Hacking the Game Didn't Go as Intended [Part Two]

CHAPTER 223: Viktor Vauclain

A young man approached.

He moved with a slow, deliberate grace, the soft click of his polished shoes against the wooden steps heralding his arrival. His silver hair was permed and swept back in lush, slick waves, framing a face so striking that the women momentarily forgot how to breathe.

His attire was exquisite—fine silks, tailored with a noble's precision, his hands adorned with expensive rings that gleamed under the lantern's glow. His expression was cool, yet his smile—smooth and knowing—made their stomachs flutter.

Was this it? Had their dream finally come true?

One of them swallowed hard. "I-Is he a secret admirer...?"

Another whispered breathlessly, "Is he here to sweep one of us away...?"

Their wide-eyed awe deepened when he spoke, his voice rich and refined, each word rolling off his tongue like poetry.

"Ladies... you're all looking rather dashing this afternoon."

The girls blushed.

"My name is Vauclain... Viktor Vauclain, and I require an audience with the business owner. I have a proposition I believe they would not want to miss," he said, his gestures as extravagant as the jewelry he wore.

The women gawked at him, their hopeless eyes shimmering with longing. But none dared to keep him waiting. With a respectful bow, one of the hosts quickly disappeared inside to relay the message.

***

Behind the velvet curtains and gold-trimmed doors were flushed skin, soft giggles, intoxication, and a near-tangible hunger to indulge every desire. But the mood in one particular chamber was considerably less dreamy.

"You're making a mistake, Valoria."

Milton's deep, gravelly voice carried through the dimly lit hallway as he trailed behind the woman into her office. He was of an average build, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight with frustration.

Valoria, the brothel keeper, didn't spare him a glance. Draped in a luxurious off-the-shoulder oriental gown, she moved with the air of a woman who had long since learned that power wasn't just given—it was seized.

"You're still going on about this?" she sighed, sinking into her chair and pouring herself a glass of wine. "Milton, for the last time, drop it."

The man's brow furrowed, his tone edged with impatience. "Lord Zerbst has been abusing the girls, Valoria. If you don't put out a restraining order, he'll just keep coming back—"

"A restraining order?" she scoffed, swirling her wine. "Do you really think that would stop an aristocrat?"

"At the very least, ban him from entering this place!" Milton pressed. "How many more women have to suffer before you take action?"

The woman finally looked up, her expression unreadable. "And risk angering one of our most influential clients? Are you dense, or just naïve?"

Milton clenched his fists. "You're letting him do whatever he wants because he's rich."

"No, I'm keeping this business from crumbling under the weight of its own defiance," she retorted. "You're a bodyguard, Milton. That means you don't get paid for your opinions. Your job is to shut up and protect me—not develop feelings for the prostitutes."

The tension in the room was thick, but before Milton could respond, a knock at the door interrupted them. The host from earlier stepped in and bowed respectfully.

"Madame, Sir Viktor Vauclain requests an audience with you. He says he has urgent business."

Milton's gaze flickered to the host, then to the unfamiliar name. He frowned, scrutinizing the man who followed closely behind. The moment he laid eyes on the silver-haired guest, something about him felt... off.

Valoria, on the other hand, arched a perfectly tweezed eyebrow. "Very well," she said, setting down her glass. "Milton, you're dismissed. Stand outside the door."

The man lingered for a moment, staring hard at the stranger before turning on his heel and stepping out.

Once the door shut, Valoria leaned back in her chair, fixing her guest with a calculating gaze. "Now then... what business does a wealthy merchant have with a place like mine?"

Viktor smiled, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I take it you are the owner of this establishment?"

"That's correct."

He adjusted one of the rings on his fingers. "I won't waste your time, then. I'm a businessman looking to expand my portfolio. Your brothel is well-known in the district, and I'm interested in acquiring it."

Valoria let out a short, mirthless laugh. "You wish to buy my brothel?"

"That's correct," Viktor said smoothly. "And I'm willing to pay three times its value."

She tilted her head, swirling her wine glass. "Three times its value and yet, you haven't even asked what that value is. Either you're an arrogant fool, or you think money alone can get you answers."

Viktor's eyes glinted. "I was hoping you could provide those answers, Lady Valoria. For example, are the brothels in this district independent entities... or is there a larger organization overseeing them?"

The woman set her glass down with an audible clink. "Why would that matter to you?"

"Because I like to know what I'm getting into before making an investment," he replied casually. "You understand, of course."

Valoria's lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. "I do. But unfortunately, my business is not for sale. And as for your other questions..." Her gaze hardened. "I'm afraid I can't answer them."

Daisuke's expression remained unreadable, but inwardly, he frowned. Looks like she's under a gag order. Even with an absurd offer on the table, she won't budge. Someone—or something—is keeping her silent.

His fingers tapped idly against his ring as a new strategy formed in his mind.

If money wouldn't loosen her tongue.

It was time for Plan B.