Chapter 9

Beneath the city, the underground market sprawled like a tangled ant colony, every tunnel thick with the scent of damp stone, rusted metal, bitter herbs, and the faintest trace of something metallic and bloody.

Down here, the boundaries of legality blurred-contraband herbs exchanged hands, ancient manuscripts changed owners, and shadowy services operated just out of sight.

Whatever had vanished from the surface world could still be found below, provided one's wallet was heavy enough.

At the threshold, Grace pulled a black baseball cap from her bag, tucking her hair beneath it and lowering the brim until herfeatures all but disappeared.

She slipped her hands into her pockets and ambled forward, blending into the crowd with the casual air of someone out for a weekend stroll.

More than a few curious eyes followed her-lone young women rarely wandered into these depths.

Nearby, a group of rough-looking men broke off their

bargaining to ogle her, surprise flickering in their expressions before one offered a slow, predatory grin.

"Did you take a wrong turn, young lady?" asked the biggest of them, stepping into her path, menace in his voice.

Not even pausing,Grace lifted her chin just enough for her icy stare to flash from beneath the brim,and the brute stumbled back, unsettled.

Turning away from their gawking, Grace slipped through the warren of alleys with practiced confidence, soon arriving at a stall marked by a tarnished bronze plaque bearing the number 17.

Instead of a standard door, an animal hide hung in the entry, etched with cryptic runes.

Grace brushed the hide aside and stepped into the fragrant interior, the air inside thick with herbs.

Her words were cool and direct as she addressed the shopkeeper, saying, "I'm here for the real thing-the best you've got."

Nobody in the underground market cared about the story behind the merchandise or haggled over price;only one thing mattered-getting their hands on the finest available.

A rough chuckle echoed from the shadows behind the

counter."And who might you be?"

Stepping forward, a burly middle-aged man with hard features revealed himself.

He peered at the figure before him, his scowl deepening when he realized it was just a girl in a baseball cap.

Grace's attempt to hide her identity wasn't fooling anyone; her slim frame and smooth, youthful jaw gave her away.

He took in her plain white T-shirt, faded jeans, and the absence of anything resembling a designer bag. The verdict was immediate-a broke student.

With a dismissive wave, he tried to usher her out. "Go on, run along! This isn't a playground for kids.Everything here costs millions. You probably don't even have lunch money, do you?"

He couldn't fathom where she found the nerve to even walk in. Intent on ignoring her, he turned toward the storeroom, but a gentle laugh froze him in place.

Grace stood calmly, producing a sleek black card from her pocket and letting it rest, almost carelessly, on the counter.

"Do you have money on this card?" Skepticism clouded the shopkeeper's face as he picked up the

card, swiping it through the reader-only to have his eyes widen at the staggering balance staring back at him.

Instantly, his attitude flipped. With a greedy smile and hurried,deferential gestures, he replied, "Miss, please forgive my rudeness! Five million for the foxglove. I'll have it for you right away-"

Suddenly, chaos erupted near the entrance,interrupting the negotiation.

The shopkeeper's head jerked up, and his expression shifted instantly as he rushed to the door,bowing low."Mr.Byrd! What an honor to have you stop by."

Dominick Byrd strode in, his tailored suit and commanding presence leaving no doubt about his status. "I heard you're holding a rare foxglove. Mr.Pearson wants it."

Nervousness prickled at the shopkeeper's skin, sweat glistening as he forced a smile. "You're always up to date! I do have the item, but the price is-"

Dominick cut him off with a cold sneer, tossing a check across the counter. "Eight million. Wrap it up.Now."

The shopkeeper's head nodded eagerly. "Of course,sir! Right away-" But before he could move, fingers clamped around his wrist with surprising strength.

He spun around, only to meet the cold fire in Grace's eyes.

"I was here first." The words weren't shouted, but the edge in her voice made them cut deep.

A faint line appeared between her brows, and the air grew noticeably colder, tension rippling out from where she stood.

"We have one rule here-highest offer gets the goods,"the shopkeeper snapped, his voice dripping with contempt.

All he saw was a reckless young woman, no match for real power.

Certainly, he would say no to eight million.

Without hesitation, Grace's voice rang out, calm and unyielding."Ten million."

Dominick's voice was firm and unyielding. "Fifteen million."

Grace's eyes flashed with cold resolve. "Twenty million," she answered, not missing a beat.

A stunned silence fell over the shopkeeper as his jaw nearly hit the floor.

On the top floor, the scene in the exclusive VIP suite

was entirely different. Colton reclined on a sleek leather sofa, fingers drumming idly on the armrest,his every gesture dripping with unspoken authority.

Dominick's update was brisk. "Sir, she's just offered twenty million."

Colton's lips curled slightly, his reply low and commanding, saying, "Raise it again."

Downstairs, the shopkeeper leaned in and whispered urgently, "Young lady, you're treading on dangerous ground.The man backing him isn't someone ordinary people can afford to cross."

Just the thought of the Pearson family's shadow looming over the city made the shopkeeper shudder.

A slow, mocking grin spread across Grace's lips,her eyes glittering with defiance. "Do I look like someone easily intimidated?"

The ferocity radiating from her sent the shopkeeper stumbling backward, fear quickening his pulse. Who was this girl, really? This could only end badly. The realization struck him with a jolt-he was caught between two powers he couldn't afford to anger.