For a while, time seemed to slip by in silence.
Greyson stood by the shelf, scanning through a few files, occasionally returning to his desk to retrieve something—completely engrossed in his work. Across the table, Nico sat with his head bowed, saying nothing. What he had just witnessed... it wasn’t something one could absorb instantly. He needed time, and Greyson understood that. That’s why he let him be—choosing instead to lose himself in the rhythm of tasks.
After a while, Greyson lifted his eyes from the file and silently glanced at Nico’s lowered face. Then, without a word, he pressed the pen back to his lips and returned to reading. Soon after, he turned to the shelf again, slid the file back into place, and began arranging the rest.
From behind, Nico quietly turned his head and looked at Greyson’s back, then finally broke the silence.
"Didn’t it hurt you… watching that video?"
For a brief moment, Greyson’s hand froze as he adjusted a file. Then, still focused and composed, he responded flatly:
"It did. The first time I saw it, I was shocked—that was the denial stage. Then came the pain... the stage of disbelief. After that, silence... the stage of processing. And finally—rage. The stage where all that’s left is revenge against the one who did it."
"I’ve already gone through all those stages, Nico."
His voice was even. Emotionless. The storm had already passed.
Without looking at Nico, Greyson continued, "Hand me the blue file."
Nico stood up and passed it to him. Greyson then handed him a few more, assigning him the task of organizing the documents. Nico nodded and got to work. They both immersed themselves again, quietly completing task after task.
An hour passed.
Now, Greyson and Nico sat across from each other, sipping coffee in silence—each lost in their own thoughts, but sharing a quiet understanding.
Greyson sat with one leg crossed over the other, gently swirling the coffee in his cup. The dark liquid spun in slow, circular motions—threatening to spill at the rim, but always returning safely inward. Across from him, Nico was quietly sipping his own coffee, lost in thought.
Then Greyson broke the silence.
"Ask."
Nico looked up. "Since when did you know… that Miss Lena’s cousin was behind all of this?"
Greyson held his gaze for a second and then replied, "What do you think I was doing the whole night after I sent Max with you in disguise?"
He arched a brow at Nico as if the answer should’ve been obvious.
Nico leaned forward, realization dawning on him. “You mean… that same night, you went on your own and collected the evidence? And whoever was keeping an eye on you… you just wanted to distract them?”
It wasn’t even a question anymore. It was a conclusion.
Greyson nodded slowly.
Nico licked his lips, processing, and then asked, “So you knew everything that night… but still… you didn’t tell Miss Lena anything. Why hide it from her?”
Greyson looked at him with quiet gravity. “Because I know best when Lena should be told. Sometimes, awareness is not a blessing—it becomes a burden.”
Nico nodded solemnly, absorbing his words. “So… what will you do now, sir?”
Greyson took the last sip of his coffee, letting it settle in him like the moment’s weight. 202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ39QdQb84r2
The soft golden sunlight of winter streamed through the tall glass wall, casting a warm hue across his sharp features. His fair skin took on a faint flush under the sun’s glow. His hair—still perfectly set—framed a face that was strikingly composed. Dressed in a crisp white shirt and black tie, coat missing, he looked... devastatingly handsome. Not that he seemed to care.
He exhaled deeply.
“First, we need to root out every last one of his informants still inside our agency. If we don’t, every plan we make will be turned back against us. After that… we’ll begin dismantling his minor illegal operations—one by one.”
Greyson placed his cup on the table and rose, walking toward the glass wall. His back now to Nico, who had shifted to one of the sofas behind him.
Nico frowned, confused. “But sir… if we already know about his illegal operations, shouldn’t we go straight for the root? Why chip away at the surface when we can burn the whole tree?”
Greyson stood with his hands casually in his pockets, the light painting his silhouette. A subtle, enigmatic smile tugged at his lips.
“He’ll help us uproot himself.”
He turned his head slightly, just enough for Nico to hear clearly.
