Chapter 85

After an hour, Yelena's incredulous scream echoed through the manor.

"My god! Oh. My. God! Are you kidding me? How did you do it?"

Yelena sat astride Natasha on the sofa in the manor hall, holding Natasha's charming face between her hands, moving closer and examining it intently, her eyes wide as if inspecting it with a magnifying glass.

She had just gone to sleep, and after waking up, she suddenly noticed the incredible changes in Natasha sitting on the sofa. It wasn't an exaggeration—Natasha had changed so much that Yelena could hardly believe her eyes.

Natasha's once delicate and charming face now seemed to have undergone some kind of precise plastic surgery. Her pores had disappeared, her skin was whiter, and everything looked far more refined.

The most striking detail was that Yelena clearly remembered the scars on Natasha's arms, exposed by her short vest, and the one on her face—both had vanished.

It seemed as if they had been magically repaired.

As the saying goes, "whiteness hides all flaws." Natasha's skin, as a Russian, was naturally pale, but it had never been as white as that of someone with truly porcelain skin. Now, however, her skin had become even more flawless, with her pores shrinking, making her appear more refined and beautiful. Even her overall aura seemed to have improved.

As a woman, how could Yelena not feel a surge of envy and jealousy? Her jealousy was about to spill over.

A fanatical Yelena grabbed Natasha's face and demanded urgently, her voice full of desperation. She too wanted to become more beautiful, more refined.

And it wasn't just her. Melina, standing beside them, also cast envious, eager glances in Natasha's direction.

Natasha, for her part, seemed to enjoy it. Relishing her sister's obsessive admiration, she allowed Yelena to manhandle her face without protest, teasing her with silence.

"Not telling you," Natasha finally said, the words as sharp as a knife.

Yelena froze, her entire body going rigid. An intense murderous intent flashed in her eyes as she lowered her voice, sounding like a deranged killer.

"Believe me, if you don't tell me your secret, I'll use the cruelest methods imaginable to dismember you, tear out your throat, and rip out your heart."

"No way. I'm not telling you. No. Matter. What," Natasha replied, completely unfazed.

This made the once-menacing Yelena transform instantly into a little girl who had missed her bedtime candy. She clung to her sister, using the most irritatingly sweet voice imaginable.

"My dearest sister Natasha, we're blood relatives! Are you really going to treat your beloved little sister like this? Tell me, sister Naaa~taaa~shaaa~"

Yelena was relentless, willing to risk everything. Beside her, Melina couldn't bear to watch anymore. She sat down next to Natasha, her beautiful eyes full of warmth as she gazed at her.

All the commotion didn't go unnoticed. Alexei, who was grabbing whiskey from the bar's refrigerator nearby, couldn't help but shiver.

Feeling goosebumps rise, he muttered under his breath, "Am I still dreaming?"

Beside him, Leon, who was squeezing juice, smiled quietly and said nothing, casting a gentle glance toward the sofa.

Sure enough, Natasha, who had undergone such a drastic change, had become something different—perhaps even more sinister. But, in his heart, Leon admitted he liked this version of her.

Houston Police Department.

The police station was bustling with activity as officers hurried back and forth.

Inside the station's conference room, several sergeants from the joint investigation team sat in their chairs, surrounded by a cloud of smoke. The white police chief of Houston stood at the podium, while a projector displayed surveillance footage from several locations across the city. His expression was grim.

"Damn it, there's nothing there! Did he just vanish into thin air?"

The investigation team was stumped. Tire tracks clearly indicated that two cars were headed toward Houston along the highway, but the surveillance footage didn't capture either of them. They found other cars passing by, but after thoroughly reviewing the footage, the target vehicles were nowhere to be seen.

In fact, those cars weren't found on the highway at all. They were picked up on different roads entirely, but still left tire marks on the highway. It made no sense.

It was as if the two cars simply disappeared from the footage. Several police chiefs even suspected that the surveillance had been tampered with, but after consulting multiple experts, the final judgment was that everything was functioning normally.

But it defied reason.

It was as if the laws of physics had been violated. How could two cars just vanish like that? It was beyond bizarre.

"We just need one goddamned clue. Just one! Fuck!" The investigation seemed to have hit a dead end, frustrating several police chiefs.

What made it worse was that the military satellite footage had been obscured due to stormy weather at the time. The screen was unclear, then a golden light flashed briefly before dark clouds blocked the view again. No one could figure out what had happened.

As the police chiefs sat smoking cigarettes, deep in thought, a knock on the door interrupted their conversation. The white police chief called out, "Come in." A female officer opened the door and announced, "Sir, the FBI is here."

At her words, several men in suits entered the room. The police chiefs exchanged glances, no longer holding their cigarettes to their lips. The white police chief, Marley, wore a cold expression. He glanced at the visiting FBI agents and said, "I'm Marley. Is there something you need?"

The FBI, after all, isn't directly affiliated with local police departments, and there's often tension between the two. They have no hierarchical relationship, so there's no need for formalities. Local police typically have a different attitude toward troublesome federal agencies like the FBI—unless there's an acquaintance involved.

The lead FBI agent, a white man, didn't seem bothered by the cold reception. He smiled gently, took out a document, and handed it to Chief Marley. "Sorry to interrupt your meeting, Chief Marley. We only have a brief understanding of the situation, but it's drawn the attention of multiple departments."

"We don't intend to interfere with the joint investigation. In fact, we're here to offer some assistance. Once the investigation is complete, you can close the case, and we won't take over any further follow-up."

After hearing this, the police chiefs' expressions softened noticeably.

Several of the senior police chiefs understood the subtext behind the FBI agent's words. They were here merely to observe, not to intervene, offering help without the intention of taking credit afterward.

Marley eyed the white agent in front of him thoughtfully. "This isn't like the FBI's usual style."

The FBI was known for being more aggressive, and this approach felt almost like charity.

The white agent maintained a neutral expression, pretending not to hear the remark. After all, he wasn't really from the FBI.