CEO loves me with all his soul.-Chapter 124. Oscar goes to cheif Argo

The corridor leading to Apex Laboratory’s lower entrance reeked of chemical solvents, iron, and old blood. It was hidden beneath what looked like an abandoned pharmaceutical distribution warehouse—complete with rusted trolleys, crates labeled "Medical Supplies," and cameras that followed movements like silent vultures.

Argo adjusted the ratty hood of his oversized coat and hunched his shoulders forward, letting the damp cold make him look smaller, more pathetic. Grease streaked his cheeks, and the fake grime on his nails was so convincing he could smell it. His face was partially hidden behind the collar of the coat, and the cracked foam container in his hand smelled like cheap noodles and fish paste.

A metal door buzzed open. No one spoke.

The guard inside, face obscured by a gas mask and helmet, waved him in wordlessly. Argo shuffled through, murmuring something unintelligible and looking down at his feet.

Far above, hidden behind reflective glass in a nearby building, Detective Mara squinted through a pair of high-powered binoculars. She chewed her gum slowly and then broke into a grin.

"Goddamn," she whispered. "Our Chief missed his calling. If we don’t blow this lab to hell, I’m sending his footage to Cannes."

Inside the sterile, humming core of the lab, Doctor Naehr stood with arms behind his back, gazing at a specimen floating in a cylindrical tank filled with glowing blue serum. His long silver hair gleamed under the overhead lights, and the black lenses of his glasses reflected lines of data scrolling down a nearby monitor. His face, however, was a mask of irritation.

"Another disturbance," he muttered. "Why do these deliveries keep happening during my calculations?"

He turned as Argo was ushered in by one of the masked guards.

"Who the hell is this?" Naehr snapped.

"Food delivery, sir," the guard replied. "Scheduled on your assistant’s tab. Said you hadn’t eaten since last night."

Doctor Naehr’s black eyes narrowed as he took in the man before him—hunched over, visibly dirty, with an unpleasant odor wafting from his tattered sleeves.

"You." He addressed Argo with disdain. "Is this yours?" He pointed to the sad plastic container.

Argo bobbed his head in an awkward nod and extended the food with both hands like a humble offering.

Doctor Naehr looked at the box with revulsion but didn’t take it. Instead, he pulled a wad of notes from his coat pocket and tossed it toward Argo’s feet.

"For the trouble. And buy yourself a bath. Or ten."

Argo dropped to his knees and fumbled the cash into his pocket, muttering a stuttered, "T-thank you, sir. Kind sir. God bless."

Naehr tilted his head, almost pitying. "Do you need more? Pity doesn’t become me, but I can spare some for the street rats if it stops them from pestering my facility."

Argo scratched his head, looked up hesitantly, and gave a small, grateful nod like a man not used to kindness. His fingers trembled slightly.

Naehr sighed dramatically and turned back toward the tank. "People like you are lucky you’re still even breathing. If my genome therapy is successful, filth like you might actually live past thirty."

Argo took a mental note of the exact specimen Naehr had been staring at. It was small—young. A child, maybe. Cloned? Or real?

Another piece of the puzzle.

"Th-thank you, sir," Argo stuttered, still crouched. "Kind heart, big blessings, sir."

Back in the surveillance room across the street, Mara slapped her thigh, laughing under her breath. "I swear, give this man an award. He just sold desperation better than half the films I’ve watched this year."

Her companion, a tech analyst named Jin, whispered, "Check his left hand. Look. Three taps on the pant seam—he’s signaling. Transmission is live."

Sure enough, Argo had subtly triggered the micro-recorder in his coat cuff. His entire interaction with Doctor Naehr was being beamed directly into the secure police database. Faces, coordinates, timestamps—everything.

But then—

Naehr turned suddenly. "Wait."

Argo froze.

The mad doctor’s eyes bore into him.

"I’ve seen you somewhere before..."

Argo’s heart thudded. Had his cover slipped? Had one of the disguises failed?

He coughed softly and bowed even deeper. "N-no, sir. I—I just do night runs for the kitchens. Old soup houses and such. Sometimes back alleys—"

"No," Naehr interrupted, frowning now. "Not in person. You remind me of someone from a newspaper headline years ago. There was a police bust—some man with a sharp jawline and dead eyes." He leaned closer. "He looked like he had blood on his hands. You wouldn’t be related, would you?"

Argo kept his gaze down and let his body shake slightly. "N-no, sir. Just... just me. No family. No names."

Naehr studied him another moment, then waved a dismissive hand. "Fine. You’re too pathetic to be a cop anyway."

Argo fought the smirk threatening his lips.

"Dismissed."

