Chapter 342. I Manage To Trick Her Thinking That I Was Going To Blackmail Her! (I Was)

Chapter 342: 342. I Manage To Trick Her Thinking That I Was Going To Blackmail Her! (I Was)

Inside the penthouse, the atmosphere was one of predatory stillness. Mike didn’t bother with the lights; the city’s neon glow filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows in strips of electric blue and poisonous violet, painting the marble floor in shadows.

He reclined on the bed, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling through his private gallery with the detached interest of someone reviewing inventory.

His thumb swiped past mundane photos until it landed on the footage from the cabin. He paused, watching the screen.

The video showed Maya, not the composed, artistic woman from the rooftop, but a raw, panting creature of pure sensation. Her head was thrown back, her eyes rolled half closed, her skin flushed and slick with sweat as she surrendered to him.

He watched her unravel, savoring the memory of how easily she had broken.

"Beautiful," he murmured to the empty room, his voice devoid of affection, carrying only the cold satisfaction of ownership. "So easy to shatter."

The sudden, violent crash of the door hitting the stopper shattered the silence.

Maya stumbled into the room like a storm breaking against a cliffside. Her hair was disheveled from the wind; her breathing was ragged and audible even from across the room; and her eyes, those expressive, perceptive eyes, were wild with a mixture of terror and incandescent rage.

"You absolute bastard!" she screamed, the sound tearing from her throat with enough force to make the crystal glasses on the bar vibrate. "You sick, manipulative fucking bastard!"

Mike didn’t flinch. He didn’t even put the phone down.

He simply turned his head slowly, meeting her furious gaze with a mask of infuriating calm. "You’re late, Maya."

"Late? Late?" She stormed toward him, her heels clicking like gunfire against the marble. "You threatened me!"

"You try to send those photos. You sent proof that you’ve been lying to me since the moment we met! Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me!?"

She stopped at the edge of the bed, her hands shaking as she pointed an accusing finger at him. Tears of frustration and shame streaked down her cheeks, catching the neon light.

"I sat on that rooftop tonight and I felt... I felt like I was finally being seen."

"I thought I was finally being understood... I opened up to you about the loneliness, about the invisibility, and all this time, you were just collecting evidence?"

"You were just waiting to use me like some kind of fucking trophy!?"

Her voice cracked, descending into a raw, guttural sob of regret. "I regret every single word I said to you tonight!"

"I regret every second I spent believing your bullshit!"

"I thought you were different from Marc; I thought you were deeper, but you’re worse!"

"You’re infinitely worse because you pretended to care about my soul while you were busy planning how to destroy it."

She leaned over him, her shadow engulfing him, her fury so potent it felt like heat radiating off her skin. "I hate you, Mike... I hate that I came here... I hate that I believed you!"

"I want to erase tonight... I want to erase you."

Mike finally set the phone aside. He sat up slowly, his movements deliberate, predatory, and utterly unbothered by her outburst.

He looked up at her, studying the way her chest heaved with rage, the way her vulnerability had twisted into a weapon she didn’t know how to wield.

"Regret is a powerful emotion, Maya," Mike said quietly, his voice cutting through her hysteria like a blade through silk. "But regret doesn’t change what happened in that cabin."

"And it certainly doesn’t change the fact that you’re here, in my room, exactly where I wanted you."

Mike didn’t flinch at her venom. Instead, a slow, dark smile spread across his lips, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, which remained as cold as polished obsidian. Then, he began to laugh.

It wasn’t a warm laugh. It wasn’t a reassuring chuckle.

It was a low, guttural sound that escalated into a full, mocking peal of amusement, the kind of laughter that belongs to someone who finds genuine joy in watching another person unravel. It was the sound of a predator enjoying the frantic struggles of something caught in its web.

"You really are magnificent when you’re terrified, aren’t you?" Mike said between bouts of cruel laughter, wiping a nonexistent tear from his eye. "All that talk about souls and loneliness, and yet, the moment you think your reputation is at stake, you turn into this predictable, panicked little creature."

"Shut up!" Maya screamed, her voice cracking. "Show me the footage, Mike."

"Show me what you have so we can get this over with!"

"Show me how much you think you own me!"

"Oh, you want to see?" Mike’s laughter died down into a sinister grin.

He grabbed his phone and swiped aggressively, holding the screen up to her face. "Here. Look at your precious ’evidence.’"

Maya leaned forward, her heart hammering against her ribs, bracing herself for the sight of her own degradation. Her eyes darted across the screen, searching for the image of her naked body, the image of her surrender.

But she froze.

The image on the screen wasn’t of her. It wasn’t even on the bed.

It was a photo taken from outside the cabin window during the day, a wide shot where the cabin sat nestled among the trees. In the corner of the frame, clearly visible through the glass of the porch, were three figures: Marc, Maya, and Mike, sitting around a table with coffee mugs.

It was a mundane, almost domestic photo. A photo of three people who seemed to be getting along just fine.

"It’s... it’s just a photo of the cabin," Maya stammered, her anger momentarily short-circuiting into confusion. "The three of us."

"From that day... What the... hell is this?"

Mike broke into another round of laughter, leaning back against the headboard. "Relax, Maya."

"Chill out, bruh... My god, you’re wound tighter than a piano wire."

"I was playing with you. It’s just a photo of the cabin."

Maya stood there, feeling like an idiot. The adrenaline was still coursing through her veins, but the target had vanished.

The shame she had felt moments ago began to transform into a burning, humiliated anger. He had baited her.

He had seen her panic, watched her spiral into a full-blown existential crisis, and he had done it all for a fucking joke.

"You... you asshole," she hissed, her voice trembling not with fear now, but with pure, unadulterated rage. "You made fun of me!"

"You let me believe you let me think you were blackmailing me just to see how I’d react?!"

"Maybe I did," Mike said simply, his eyes glinting with amusement. "You’re entertaining when you’re off balance."

Maya turned to leave, her face flushed crimson. "I’m done! I’m leaving!"

"Don’t ever contact me again."

"Wait," Mike called out, his voice suddenly dropping the mocking tone. It became something else, something flat, serious, and dangerously quiet.

Maya stopped at the door, her hand on the handle, not turning around. "What?"

"I was joking about that photo," Mike said, the words hanging in the air like a guillotine blade. "But when I asked what kind of picture or footage you thought I was talking about..."

He paused, letting the silence stretch until it became unbearable.

"...you didn’t ask me to show you what you did wrong."

"You didn’t ask me to explain, and you just assumed I already had it."

Maya froze. The blood in her veins felt like it had turned to ice.

The realization hit her with the force of a physical blow. She had reacted not like someone who was being falsely accused, but like someone who was bracing for a truth she thought was already known.

"Mike," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "What are you saying?"

"I’m saying," Mike said, rising from the bed and walking toward her with slow, measured steps, "that you just admitted you know exactly what kind of footage exists."