The Villains Must Win
Chapter 224: No Second Chances 24

Chapter 224: No Second Chances 24

The morning came like a slow exhale, light creeping through the sheer drapes, golden and lazy. free.webn\ove(l)(.)c(o)m

Lina stirred, still unsure if her sleep had truly been restful. The villa was quiet—the kind of quiet that wrapped around you and made you question if anyone else even existed.

She rubbed her face, shook off the haze, and grabbed her phone. Predictably, still no service. Right. She was in Greece.

No roaming plan, no SIM. And still no way to contact her grandparents.

She pulled on a loose knit sweater, combed her fingers through her hair, and made her way down to the kitchen, where the butler greeted her with a warm nod and offered her breakfast. She declined politely.

"Actually," she said, clearing her throat, "could I ask for the Wi-Fi password?"

There was a moment—only a heartbeat—of silence. But in it, she imagined a thousand possibilities.

What if Fredrich had withheld it intentionally? What if this entire estate was meant to isolate her, to trap her?

She had enough of Christian, and with this world’s unpredictability, anything could happen.

But the butler gave her a small smile and a silver tray. On it: a note card.

Written in Fredrich’s neat, angular script was the network name and password.

Relief crashed into her so suddenly, her knees nearly buckled. It was strange—how that one small gesture told her more than all his promises combined.

She connected immediately and placed a video call to her grandparents. They answered after the second ring.

"Oh, sweetheart!" her grandmother gasped, voice trembling.

"Lina! Where are you?" her grandfather asked, leaning closer to the screen.

"I’m okay," she assured them, trying to smile, though her throat felt tight. "I’m in Greece. I . . . I couldn’t call sooner."

Her grandmother nodded rapidly. "That’s fine, that’s fine—darling, listen. Christian is in England."

Lina froze.

"What?"

"He arrived yesterday," her grandfather confirmed grimly. "He’s been asking around. Visited the estate. Said he wanted to ’bring you home.’"

Lina’s stomach twisted. She could hear her own heartbeat now, thudding behind her ears.

"You told him nothing?" she asked quickly.

"Of course not," her grandmother said, offended by the very idea. "We told him you were away for business and that we had no idea where you went."

Her grandfather leaned in again. "You can’t come back yet, Lina. He’s looking for you. He’s angry. Obsessed."

Lina nodded slowly, chest tight. "I’ll stay here. Until it’s safe."

They exchanged a few more reassurances, but when the call ended, Lina just sat for a long moment, holding her phone, her reflection pale in the black screen.

When she found Fredrich, he was in the library, dressed in an open-collared black shirt and charcoal pants, browsing a shelf near the far window. He looked effortless—like he belonged to this place entirely, carved into its elegance.

"I need to stay," Lina said, before she lost her nerve. "For a little while. My grandparents think it’s too risky to return."

Fredrich turned toward her. No surprise flickered in his expression. Just a steady calm, like he’d expected her to say that.

"You’re welcome to stay as long as you like," he said, voice low. "This house has more rooms than it needs."

She hesitated. "I appreciate that, but . . . I’ll make arrangements. My grandparents will wire money. I’ll stay in the city."

Fredrich gave her a long look. "Very well."

She didn’t miss the way his brow creased ever so slightly. But he didn’t argue.

Later that afternoon, she packed a small bag and took a car into the city, determined to find a hotel. The ride was smooth, the view coastal and postcard-beautiful. But her heart was pounding the entire way.

When she arrived, she quickly realized her mistake.

Tourist season.

The streets were packed. Cafés overflowed with laughter and clinking glasses. Vendors crowded the sidewalks. And every single hotel she tried was either booked or reserved for weeks in advance.

Lina stopped outside her fifth hotel—sweating, overwhelmed, embarrassed—and tried not to cry.

Fredrich’s driver, who had been patiently waiting nearby, stepped closer. "Miss? Perhaps I should call Mr. Jones?"

"No," she said too quickly. Then sighed. "I’ll just . . . try another place."

He hesitated. "It is the busiest season, ma’am. The cruise lines are docking early this year. Most people book in advance. It may be difficult to find anything tonight."

It wasn’t a warning. Just a fact. And one she was now forced to accept.

She returned to the villa just past sunset, heart heavy with reluctant defeat.

As the black car pulled up the drive, the golden lights of the estate shimmered like the pages of a fable. The gates opened slowly, guards giving the vehicle only a passing glance. She was expected.

She stepped inside and found Fredrich exactly as she imagined: seated in the drawing room, bathed in amber light, his sleeves rolled up again, laptop open on the low table in front of him.

He looked up, but only briefly. "I see you’ve returned."

There was no triumph in his voice. No smugness. Just observation.

Lina flushed, heat rising to her cheeks. "Just for the night," she said quickly. "All the hotels were full."

He nodded, still not looking at her. "Dimitri mentioned it might be."

She stood awkwardly, not sure what to do with her arms or her pride. "I . . . just need a bed. One night."

Fredrich finally looked up, and for a moment, she swore there was something amused—almost fond—in his eyes.

Instead of teasing her, he simply turned to the butler and said, "Please escort Miss Lina to her room."

Lina blinked.

No snide comment. No told-you-so. No demands.

Just quiet accommodation.

As she followed the butler upstairs, she couldn’t help but glance back once. Fredrich had returned to his laptop, shoulders relaxed, attention elsewhere.

But she felt it—his awareness. His constant attention. Like he knew exactly where she was even with his eyes on the screen.

That night, the suite felt warmer.

Maybe it was the way her bag was already neatly placed at the foot of the bed again.

Or the fact that fresh tea had been left on the writing desk.

Or maybe it was simply the knowledge that even if she didn’t know Fredrich’s full story, he hadn’t turned her away.

She sipped her tea slowly, gazing at the moonlit courtyard.

And when sleep came, it came easier than it had in weeks.