Greyson stepped into his room and quietly closed the door behind him. He leaned back against it, eyes shut tightly, as if bracing himself from the inside out. He didn’t want to show anyone the storm brewing within him.
Yes… he was feeling guilty.
Guilty for only telling Lena half the truth—and keeping the other half locked away inside. He had always been a master of words, of weaving truths and half-truths into something believable… something convenient. But now, the silence around him felt heavier than ever.
Still leaning against the door, Greyson slowly slid down to the floor. He sat there, back pressed to the wood, knees stretched out, breathing deeply. The kind of breath that comes after a long, exhausting run… except this wasn’t physical. This was a marathon of emotions.
The quiet of the room made the sound of his breathing echo faintly. In this dim, still air, even the smallest exhale seemed loud.
His muscles relaxed as he slumped on the floor, his entire frame surrendering to gravity. After a moment, he opened his eyes and stared upward. Red veins streaked across his tired gaze, signs of the battle going on inside him. His lips were pressed tightly together.
For a long while, he just stared at the ceiling, lost… until the past began to slip into the present.
If you turned the hands of the clock back—say, twelve years—this same room would look almost exactly the same. But back then… something was different. Something about the air, the energy, the silence—it was heavier that night. The entire mansion, as pristine and white as it was, had seemed cloaked in grief.
The room had been shrouded in darkness.
It was around a month after Greyson's parents had died. A full month. But the wounds… they hadn’t healed. Not even close.
Just earlier that night, Greyson had lashed out at Max—yelled at him, insulted him, and then thrown him out of the room. Now, he sat here alone, slouched beside the bed, his head bowed, shoulders heavy.
No… he didn’t cry anymore. But he didn’t smile either.
Gone were the days when he mocked Max just to feel something. He barely spoke now. And when Max managed to force a few bites of food into him, Greyson ate mechanically—without thought or appetite.
In all his life, the only people he had ever truly been close to… were his mom and dad.
Even at twenty, Greyson had clung to them like a child. Their absence had torn a hole in his world that nothing could fill.
Everywhere he went in the mansion, he saw them.
In the kitchen—his mom, baking his favorite cookies, humming softly.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡD4lrUiV3Vj
In the study—his dad, rocking in the chair, buried in a book.
Greyson would shake his head, try to snap himself out of it. Try to tell himself that they were gone. That they weren’t coming back.
But somehow… his heart never listened.
His mind refused to accept that finality.
Not when the pain still felt so fresh.
He sat there in silence, staring down at his own hands. His eyes looked calm… but the tears that were falling on his heart told a different story—one only he could feel.
Suddenly, the door flew open, slammed with the kind of urgency that shattered the quiet, and someone stepped in.
With a swift hand, the intruder hit the switchboard—flooding the room with light.
Greyson winced. The sudden brightness stung his eyes, long accustomed to the comfort of darkness. But he didn’t move, didn’t even lift his head. He remained seated, unmoving, his gaze still lowered.
The man stomped over, his anger boiling, and stopped in front of him. Without warning, he grabbed both of Greyson’s shoulders and yanked him up to his feet.
Greyson didn’t resist. He stood, quietly, but his eyes never lifted from the man’s shoes.
With a voice like thunder, the man snapped, shaking him, “How long are you going to stay like this, huh? How long will you keep mourning like a coward? If the pain is real, then stand the hell up and go find the ones who murdered your parents. Make them pay!”
He shoved Greyson lightly in the chest, and Greyson staggered back a step—but still didn’t look up.
In a tired, worn-out voice, he murmured, “Why do you keep coming here... every day? I don’t want to be like Dad. I don’t want to lead the agency. I don’t care. I don’t want to end up dead like them.”
The pain in his voice was raw.
The man scoffed, his lips curling in disdain. “You can’t be Hudson’s son,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I refuse to believe you came from him. Hudson’s son would never be this weak—this terrified of death.”
For the first time, Greyson lifted his eyes, hurt radiating from them as they met the sharp, disappointed gaze of Augustus West.
Augustus stood tall, hands folded behind his back, staring down at Greyson with a mix of cold fire and a father’s silent plea.
