"What kind of incompetence is this?" she bellowed into the speaker, her voice slicing through the luxurious lounge like a blade. The tinted glass walls of the mega yacht seemed to tremble under the weight of her fury.
"You and your entire government—you fail to capture, yet kill just one person?" She paced by the gleaming bar, her stiletto heels tapping sharply against the polished teak floor.
A hesitant silence lingered on the other end of the speaker, broken only by muffled shuffling.
She scoffed, gripping the sleek control panel as though it might anchor her rage. "I gave you one task. One! And you failed me miserably. Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable!"
The other passengers—elites of high society, draped in fine linen and gold—froze mid-conversation. Her siblings stiffened, exchanging wary glances. The air, once filled with murmurs of refined gossip and the clinking of champagne glasses, had now become a silent stage for her outburst.
A hesitant voice crackled from the speaker. "Your brother kept bringing up tricks—we underestimated him."
She laughed, cold and biting. A sharp, cutting sound that made even the most self-assured among them shrink back.
"Excuses? Oh, how predictable," she spat, turning toward the wall of glass that revealed the endless ocean beyond. "You failed! And now you scramble for words to soften your disgrace? Pathetic. Don't waste my time."
The quiet that followed was thick enough to drown in.
She inhaled sharply, steadying herself before leaning back into the speaker with icy precision. "I paid your government a whole lot of money. Apart from that, our businesses in your country—how much in taxes do you extract? Should I even talk about the charity money we give you?"
The silence stretched, thick with apprehension.
Chalwita Chungu—her younger brother, ever the reckless one—leaned toward their eldest sibling. "Perhaps she should calm down. After all, it's just—"
"Mind your own business!" she snapped, rounding on him with a glare fierce enough to cut through steel. If looks could kill, he would have been thrown overboard already.
She pushed away from the control panel, the sleek marble counter cold beneath her fingers. With an impatient shrug, she straightened her posture, her silk dress swaying elegantly as she strode across the deck.
Unbelievable.
She climbed the spiral staircase with calculated grace, each step measured, unwavering. The top floor awaited—her sanctuary above the chaos, where she could think without the prying eyes of aristocrats who dared judge what they could never understand.
The ocean stretched infinitely beyond the tinted windows, indifferent to her fury. If no one could do the job right, she'd handle it herself.
"My apologies, Madam Chungu," the man stammered, his voice trembling through the speaker. "We almost had him. Our air force jet struck his convoy at the border to South Africa, but his Lamborghini Urus landed just across the line. He's now held in the largest prison there. Our government is negotiating to extradite him back to face justice, but South Africa claims he's one of their citizens. If he's to stand trial, they insist it must be at the International Court of Law."
Judy Chungu stood on the top balcony of the luxury mega yacht, the ocean breeze tousling her hair as she listened. Her grip on the railing tightened, her knuckles white against the polished steel. The man's explanation only fueled the fire raging within her.
"Bullshit!" she snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. "He doesn't deserve a trial. I want him dead—or alive. Fine. I'll find another way to get him."
With a sudden, unrestrained burst of fury, she hurled the phone onto the deck below. It shattered on impact, pieces scattering across the polished teak floor. The sound echoed through the yacht, silencing the murmurs of the guests below.
Her siblings and the gathered elites stared up at her in stunned disbelief. The tension was palpable, the air thick with unease. Judy's presence was commanding, her anger a force that seemed to ripple through the very structure of the yacht.
Clutching the cold steel bars of the balcony, she gazed out into the abyss of the night. The freezing wind cut through her like shards of ice, but with every passing second, she felt the fire within her begin to settle. Her breathing slowed, her pulse steadied. Clarity seeped in, sharp and undeniable.
A new idea crept into her mind, slithering into place like a cunning predator. The challenge that once seemed like a failure now twisted into something promising. A faint grin tugged at the corner of her lips, dark and knowing.
She whispered, her voice thick with chilling resolve, "It's just the beginning, Contratino. You haven't seen the darkness inside me—the horrors that haunt me in the night." She exhaled sharply, fingers tightening around the rail. "I'll give you a taste of it. Let's see if you survive my second wave of revenge."
Then, without restraint, she threw her head back and laughed—an eerie, echoing sound that carried across the ocean, swallowed only by the endless black waves.
Judy exhaled sharply, gripping the steel bars of the balcony as she gazed into the endless black sea. The night stretched before her, vast and indifferent, swallowing her rage whole. The icy wind clawed at her skin, biting into her arms through the thin silk of her dress, but the cold no longer felt like an enemy.
No, it grounded her. It sharpened her.
Her breathing slowed, her pulse steadied. The fire inside her wasn't extinguished—just redirected, refined. Her fury had evolved into something far more dangerous.
Her gaze flickered downward toward the shattered remains of her phone. Glass shards glittered under the soft yacht lighting, fractured pieces of what had once been sleek technology, now reduced to ruin beneath her wrath. But the device itself was meaningless.
What mattered was inside.
With calculated movements, she crouched, fingers skimming through the wreckage. Sharp edges pressed against her fingertips, but she ignored the sting, too focused to care.
Then—there it was.
The SIM card.
She lifted the tiny sliver of metal between her fingers, turning it over slowly, almost reverently. A slow, knowing grin curled at the corner of her lips. This wasn't just a piece of plastic—it was a key. A direct link to the failures who had disappointed her, the ones who owed her answers, the people who would soon understand just how relentless she could be.
She straightened, tucking the card away, slipping it into the hidden fold of her dress. Her mind raced ahead, pulling threads of a new plan into place.
Contratino thought crossing that border had saved him. Thought diplomacy, foreign governments, and international courts could shield him.
How laughable.
She tightened her grip on the railing, letting the ocean's chill seep through her, heightening the clarity that now settled in her mind.
"You think you've won," she murmured, the words barely more than a breath, but heavy with venom. "You haven't seen the darkness inside me—the horrors that haunt me in the night." Her fingers curled tighter against the steel. "I'll give you a taste of them, Contratino. Let's see if you survive my second wave of revenge."
Then, without restraint, she laughed.
The sound was low at first, a whisper of amusement, but it grew—wild, echoing into the open waters, swallowed only by the endless black waves.
She had not left the balcony yet.
But soon, she would.
And when she did, the game would truly begin.