he examined it with a faint smile.
"Nice edge," he murmured. "But it won't help."
With almost lazy grace, Aiden brought his finger across the edge of the blade. The motion was so fast Na Wei barely registered it. A thin red line appeared on his skin. Blood welled up.
But then—she watched, eyes widening—the wound closed. Instantly. The blood retracted, the skin sealed, and within seconds, not even a scar remained.
Her breath caught.
That… wasn't human.
She stared at him, the fear now rooted deep in her bones. He was more than a skilled fighter. More than a trained killer. He was something else entirely.
"What are you?" she whispered, before clenching her fists. "You're not one of us."
"No," he agreed. "And you're beginning to understand that now."
Desperation flooded her mind. She was an elite assassin. She'd fought men with power, with precision, with cruelty. But this? This wasn't a man she could poison or seduce or ambush. He was a different kind of threat—a force of nature wearing human skin.
"What do you want?" she demanded. "If you're going to kill me, just do it!"
Aiden shook his head, walking over to a small wine cabinet in the corner of the cabin. He selected a bottle, uncorked it, and poured himself a glass with casual ease. The cabin was silent except for the gentle clink of glass and the low hum of the halted engine.
"No, I'm not going to kill you," he said, his tone oddly serene. "At least… not tonight."
Na Wei blinked. "Then what?"
"Don't worry. The night is long, and we have time. Actually, I should thank you. If you hadn't been there… well, my business might not have gone so smoothly."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're… letting me go?"
He smiled faintly. "Eventually. But first, a little payment. You see, one of my people got hurt tonight. That blood's on your hands. It only seems fair that you offer something in return."
She tensed. "What kind of payment?"
He leaned back on the leather sofa, legs crossed, wine glass in hand. His gaze settled on her with an intensity that unnerved her more than his abilities.
"Dance," he said.
Na Wei blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Dance. Your body is very attractive, why don't you…dance? And Make it… captivating."
Realization struck her like ice water. She recoiled. "You want me to strip for you?"
"I said 'captivating,'" he said, swirling the wine in his glass. "You're trained in seduction, infiltration, and manipulation, are you not? I'm sure you can make a simple dance… worthwhile. And don't act like this is beneath you. You've done worse things for your Triad masters."
Her cheeks burned. "You're sick. You call yourself a hero?!"
Aiden's expression darkened.
"I never called myself a hero. Neither did Oliver Queen, once. Not when he first returned from Lian Yu. Not when he wore a hood and called himself 'the Hood'—remember that name? He was just a man with a bow and a list of names. He judged. He executed. And the city bled."
She frowned. She had heard of Queen. Everyone in the underground had. He'd once been just like her—a killer. But then he'd changed.
"Don't compare yourself to him," she spat.
"I don't. I just understand what it's like to come back changed," Aiden said, sipping his wine. "I've died before, Na Wei. I've seen things that broke other men. What I ask of you tonight is mercy compared to what I could do."
Na Wei stared at the floor, her heart hammering. Her pride screamed in protest, but her instincts whispered that dancing was far better than being broken—or worse, experimented on. Men like him didn't need knives to make someone suffer.
After a long silence, she sighed, biting her lower lip hard. Her pride was a luxury she couldn't afford.
She turned around slowly, her eyes avoiding his.
With stiff, reluctant movements, she began to sway. Her hips rolled side to side, mechanical at first, her movements awkward and halting. But as the seconds passed, Aiden's expression remained unreadable—not leering, not mocking, just… watching.
His eyes weren't cruel. They were focused.
And that unnerved her most of all.
As her embarrassment gave way to a strange calm, Na Wei began to lose herself in the motion. The sway of her body became more fluid. Her fingers traced the edge of her jacket, slowly unzipping it. Piece by piece, the cold assassin façade began to fall away. Her movements grew bolder, sensual. Her hips swayed, her legs crossed and uncrossed in rhythm, her silhouette sharp in the dim lighting of the boat cabin.
She hated it.
And yet… she didn't.
There was something about his gaze—something not drenched in lust, but appreciation. She was being watched not like a possession, but like an art form.
She realized something dangerous: she wanted him to keep watching.
What's wrong with me? she thought. Why do I care what he thinks?
She had killed men who ogled her. She had carved up clients who thought they owned her. But Aiden? He didn't try to touch her. He didn't even smirk. His stillness was reverent.
The heat in her cheeks deepened. She spun again, her jacket sliding from her shoulders.
Her cold, expressionless face… cracked. For the first time in a long time, her lips parted not in a sneer or a snarl—but in something like uncertainty. Something almost soft.
Did she trust him?
'Trust him?'
*****
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