She Used Me for a Dare… Now I Own Her Mother Chapter 565: Game Recognizes Game
Previously on She Used Me for a Dare… Now I Own Her Mother...
"Don’t sell yourself short, old man," Alex replied, amusement dancing in his eyes. "I think I’ve seen about three or four different sides of you tonight... and not a single one was boring."
With a smooth pull from Alex, Cole rose effortlessly to his feet. He stretched his shoulders until a faint pop echoed from his spine, casually patting the dirt and crushed slate from his ruined trousers as if he had merely tripped on a curb.
"Well, I’m glad I could keep you entertained,"
Cole said with an easy grin, wiping a trace of blood from the corner of his lip with the back of his thumb.
Turning toward the couple huddled against the stone balustrade, Cole glanced down at Naomi.
"Take him up to the hotel suite, girl," Cole instructed calmly. "Get some ice on those ribs and patch him up before the night staff starts asking questions."
Naomi nodded without hesitation. "Right away, Mr. Cole."
"Wait—no," Karl rasped, gritting his teeth as he tried to push himself off the stone wall. His chest rose and fell in shallow, jagged wheezes. "I’m fine... I can stay. Mr. Cole, you can’t just trust this guy. We don’t even know who he is or what he wants—"
Cole gave him a small, reassuring smile and raised a quiet hand, cutting him off without raising his voice.
"You’ve done plenty tonight, Karl," Cole said warmly. "You stood your ground, took the hits, and kept your head. But the fight is over. Let the girl look at those wounds, and leave the talking to me."
Naomi slipped under Karl’s arm before he could argue again, taking his dead weight onto her shoulder and helping him to his feet. Karl grunted through clenched teeth, a sharp hiss escaping his mouth as his boots scraped hard against the wet stone.
As he forced himself upright, Karl’s gaze snapped directly to Alex.
His swollen, bloodshot eyes narrowed into a cold, venomous glare.
The physical beating was humiliating enough, but what truly tore at his insides was the image burned into his mind from earlier at the bar... this arrogant bastard leaning intimately close to Naomi, whispering in her ear while his hand boldly slipped beneath her clothes, fingers trailing over the curve of her waist and exploring her body like she belonged to him.
Alex felt the murderous weight of the stare, but he didn’t even flinch. He simply met the hostile glare with a faint, amused tilt of his head, completely indifferent to the broken man’s fury.
Before Karl could spit out whatever poison was burning in his throat, Naomi pulled his arm tighter across her shoulders.
"Come on, Karl, let’s go," she urged softly, her voice low and hurried, threaded with quiet insistence. "We don’t have time for this right now. You need immediate medical attention. Let Mr. Cole handle his own conversation."
Karl grimaced through his swollen, blood-crusted jaw, his breath catching in a pained wheeze.
He wanted to argue, but the firm, steady pressure of her arm around his waist left him no room to dig his heels in. The sheer agony throbbing through his cracked ribs made every word a losing battle.
Supporting his heavy limp, she guided him away across the terrace, their shadows stretching out and disappearing into the warm light of the hotel corridor.
The heavy glass door clicked shut behind them, leaving only the quiet rush of the city wind.
Cole turned, gesturing with a tilt of his chin toward the stone railing where they had been standing before the ambush started.
"Now then," Cole said, his voice settling into a steady, measured tone. "The audience is gone, Alexander. Let’s talk."
Cole turned and walked back toward the edge of the terrace, moving with the slow, unhurried pace of a man returning to his favorite seat.
Alex followed. They stopped at the exact spot Cole had occupied earlier, right against the heavy stone balustrade where the terrace broke off into the sheer drop.
Below them, the city stretched into the dark like an endless grid of neon and cold gold, the distant hum of traffic rising faintly against the cliffs. The wind up here was cleaner, carrying a sharp autumn bite that cut through the lingering smell of spilled whiskey and bruised flowers.
Cole leaned his forearms against the cold granite, gazing out into the distance for a quiet second. Then, reaching inside his torn, dusty suit jacket, his weathered fingers pulled out a slim, matte-silver case.
With a soft metallic click, he thumbed it open.
There were only three left inside, rolled neat and slender without branding. Cole took one between his lips, then tilted the open case toward Alex.