Argo shuffled backward until the security door sealed behind him. Only then did he straighten slightly, allowing himself one breath of relief.

A few minutes later, Argo climbed up a fire escape to where Mara and Jin waited.

As he pulled off the hood and removed the facial adhesive scars, Mara handed him a thermos.

"You just flirted with death in a beggar suit," she said. "How’s it feel, Chief?"

Argo chuckled, shaking his head. "He bought it. Hook, line, and genetically modified sinker."

Jin added, "We’ve got good footage of the child specimen. Plus confirmation Naehr is prepping deployment near Sector Nine. I’m forwarding the metadata to command now."

"Excellent," Argo said, eyes hardening. "Get it to Lucas too. If he’s already made contact with the defectors, we’ll need everyone in position. We’re ending this before he poisons the entire world."

--

The corridors of the Grand Vertus Hotel were rarely this chaotic—footsteps echoed against polished marble, sharp clicks of heels, the occasional swish of luggage wheels. But tonight, tension cut through the air sharper than any blade. Patrons glanced up in alarm as a man sprinted past the hallway like a wild animal in a velvet suit—his expression panic-stricken.

Ethan, dressed in a loose black nightgown that did little to hide the hard, imposing strength of his frame, was hot on the man’s heels. His stride was relentless, a predator narrowing the gap, eyes like fire burning into the back of his prey.

"Wryn! Stop running. You’re only making it worse."

The man didn’t listen. He glanced back once—his slicked blond hair now a disheveled mess, lips parted in fear. His hand darted inside his coat. Ethan tensed, expecting a weapon.

But no. Wryn threw something small—a vial?—to the ground. The glass shattered. Gas hissed out in a white plume, thick and fast. Hotel guests screamed and ran from the hallway.

Ethan cursed, covering his mouth with one hand and diving forward. But Wryn had already dashed into the haze and out the other side. His shoes squeaked against the marble as he bolted for the side exit near the lounge.

Too late for him.

Augustin was already there.

Clad in a fitted brown coat and slacks, Augustin stood calmly in the middle of the hallway. His honey-colored eyes were cold, like a scalpel ready to cut.

Wryn skidded to a stop, eyes darting for another escape.

"Going somewhere?" Augustin asked, his tone almost bored. "You shouldn’t have tried that trick. Especially not with my brother-in-law chasing you."

"Get out of the way," Wryn hissed, hand twitching at his side. "This isn’t your business."

"Oh, it is," Augustin replied smoothly, pulling out a slim retractable baton and twirling it. "Especially when you’ve got my entire family on edge. And considering your mysterious new bag of goodies, I’d say we’ve got more than just family dinner to worry about." freeweɓnøvel~com

Wryn turned again—toward the other exit by the central lounge.

He made it five steps before Adrian stepped into his path, seemingly out of nowhere. Lean, beautiful, his long black hair slightly tousled, silver eyes narrowed with resolve, Adrian looked every bit the icy blade behind Ethan’s thunder.

He said nothing at first.

Wryn froze, caught between steel and fire, between Augustin’s merciless poise and Adrian’s quiet fury.

Then Adrian raised his head slowly. "You should stop. There are people who care whether you live or die. I’m not one of them anymore."

Wryn’s chest heaved. "You don’t understand—"

"No, I don’t," Adrian cut him off coldly. "Why someone would pretend to be insignificant while carrying poison and meeting mysterious women in hotel rooms. I don’t understand that at all."

Ethan finally emerged from the gas cloud behind, his black eyes glittering with restrained rage, his voice a low, terrifying growl: "I warned you. Now you explain everything—or I’ll make sure you won’t run again."

Wryn trembled. The mask he had worn so carefully cracked—crumbling in seconds under the combined pressure of Ethan’s fury, Adrian’s disgust, and Augustin’s watchful readiness.

"I-it’s not what you think—" Wryn stammered. "I was told to meet her. I didn’t know what she was giving me—I didn’t ask. I was just supposed to deliver it."

"Deliver to who?" Adrian asked.

"I don’t know his real name!" Wryn shouted, panicked. "They called him ’The Benefactor.’ He works underground—real shadows-and-blood type. They told me I’d be rich if I played along. I thought it was some biochemical exchange. Not... whatever the hell this is."

Augustin stepped forward. "You still have the bag?"

Wryn nodded quickly, pulling a sleek black satchel from under his coat and placing it carefully on a table beside him.

Ethan opened it.

Inside: more vials, several syringes, and what looked like a sealed data drive with a strange crest—a stylized eye pierced by a silver needle.

Ethan recognized that symbol.

So did Adrian. His face paled slightly.

"That’s from the Apex Institute," Adrian whispered. "The inner circle."

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