?Chapter 615:


    Corrine’s eyes lingered on the device before she curled her lips into a faint smile.


    “Thank you.”


    She epted the phone with an air of nonchnce, then asked, “How did you find it?”


    Jacob’s expression didn’t waver. His voice remained casual, almost indifferent.


    “Just happened to see it.”


    Another coincidence. Corrine just stared at him without saying anything.


    Sensing Corrine’s distant demeanor, Jacob lowered his gaze, concealing the self-mockery that flickered in his eyes.


    “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be going.”


    “Alright.” Corrine watched his retreating figure in silence.


    She knew she shouldn’t suspect Jacob.


    Yet with everything that had unfolded recently, how could she not? If someone had truly stolen her phone, they would have vanished immediately. And yet, Jacob had conveniently stumbled upon it?


    Unless… he had known all along.


    If her suspicions were right, then what had all those years of Jacob protecting her really meant?


    A car rolled up beside her.


    Corrine bent down to get in, her gaze lingering on the night beyond the window—dark, vast, and riddled with secrets.


    L?tеst chαpt?rs ??n g??lнov?ls.со??


    Late into the night, Lyhaton pulsed with life, its streets aze with neon lights and the electric hum of nocturnal revelry.


    Jacob arrived at a bar.


    Inside, dim lighting cast sultry shadows, the perfect backdrop for whispered promises and fleeting encounters.


    On the dance floor, men and women moved like mes caught in a slow-burning fire, bodies brushing, nces exchanged—an unspoken invitation to indulgence.


    Jacob, unaffected by the scene, strode toward the elevator with an air of quiet authority.


    Behind the bar, the bartender caught sight of him and instinctively reached for the phone.


    Before he could speak a word, Jacob mmed him down onto the counter with a swift, unyielding grip.


    The bartender’s hand darted toward his belt, but Jacob’s voice—steady as a sharpened edge—cut through the tension.


    “This is Lyhaton. Your boss holds no power here. So let’s not make this harder than it needs to be.”


    The bartender clenched his teeth, seething with frustration, his re burning with barely restrained fury.


    Jacob remained unmoved. He took the phone from the bartender’s hand and asked coolly, “Are you going to invite me in, or should I extend myself the courtesy?”


    On the other end of the call, a man chuckled—a quiet, knowing sound. He gave a subtle nod to his crew-cut subordinate, Bleacher, who stood nearby.


    Momentster, Bleacher emerged from behind a heavy wooden door, stepping aside and gesturing for Jacob to enter.


    Jacob let out a short, amused breath, his expression unreadable as he walked past him without hesitation.


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