"Smoke?" Cole offered, his voice low and gravelly.
Alex didn’t decline. A faint, easy smile touched his mouth as he reached out and slipped one of the cigarettes free.
"Don’t mind if I do."
Cole snapped the case shut with his palm and returned it to his pocket, bringing out an old flint lighter. He struck the wheel once. A sturdy, yellow flame flickered alive in the wind, cupped carefully behind his scarred, calloused hand.
Alex stepped in and leaned forward. The tip of his cigarette caught the flame, glowing bright orange in the dark, before Cole brought the fire to his own.
With a flick of his thumb, the flame died, leaving only the two embers burning against the night.
Alex drew in his first slow, steady drag.
The smoke was remarkably smooth. There was no harsh chemical bite, no bitter burn against the back of the throat. It rolled into his chest with a deep, velvety warmth, tasting faintly of aged cedar, dried plum, and a clean, earthy spice that seemed to settle right into his blood.
"Good leaf," Alex remarked quietly, resting one elbow on the stone as he tapped a speck of ash into the wind. "Smooth. Not the sort of thing you pick up off a convenience shelf."
Cole let out a dry, nostalgic chuckle, watching his own smoke curl upward into the black sky.
"An old habit from better days," Cole murmured, his battered, bloody face softening in the dim light.
He took another slow pull, the ember flaring bright across the lines of his jaw, before turning his head to look Alex straight in the eye.
"So, Mr. Alex..." Cole said, the gravel in his voice settling into something far heavier than casual banter. "Why do you think I kicked those two out?"
Alex didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze settled on the old man, taking in the subtle, profound shift in the air between them.
On the surface, Cole was still a wreck. His tailored jacket was torn at the seams, dried blood darkened the corner of his mouth, and gray grit from the gravel clung to his trousers. By every outward measure, he was just an aging, bankrupt relic who had barely crawled away from a beating on the stone floor.
Yet the pathetic, helpless mask had dissolved entirely.
In its place stood a man whose presence was suddenly heavy, dense, and suffocatingly deliberate. His weathered eyes, sharp as flint behind the drifting haze of tobacco, carried the unmistakable gravity of a predator who had spent a lifetime looking down at others from a height.
Alex smiled faintly. He recognized the play for what it was: a test. Cole was peeling back just enough of his disguise to see if Alex had the stomach to look at what lay beneath.
"Only a fool would dismiss his own legal counsel right before a negotiation this critical," Alex answered smoothly, meeting Cole’s heavy stare without a flicker of hesitation. "So the answer is simple enough. Either you still don’t take me seriously enough to believe we’ll need contracts tonight..."
Alex’s smile sharpened, his dark eyes gleaming with quiet amusement.
"...or those two were never truly yours to trust in the first place."
A heavy silence lingered on the terrace, broken only by the cold wind sweeping up from the cliff.
Then, the corner of Cole’s battered mouth twitched, breaking into a slow, genuine smile. It wasn’t the drunken smirk he had worn on the dance floor, nor the patronizing grin he had flashed at the hitmen. It was the quiet, authentic approval of a veteran recognizing someone who could actually see the board.
"You’re sharp," Cole chuckled softly, tapping a flake of ash into the dark. "I’ll give you that."
He took another slow drag, watching the amber embers flare against the dark. Behind that battered grin, Cole quietly reconsidered the man beside him.
Even while playing the drunk fool on the dance floor, he had clocked Alex the second he walked into the lounge. And when Naomi... that dangerous little witch... slid onto the stool beside him in that crimson dress, Cole had already written the kid off.
He had seen her dismantle seasoned corporate sharks with a few whispered words and a smile. He was certain this greenhorn would fall right into her trap, lose his head, and run for the exit the second things turned sour.
He hadn’t expected the board to flip entirely.
Alex hadn’t just survived her; he had dismantled her. When the two of them stepped onto the terrace, it wasn’t the kid who looked rattled... it was the witch. She had emerged off-balance, flushed, and thoroughly unraveled, while Alex looked like a man who had barely broken a sweat.
A quiet, genuine respect stirred in Cole’s chest.
In a city full of arrogant boys with borrowed courage, someone who could disarm a viper and stay completely composed was a rare creature.