“When we start taking down his small businesses, he’ll get angry. And when people get angry… they make mistakes. They deviate from their own blueprint—so fast, they don’t even realize where they slipped.”
Finishing his sentence, Greyson turned around and handed Nico a USB.
“This drive has the names of every traitor hiding inside our agency.”
He paused, pressing his thumb and finger thoughtfully to his lips.
"Or… do one thing. Several elite families have been sending requests for personal guards lately. A lot of these deals are about to go through. Use the names on this drive—select from them. Most of them are double agents, and a few others are just agency staff. Give the staff a few days off. Send the rest where they can be… watched."
Nico took the USB, flipping it in his hand, examining it carefully. He was just about to leave when Greyson’s voice called out again.
“And find out who this USB belonged to. Augustus West only tracked the traitors inside the agency. But someone else—someone else is out there… recording the footage, and feeding details about Damien’s illegal businesses. I have a feeling…”
Greyson trailed off.
Nico gave a sharp nod. “Yes, sir,” he said, and walked out—his mind already spinning with possibilities.
The sun had long dipped beneath the horizon, and dusk spilled a shade of deep indigo across the sky. Not long after, darkness swept over everything—and the moon, in all its majestic brilliance, began to glow like a silent guardian watching from above. The cold had started to creep in, urging people to return to the warmth of their homes.
Greyson’s car glided through the gates of the white mansion, softly veiled in purple lavender light. As the heavy doors shut behind him, he stepped out of the car, eyes still locked onto his phone, his brows furrowed as if reviewing something important. He was already walking toward the entrance when his gaze drifted… and stopped.
There, sitting on the grass beside a patch of flowers, was a fragile silhouette—so delicate, so still. His tiredness, the weight of the entire day, seemed to lift off him in that single moment. That girl’s presence always had that effect on him. Lena. Just seeing her made his heart feel lighter.
Without a second thought, Greyson turned on his heels. Handing his briefcase to a staff member and slipping his phone into his pocket, he draped his coat over one arm and walked silently toward her.
Lena had her back to him, softly humming to herself, entirely immersed in gently plucking flowers—likely trying to craft a small bouquet. An incomplete one already lay beside her on the grass.
Greyson stood there quietly, watching her. Her world seemed so peaceful, so pure, and she was so lost in it that she hadn’t even sensed his presence.
Then, slowly, he crouched down beside her on his toes, lifting his pant legs slightly to avoid creases. Leaning in close to her ear, he whispered in a deep, playful voice,
"Plucking such beautiful flowers from my garden… that’s a crime, you know."
Startled, Lena flinched and spun around in panic. Her breath caught, and one hand flew instinctively to her chest as she gasped for air, wide-eyed and disoriented. And then she saw him—Greyson—kneeling just a few inches away, lips pursed in mischief, quietly observing her reaction.
"You scared me…" she finally exhaled, a soft hint of complaint lacing her honey-toned eyes as she narrowed them slightly at him.
Greyson smiled. She noticed it immediately—he had been smiling more than usual today. And this kind of smile… the kind he gave only when he was truly at peace… always made her heart flutter a little.
Without caring about the crisp fabric of his suit, Greyson sat down in front of her, resting his coat across his lap, still facing her.
"So tell me… why are you plucking such beautiful flowers?" he asked with a light smirk.
Lena glanced toward her half-made bouquet, picking it up gently. Still focused on arranging it, she replied softly, "I wanted to place them in the vase in my room. That’s why I picked a few."
Greyson listened quietly, then said with a calm, thoughtful tone,202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgpsD9r1HmQ
"The most beautiful flowers… always look best when they stay connected to their stems. We pluck them… decorate our vases with them… and when they dry up, we throw them away. That’s unfair to them, don’t you think?"
Lena smiled gently, her voice delicate yet clear.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlE1fBmE6sb
"Maybe some people do that. But not me. Even when my flowers dry out, I still treasure them just as much."