“Just say it once,” Augustus said, firm and bitter. “Say you’re not Hudson’s son… and I swear, I’ll never ask again. I’ll walk away. I won’t ever come back. I won’t ask you to take over the agency. Just say it.”
His words were like a blade—asking Greyson to disown the man he loved most.
Greyson’s voice broke into a whisper, “Please… don’t say that. You can’t say that…”
If anyone else had spoken like this, maybe Greyson’s response would have been colder—sharper. But this was Augustus. After his father’s death, he was the only man Greyson ever respected… ever looked at like a second father.
How could he yell at him?
Augustus leaned in, his voice now harder. “Then prove it. Prove you’re Hudson’s son. Because right now—” he glanced at him with mocking disappointment, “—you don’t look like the son of a man who stared death in the face without flinching. Your father never cared if he died… because he knew, if he did, he’d die with honor.”
Augustus was breathing hard now, his chest heaving as the weight of his words pushed the air from his lungs.
Greyson, eyes lowered, listened quietly.
Augustus knew his weakness—family. That was the pressure point. That’s where he’d strike. Yes, it would hurt him, but at least… it would get him to move.
(Good. Let him bleed a little if it brings him back in line,) Augustus thought grimly.
Finally, Greyson spoke, voice low and shaken, “…Alright. Just give me a little time. I’ll come to the agency. I’ll learn everything.”
Augustus snapped, “I’m not your servant. You’ll be there tomorrow. Or I will have you dragged in like a helpless little boy—I know exactly how that’s done.”
This time, he aimed directly at Greyson’s pride.
Greyson flinched—but didn’t speak. He simply nodded.
Something shifted in Augustus’ face. His eyes softened.
He stepped forward, placed a strong hand on Greyson’s shoulder, and said quietly, “You’re the last pillar of this house now. Your father built that agency with his blood… and if you collapse, this entire empire—his life’s work—will collapse with you.”
Then, gently, he took Greyson’s hand in both of his.
“And Hudson’s son would never let that happen… would he?”
He waited.
Greyson nodded, almost imperceptibly.
With that, Augustus pulled him into a tight, firm hug—his arms wrapping around the boy like a shield.
He didn’t say much after that. Just held him.
And Greyson leaned into him, resting his head on Augustus’ shoulder, eyes closed. There was a stillness inside him now. A strange, unfamiliar peace. Maybe… purpose.
Augustus pulled back, looked him over once more, and smiled faintly.
“Tomorrow morning. I want you at the agency, dressed in a suit, standing tall. Understood?”
And with that, he turned and walked out.
Greyson stood there silently, watching him disappear down the stairs.
When he was gone, Greyson stepped out of the room himself… and quietly sat down on the steps Augustus had just descended.
Max sat on the couch, one eye bruised and a swollen cheek on the same side. He looked like he’d been in the ring with a heavyweight. As soon as Augustus descended the stairs, Max sprang to his feet and asked anxiously, “What happened, Uncle? Did Greyson agree?”
Augustus exhaled deeply, a small nod following.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡF54qpi6XyT
“He’s Hudson’s son… After the way I spoke to him today—cutting through his pride and pain—there was no way his blood wouldn’t respond.”
Upstairs, Greyson still sat on the steps silently, eyes fixed on nothing.
Max glanced toward the staircase with a worried frown. “He’s okay, right…?” His voice was laced with the kind of gentle worry only found in mothers .
Augustus looked at Max.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBpXzCHRrRF
A torn lip.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡh9ro8HxMRm
A swollen cheek.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡU6JGsGcIza
A fading bruise below one eye.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYnnlwAsd9K
All remnants of a beating he hadn’t even fought back against.
In that moment, something softened in Augustus. He looked at the boy with a rare kind of tenderness. “Put some ointment on those bruises, kid.”
Max waved him off casually. “Let it go, Uncle. I’m just used to having a violent best friend now,” he added, shrugging with a crooked smile. “Kind of grown fond of it.”
