Chapter 12: THREE MONTHS TO LIVE… AND A BULLET TO DODGE

LIAM'S POV

After what Rainbow said, my mind refuses to rest. The thought of Gideon going after Marcus keeps circling in my head like a vulture waiting for its prey. It doesn’t make sense— at least not to me. In my world, Gideon is my best friend. We graduated together from NYC, both of us young and ambitious chemists who had the world at our feet. We had plans— big ones. We spent late nights in the lab, pushing boundaries, dreaming of making breakthroughs in science.

So what changed?

Why does Gideon want Marcus dead?

I rack my brain for answers, but nothing fits. This version of reality feels like a puzzle with missing pieces. But one thing is clear— I can’t let Marcus die.

Scott pulls up outside the mansion, the tires crunching softly against the gravel driveway. He parks smoothly, killing the engine before turning to look at me. His face is unreadable, but his voice is even when he speaks.

“The box, sir?” He gestures toward the heavy case filled with cash, his tone professional.

I glance at the box, then at him. The weight of it suddenly feels heavier, not because of the money but because of what it represents— power, survival, deception.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “I’ll sort it out.”

Scott studies me for a few seconds, as if trying to decipher the shift in my behavior. Maybe I don’t sound like Daniel. Maybe I don’t act like him. But he doesn’t question it. Instead, he nods, steps out of the car, and joins the other men waiting outside.

I should feel relieved. After all, I just closed a major deal, secured a ridiculous amount of cash, and solidified my cover in this twisted world. But instead of celebrating, my gut churns with unease. The questions gnaw at me, demanding answers I don’t have.

It’s late. Too late to be wandering around without a plan. I need time to think, to figure out my next move.

I wave down a cab and slide into the backseat, rubbing my temples. The driver, an older man with silver-streaked hair, gives me a quick glance in the rearview mirror before nodding.

“Where to, sir?”

“Take me to the nearest hotel.”

The ride is quiet. Too quiet. The city outside is alive with neon lights and the distant hum of traffic, but inside the cab, it’s just me and my thoughts. I stare out the window, watching blurred figures move along the sidewalks, lost in their own lives.

When the car finally stops in front of a small but well-kept hotel, I reach into my box to pay. But before I can hand him the cash, the driver shakes his head.

“You’ve done a lot for this city,” he says, his voice laced with something close to admiration. “Let me repay you with this, sir.”

I freeze.

He thinks I’m Daniel.

I don’t know what’s more surprising— the fact that people fear Daniel, or the fact that some actually respect him. Even as a drug dealer, he’s apparently done enough good for people to show him kindness.

I nod slowly, pocketing the money. “Thanks.”

As I push the door open and step onto the sidewalk, my eyes catch something on the windshield of the cab— a sticker, bold and unmistakable.

"DEMON OF HELL’S KITCHEN."

The words send a chill through me. That is Daniel's nickname . A demon. A man feared enough to have his own legend carved into the city’s streets.

Shaking off the unease, I enter the hotel and approach the front desk. The receptionist, a woman in her late thirties, barely glances at the ID I stole in Daniel's room before handing me the key. Her eyes linger on my face just a little too long, a flicker of recognition in her gaze.

She knows Daniel.

She knows the man I’m pretending to be.

But I don’t let my expression slip. Instead, I meet her gaze with cold confidence, playing the role of the Mafia boss I need to be.

When I finally unlock the door and step inside, something feels off. A strange tension lingers in the air, heavy and unsettling.

Then I see it.

A figure lying flat on the bed, face turned away.

My muscles tense.

Slowly, she shifts, turning her head to face me. But before she even speaks, I know who she really is.

Mistake.

This time, she’s in the form of a woman. Long dark hair cascades over her shoulders, and a smirk plays on her lips. But it’s her voice that confirms it— calm, eerie, and laced with amusement.

“If you’re not careful, Marcus will die tomorrow,” she says, her tone almost playful. “And if that happens, it won’t change our deal. You will still kill Daniel.”

I glare at her, my jaw tightening. “Help me.”

She laughs, a soft, almost melodic sound that grates against my nerves.

“Was that funny?” I snap.

“Yes,” she says simply, still smirking. “I told you before— I can’t interfere with what happens on Earth.”

I let out a slow breath, forcing myself to stay calm. My hands move automatically as I drop the box onto the floor and shrug off my jacket.

“Then why are you here?”

“To speak sense into your head,” she says smoothly, her eyes gleaming. “And to remind you that nothing will change our deal.”

I force a smile. “Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome.” She tilts her head. “You have three months and twenty-nine days left.”

I sit on the bed, staring at her. “What if I die before fulfilling the deal?”

Her expression shifts. The amusement vanishes.

In an instant, she’s no longer a woman.

A tall, sharp-eyed man now stands before me, his presence swallowing the air in the room. The temperature seems to drop, and an invisible weight presses down on my chest.

“I will personally tell my brother— the one in charge of who goes to hell or heaven— to drag you straight to hell,” he says, his voice low and final. “And then my brother, Lucifer, will take care of the rest.”

A cold shiver runs down my spine.

Mistake leans in slightly, his gaze unrelenting. “So, Laim, make sure you don’t die. Because trust me— you don’t want to experience what I just described.”

Before I can react, a sharp knock echoes through the room.

My muscles tense.

I turn my head toward the door. I did order food before coming up, so it’s probably just room service.

When I glance back— Mistake is gone.

Just like that.

I exhale, trying to shake the uneasy feeling curling in my stomach. Walking toward the door, I prepare to dismiss whoever it is.

But the moment I pull it open, my breath catches.

Standing in front of me, staring at me with cold, sharp eyes, is Daniel.

And he’s pointing a gun straight at my head.