The air in the mansion of Ore Island's governor was thick with an almost palpable anticipation.
Toliver strode purposefully down the marble hallway, his polished shoes echoing sharply against the pristine floors. His destination was clear—Orla's private quarters.
"Governor, I need to speak with you. It's urgent!" he called out, his voice carrying an edge of alarm that refused to be masked.
From inside the room, a woman's voice answered, her tone teasing. "Toliver, this isn't like you. What's got you so rattled?"
Barely keeping his composure, he replied, "The man you've taken an interest in... He's crossed the Viper Crew!"
"Hmm?" A soft hum of surprise escaped from the room. Moments later, the faint sound of footsteps approached the door. It swung open smoothly, revealing Orla herself.
Her beauty was otherworldly—her high ponytail tied neatly, complemented by a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips. She was wrapped in a flowing white gown that enhanced her ethereal presence, creating a vision so striking it could leave anyone breathless.
Toliver lowered his gaze instinctively, a gesture of respect—and perhaps a measure of self-preservation. He knew well that if the woman before him truly posed no threat, it would only mean he was already marked for death.
"Greetings, my Lord," he said firmly.
Orla's smile widened slightly as she observed him. "Toliver, you're always so formal. I've told you before—relax a bit when you see me."
"Hierarchy must be respected," Toliver replied without looking up. "You are my master, and I am your servant. Order must be upheld."
Only he knew just how terrifying this breathtaking woman truly was.
Orla sighed as she took in his rigid demeanor, a trace of helplessness crossing her delicate face.
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