Augustus couldn’t help but chuckle.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡcMpaSkbw90
He and Hudson had once been exactly like this.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRoV0vKy7cf
Now, in their place, stood Greyson and Max.
Getting up from the couch, Augustus moved toward the lounge exit. As he passed Max, he said with a smirk, “Take care of your violent best friend. And maybe learn a little self-defense, son.”
Max followed him, walking side by side as they headed out. “I do know self-defense,” he quipped. “I just don’t use it when Greyson’s beating me up. Doesn’t feel like I need to.”
Augustus gave him a curious look. “Why not?”
Max tilted his head and replied—almost proudly, in a louder voice, “Because even when he’s angry and hitting me… he still makes sure not to hit me anywhere it would actually hurt.”
The way he said it—so full of loyalty and strange pride—felt like it deserved applause. Augustus laughed out loud at Max’s ridiculous sense of honor and pain tolerance. He muttered something under his breath with a fond smile and walked out, Max trailing behind him.
Greyson, still seated on the staircase, watched them go—Augustus with his strong stride, Max right behind with that familiar lopsided energy.
As their figures disappeared from view, Greyson quietly raised his right hand, shaped it into a fist, and stared at the faint red marks still imprinted on his knuckles. Scratches from where he'd hit Max.
After a long pause, he stood up from the steps and walked slowly to his room.
Once inside, he leaned his back against the closed door… and slid down to the floor—quietly sitting, once again surrounded by silence.
Back in the present…
Greyson still sat in the same place, just as silent—but something was different now. He wasn’t the same broken boy from twelve years ago.
That fragile Greyson… had been left far behind.
A faint, bitter smile touched his lips as he whispered to himself, as if reinforcing his own resolve,16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvbNVHJftIA
“I can’t collapse. I’m the only pillar left of this empire... I can’t fall apart…”
Then he looked up at the ceiling with hollow eyes, his voice laced with quiet sorrow.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRzSPMCRKcu
“You really put me in a tough spot, you know? You left your granddaughter’s protection in my hands. But did you really have to do something for me... before you left this world?”
There was accusation in his voice now, an ache as raw as a wound.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQzd0mRYpaN
“Your pride got in the way, didn’t it? You followed your heart, but did you stop to think about mine, Grandfather? Did you think what this would do to me?”
He paused, then added brokenly,16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSzk7c3kMT0
“You always said I was full of pride and dignity… like Hudson’s son should be. But you—without even asking me—you began investigating my parents’ murder. And because of that… they didn’t spare you either.”
Greyson’s voice cracked under the weight of his grief.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpqwAI2Kl7g
“So now what? Should I drown in shame? Because you died… because of me?”
His black eyes welled with hurt, with pain that bled into every syllable.
Outside, the sun had set. The moon had taken its place in the sky, bringing with it a trail of stars.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9sNIl2xKNQ
Lena sat quietly on the carpet laid across her terrace floor, silently gazing up at the night sky glittering with moonlight and stars.
The terrace was drenched in light—so bright, it almost stung the eyes.
Greyson, walking softly with narrowed eyes adjusting to the brightness, moved down the hallway slowly. But just as he reached a certain point, everything went dark.
The lights vanished. The hallway was swallowed by blackness.
And then… came the blood.
Greyson's breath caught in his throat.
There was blood everywhere—splattered across the floor, smeared across the walls. Panic bloomed in his chest as he instinctively pressed his back to the cold wall, scanning his surroundings in alarm.
Suddenly, a voice broke the silence—a woman’s voice, trembling with pain, drowning in agony.
“Greyson… Greyson… help me, my son…”
It was his mother.
His mother’s voice.
Greyson’s face crumbled in horror. “Mom? Where are you…?”16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDB8pW1fSCs
He ran. He ran blindly through the black corridor, chasing her voice like a ghost.
“Mom! Please—where are you?! Say something!”
But silence fell again—thick and deafening.
Then…
BANG!
A gunshot echoed through the hallway.
Greyson fell to his knees, gasping. Something warm and wet crept along his hands and feet. He looked down—
Blood.
He frantically tried wiping it off his hands, his clothes, his shoes—his breath coming in sharp bursts.
