The Billionaire’s Secret Quartet (Thalassa and Elowen)

Chapter 963
Inside the luxurious private room of an upscale underground casino, the slightly chubby man who had kidnapped Thalassa was
going all in with his gambling buddies.
“Roll the dice! If this isn’t a high roll, I’m betting everything I’ve got!” The man slammed a hefty stack of bills on the table, his eyes
bulging like a frog’s as he watched the dice shaker covered by a cup.
After pocketing the money from Daniel, his first stop was this den of vice, desperate to win back what he’d lost before.
His opponent, a man in a loud Hawaiian shirt, idly twirled a cigarette between his lips, letting smoke curl into the air.
With a smirk, he taunted, “You sure you wanna bet high?”
“Positive! Roll!” the chubby man insisted.
The Hawaiian shirt guy poised his hand over the cup, ready to lift the veil on fate.
The chubby man’s eyes widened, his heart pounding as he watched, his future hinging on the hidden numbers.
Just as the cup was about to be lifted....
“Bang!”
The door to the private room was brutally kicked open.
“Who the hell is that!” the chubby man snapped, irritation flaring as he looked toward the entrance.
But then he saw them-a phalanx of bodyguards surrounding a man whose presence was as chilling as an arctic blast. This man
clearly wasn’t someone to mess with.
The chubby man’s bluster shriveled a bit.
Recognizing the newcomer, the Hawaiian shirt guy, a seasoned gambler who knew faces, leapt to his feet and hustled over to
greet him with a bow and scrape.
“Mr. Sinclair! To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit? Today is indeed an honor...”

Before he could finish fawning, a bodyguard shoved him aside.
Lysander advanced toward the chubby man, his gaze sharp and icy.
The chubby man stood up, a frightened smile flashing across his face. “Mr. Sinclair, are you looking for me?”
He’d never met Lysander but knew the rumors. A ruthless tycoon, the king of Starhaven’s elite, with a reputation for
mercilessness-cross him and you’d rue the day.
As Lysander approached, the chubby man’s emotions were a whirlwind of alarm and awe.
Without a word, Lysander signaled a bodyguard with a glance.
Reacting immediately, the bodyguard delivered a swift kick to the chubby man’s midsection.
“Ah!” The man fell to his knees, clutching his stomach, writhing in agony.
The bodyguard knelt down and frisked him, quickly extracting a smartphone from his pocket and handing it to Lysander.
Lysander scrutinized the phone-it was Thalassa’s, turned off.
If Thalassa’s phone was in the possession of this unsightly man, it meant he had taken her.
The air around Lysander turned oppressively cold, as if his fury could freeze the world around him.
His eyes, now lethal slits, fixed on the chubby man rolling on the floor.
“Where is Thalassa?” he demanded.
The chubby man stiffened mid-roll. He hadn’t misheard. Lysander was asking for Thalassa!
Thalassa was the woman he had abducted that day.
As shock seized him, the bodyguards yanked him up and threw him against the wall with a resounding “thud!” His head collided
with the solid surface, stars exploding before his eyes.
Before he could gather his wits, he was hoisted up by the collar and had his arms wrenched behind his back, his wrist twisted at
a bone-warping angle.

“Ah, it hurts, it hurts...” the man cried out in pain.
“Talk. Whose phone is this? Don’t beat around the bush,” the bodyguard threatened, increasing the pressure on the man’s wrist.
Twisted in pain, the chubby man knew if he stayed defiant, the bodyguard might only need to add a little more pressure to shatter
his wrist bones- an agony beyond endurance.