48: Chapter 48 The Death Trap at the Ball

The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Contemporary Art Gallery.

In the eyes of ordinary people, this place was a vanity fair, a temple filled with champagne, hypocrisy, and art.

But in Chen Mo's eyes, this was a meticulously arranged slaughterhouse.

He wore gold-rimmed glasses and a high-end bespoke suit, elegantly holding a glass of soda, looking exactly like a naive young nobleman.

"Master of Disguise" perfectly deceived everyone's eyes.

Yet his brain was like a quantum computer running at ultra-high frequency, dismantling and reconstructing the structural data of the entire gallery!

"Advanced Engineering" activated!

"At three o'clock, there is a 0.5-meter cavity behind the load-bearing pillar, a blind spot for hiding."

"The central air conditioning overhead, the grille screws have fresh scratches from being turned, and this isn't in the maintenance records."

"At seven o'clock, the fire exit, the access control light is abnormally and constantly green; the internal power supply has been tampered with."

Every architectural flaw turned into a lethal red alert, flashing frantically in his mind.

This magnificent, glittering temple was, in his eyes, nothing more than a tactical map filled with traps and murderous intent.

"The prey has entered."

George, disguised as a maintenance worker, spoke through the miniature earpiece, his voice carrying a hint of gravity.

The gallery doors opened.

Ava Rockefeller walked in, like a blood-red rose blooming on the edge of a cliff.

She wore a deep red backless evening gown, chin held high, maintaining the last bit of pride of a Rockefeller heiress.

But Chen Mo's "Dynamic Vision" pierced through that disguise, clearly capturing the fear and despair deep in her eyes.

She wasn't here to attend the ball.

She was here to die.

The crowd parted automatically like Moses parting the sea, the gazes cast upon her mixed with pity, schadenfreude, and indifference.

In this circle that only recognizes power, the scent of the fallen is more exciting than rotting meat.

Ava's gaze anxiously scanned the room, like a drowning hand desperately searching for a straw to save her life.

When she saw that calm figure by the railing on the second floor, her shoulders, tense to the point of pain, finally relaxed slightly.

Chen Mo raised his soda in a silent toast.

In that very second, the killing intent erupted!

"Dynamic Vision" running at full power! Three red lethal threat boxes locked on instantly!

To the rear right, the waiter carrying a tray—the calluses on the web of his hand were the grip marks of a standard military firearm!

In the crowd to the left, a bodyguard wearing sunglasses moved his lips, issuing instructions into a lapel microphone, his gaze locked tightly onto Ava's carotid artery!

In the shadow of the dome overhead, a lens reflection flashed and vanished! A sniper!

"Group C configuration, three points in a line, standard liquidation procedure."

Chen Mo's voice was without a ripple as he issued instructions into the microphone at his collar.

"George, east corridor, give me ten seconds of darkness."

"Received! Three, two, one!"

Zzzzt!

The lights on the east side of the gallery suddenly went dark, plunging the area into pitch-black darkness!

The crowd erupted into shrill screams and commotion.

Now!

Chen Mo's figure did not pause in the slightest, blending into the chaotic crowd like a ghost.

He did not run; every step landed in the gaps of the moving, panicked crowd, appearing precisely on the path of that disguised waiter.

The waiter was shocked and was just about to pull the suppressed glock from his coat.

A hand "accidentally" bumped into him.

"Sorry."

A gentle male voice sounded.

Yet the waiter felt as if his right arm had been struck by high-voltage electricity, paralyzing it instantly!

That seemingly weak hand had tapped his pressure point like an iron pincer, and with a swift motion, the cold glock pistol in his coat had changed hands!

The entire process was so fast that the waiter's brain couldn't even process it!

"You..."

Before he could even finish the word, a hard object was pressed firmly against his abdomen.

It was a gun barrel!

The lights came back on.

Chen Mo was still the refined young nobleman, his smile warm, even helping the waiter straighten his crooked bowtie.

He leaned into the waiter's ear, his voice soft enough for only the two of them to hear, yet it carried a chill that could freeze a person's soul.

"Get lost, or die here."

The waiter's pupils shrank to pinpoints!

He saw the look in the other man's eyes—it wasn't a warning, it wasn't a threat, it was the statement of a predetermined fact!

This man... is a monster!

He scrambled away and disappeared into the crowd.

Chen Mo turned around, as if he had only done a trivial thing, and walked toward Ava, who was pale and being besieged by several socialites.

He pulled her into his arms, his strong masculine scent enveloping her.

To outsiders, this looked like intimacy between lovers.

But Ava heard a command, cold to the extreme, whispered against her ear.

"Three o'clock, follow me. Don't look back, straighten your back; you are a Rockefeller."

Ava stiffened.

This man's embrace clearly held warmth, yet it made her feel colder than being in an ice cellar.

Like a marionette, she was led through the crowd by Chen Mo.

Two unmasked killing intents, like searchlights, locked tightly onto them.

"But I pulled one of their teeth," Chen Mo's voice held a hint of amusement. "Now, smile, Ava. The happier you smile, the faster they die."

Ava didn't know how she managed to force that smile.

The two finally stopped behind a massive abstract sculpture—an absolute blind spot for surveillance.

"It seems they don't intend to give up." Chen Mo released Ava and unbuttoned his suit jacket.

"Ouroboros never misses!" George's voice sounded in the earpiece. "The sniper is still looking for an angle; the moment you are exposed, you'll get a headshot!"

"Then today will be the first day they miss."

Chen Mo pulled out the glock he had just seized, skillfully racked the slide, and then performed an action that left Ava dumbfounded.

He shoved the gun into her cold hands.

"Hold it tight."

"What?" Ava felt like she was holding a branding iron, her voice trembling.

"There are twelve rounds here," Chen Mo's eyes held no emotion, only the coolness of a hunter inspecting a tool.

"Stay here and don't move. Count from one to thirty, and then scream with all the strength you have in your life."

He paused, his figure beginning to merge into the deep shadows cast by the sculpture, leaving behind only one sentence that made her blood run cold.

"After you scream, anyone who walks toward you—as long as it isn't me—shoot them dead."