There was blood everywhere.
And in one dark corner, a woman’s body lay twisted… broken… bleeding. The floor beneath her was already soaked red.
“No…” Greyson whispered, stumbling forward.
He knelt and gently turned her face toward him.
His mind shattered.
It was her. His mother.
A sob escaped his lips. He backed away in horror, dragging himself along the floor until his back hit the wall. And then he wept—loud, uncontrolled sobs echoing off the walls.
“M-Mom… what happened to you…? Please… get up, Mom… please, don’t do this to me—get up!”
He crawled forward again, desperate to reach her—
But suddenly, her body was engulfed in flames.
A blinding fire roared to life, forcing Greyson to recoil in terror.
His eyes snapped open. He jerked upright in bed, his body drenched in sweat, chest heaving.
His heart raced.
His breath wouldn’t come easily. His lungs burned. The nightmare had returned—just like it always did when he stayed in this house.
His sanctuary… and his curse.
Without wasting another second, Greyson jumped out of bed. His hands were trembling as he rushed to the windows, flinging them open one by one to let the night air in.
Still shaking, he stumbled toward the terrace door, unlocked it, and stepped outside.
Leaning forward, both hands gripping the railing, he bent over and took deep, gasping breaths of the cold night air—trying to push the nightmare out of his chest.
From the other side, sitting quietly on her terrace, Lena heard the faint sound of a door opening.
Curious, she leaned forward slightly—and there he was.
Greyson stood by his terrace railing, both hands gripping the cold metal, his head bowed low, breath coming in rapid gasps. Even in this chilly night air, sweat clung to his face and neck. From where she sat, she could only see his side profile, but even that was enough. She could see the pain etched on his face. The unrest. The exhaustion.
He looked… haunted.
Lena watched him in silence for a moment, her gaze softening.
Then she stepped closer, leaning just a little over her own railing and spoke gently, her voice laced with concern:
“Are you okay…?”
Her soft question floated across the quiet night like a whisper. Greyson turned slightly, glancing toward his left—there she was, both hands resting on the railing, her figure tilted forward, concern written clearly on her face.
He forced a faint, unconvincing smile and replied, “I’m fine… it was just getting suffocating in the room. So I came out here for some air.”
It was an empty excuse. And he knew it.
Trying to deflect, he asked, “What about you? Why are you out here so late?”
Lena replied simply, “I was suffocating too.”
Greyson didn’t respond. He just stared at the sky, his elbows resting on the railing.
Lena looked up too.
A quiet, star-studded pause lingered between them, the night wrapped in stillness—until Lena broke the silence, her voice gentle, barely above a whisper:
“Do old memories… ever haunt you too?”
The question took Greyson by surprise.
He didn’t respond right away.
He turned his head slightly, looking at her—not with annoyance or confusion, but with a stillness, as if the words had touched something buried deep inside him.
Lena continued softly, her eyes drifting back to the stars.
“I know they do… the kind of memories that creep in when everything is quiet. That follow you into your dreams, that make your chest feel heavy. That make you feel like you’re drowning in something invisible.”
Greyson stayed silent, watching her speak.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡM9eEWWRdT2
The wind shifted her hair gently across her face, and she brushed it back, lost in her own thoughts.
“My grandpa used to say…” she went on, her voice steady, “that those memories only come back when we’re either too sad… or when we’ve given up on life.”
She turned her gaze toward him again.
“So tell me, Greyson… are you sad? Or have you given up?”
He exhaled slowly and gave a small shrug, trying to mask the truth. “What’s the difference? They feel like the same thing.”
Lena shook her head slightly, a soft, understanding smile curving her lips.
“No… they’re not the same. Someone who’s given up on life… stops fighting. No matter how bad or good things get—they just accept them. That’s surrender. But someone who’s sad… they can hurt for a while, even for months or years. But sadness doesn’t last forever.”
She paused, letting her words settle into the silence.
Then Greyson asked quietly, “So… which one do you think I am?”
Lena let out a quiet chuckle, lowering her gaze for a moment. Then, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, she looked at him and said,
“If I’m being honest… I think you’ve given up. Not on others, but on yourself. You don’t show it. You hide it well. But deep down, somewhere inside, you’ve stopped believing in your own life.”
Greyson straightened up slightly, as if her words had poked a nerve.
“I haven’t given up,” he replied quickly. “I’ve been struggling—fighting every day.”
Lena gave a small shake of her head again, smiling sadly.
“Yes… but you’re struggling for everyone except yourself. You give your time to others. Your strength. Your effort. But when was the last time you fought for yourself, Greyson?”
Her words hit like a quiet truth that echoed too deeply.
He didn’t answer. Not because he couldn’t… but because he had nothing to say.
He wasn’t a man easily read.
But this girl… she was reading him like an open book.
Telling him where he was right… and exactly where he was wrong.
He couldn’t look away.
And when Lena felt the weight of his gaze, she turned her eyes toward him.
Two people, standing quietly across from each other.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ25eZW6yg7l
Both with their hands resting on terrace railings.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6RKc6wKfvC
Both scarred.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2ugCP4k1Y5
Both lost in different ways.
A quiet girl with sadness in her eyes.
And a man, tangled in his own shadows—watching her with a gaze he didn’t know how to explain.
Together, they looked like a moment suspended in time… like a still from a story neither of them had finished writing yet.
A mansion of dusky greys and black shadows stood solemnly that night too, hiding countless secrets behind its austere grandeur.
Step onto the second floor, into the master bedroom, and cross the terrace doorway—16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOpliMZLBBz
And you would find him.
Half-reclined on the couch, clad in a black dress shirt with the sleeves folded up his forearms. One hand held a cigar lazily; his legs were crossed over the small table before him. Honey-brown hair tumbled across his forehead as he gazed up at the sky.
The cold glint that always hardened his eyes had faded tonight.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFBwa58IAAZ
That restless spark in his stare—it had long been extinguished.
Smoke curled slowly from the cigar, rising and dissolving into the dark.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyjxoLs9zI9
In this hushed hour, inside a mansion that felt like an empty fortress, he looked utterly alone.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0TaleSQ9Lm
No friends.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡchba3Up7zO
No one to tear the loneliness from his life.
It was in this fragile quiet that the shrill ring of his phone shattered whatever peace he’d managed to find.
He reached out without hurry, picked up the phone, and saw the name glowing on the screen:
Silas Crowe.
Damien drew in a deep breath, set the cigar in the ashtray, slipped one hand into his trouser pocket, and stepped up to the railing. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and sober:
“Speak.”
On the other end, a heavy, commanding voice rumbled without anger, without curiosity—just a question:
“Why did you kill Edward?”
Damien’s reply came with a detached chill:
“He was terrified of that agency director. He was about to flee the city.”
A sigh floated back over the line.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZRQy03tBHU
“And then?”
Damien’s tone never wavered, smooth as glass:
“And then… anyone who stands beside me has no right to show cowardice. And if they do… they will witness my brutality firsthand.”
His words were so calm, so unfeeling, they could send a shiver down any man’s spine.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7pwqwDZTT3
But whoever stood on the other side of the call was either numb to Damien’s menace or long accustomed to it.
The voice spoke again:16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVQuHZESjKM
“How much more time do you need to finish this?”
Damien’s gaze stayed on the darkness beyond the railing.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJMEcdyrSia
“I can’t say anything yet. You’ll have to wait.”
There was a pause before the man replied:16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjyqa3OFLPk
“We are waiting. And we trust you will not disappoint us.”
Damien ignored the reassurance.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLnAXfnYGZT
“Inform our clients their shipment will reach them by tomorrow. Provided they transfer the payment into my account before dawn.”
Without waiting for an answer, he hung up.
He leaned forward, bracing both hands against the railing, tilting his face up into the night air. He closed his eyes. The cold wind slipped across his skin like a ghost’s touch.
Another night alone.16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoY5U18TdsH
Another dawn alone.
Damien thought, and exhaled the last weary breath into the darkness.
Then he turned, slid the door open, and disappeared back into his silent room.
16Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdGhvpGA0oC
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