Greyson looked at her, a curious expression in his eyes.
She continued,202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3sElxPPpCJ
"I keep them in the vase until they’ve completely dried. Then I place them between the pages of my books. That way, they stay with me forever."
She smiled again, turning her warm gaze toward him as she finished.
Greyson’s expression softened—her words had touched something deep within him. This girl sitting in front of him spoke with such warmth and grace that sometimes…
he wished she’d never stop speaking. Just talk for hours… while he simply listened.
After finishing her words, Lena began gently gathering the flowers again, carefully adding them to her half-formed bouquet. Greyson’s eyes followed her hands—they moved with such quiet skill, so naturally elegant, weaving petals together like an artist working on something sacred.
His gaze then traced a path from her hands to her face—head bowed, lost in focus. In that moment, to him, she looked like something out of a dream. A girl surrounded by flowers, immersed in stillness and soft intention.
And before he could even think to hold it back, Greyson spoke.
"Of course… a girl as gentle as flowers would know how to cherish them. It makes me happy to know that."
Lena paused. Her hands stilled. She looked up, surprised, meeting his eyes.
Greyson wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at the bouquet in her hands.
Then, in a quieter, more solemn voice, he continued:
"If no one protects flowers… anyone passing by can pluck them. And when they do, they treat them carelessly…"
He looked up again—his deep, black eyes meeting the golden honey of hers. And in that moment, under the soft watch of the glowing moon, it felt as if even the stars had paused to listen.
Around them, the flowers swayed. The purple lavenders danced softly in the night breeze. And then, Greyson said the words with a tenderness that carried weight:
"And I promise you… the one flower that exists in my life—I will protect it more fiercely than my own breath. Whether I have to give my life for it… or take one."
Lena stared at him, her breath caught, eyes wide and soft, emotions swirling behind her gaze. Then, slowly, she stood.
Greyson gently took the bouquet from her hands, his fingers brushing hers, and with a subtle gesture, invited her to rise too. She dusted off her dress and rose to her feet, placing her hands behind her back as she quietly walked beside him, her eyes fixed on her steps.
Greyson walked beside her, holding his coat in one hand and the bouquet in the other. He glanced sideways at the girl walking so silently next to him and said with a teasing undertone:
"Next time… don’t go picking flowers in the dark."
Lena raised her head to look at him—and then nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips.
Greyson headed upstairs to his room, while Lena turned to the maid, instructing her to set the dinner table. She stood to the side, overseeing the arrangement of dishes, carefully giving directions. The maids followed her words promptly, placing each item just where she wanted it.
Once everything was set, the head maid smiled warmly at Lena and said:
"When you’re here, this house feels like a home. Otherwise, sir’s always buried in work… but since you’ve come, something in him has changed."
Lena smiled, brushing the compliment aside gently.
"I’m just a guest here… I’ll be gone in a few days."
The head maid’s smile turned wistful, her tone softening.
"Please don’t go. We’ve seen sir laugh and smile like this after years… Your presence brings a calmness to his otherwise relentless life. He may never say it aloud—but you… you mean a lot to him."
Lena lowered her gaze and smiled faintly, nodding in quiet acceptance.
But only time would tell where she would go—and what fate had in store for her.
A little while later, Greyson appeared, now looking refreshed, and took his place at the head of the dining table. Lena sat to his right.
They began to eat quietly.
As they did, Lena animatedly began sharing what had happened earlier that day—how Damien had suddenly shown up, alive. How she’d cried after seeing him. How they’d talked for hours. How, finally, he left again.
Her voice was bright, her hands moving as she told the story. Her face glowed with the warmth of the moment. Greyson listened, eating silently, watching her—not because he cared about Damien, but because her joy—the light it brought to her face—was enough for him.
She kept talking, full of excitement, one memory rushing after the other.
Her plate, however, remained untouched.
Greyson finally raised a hand, silently gesturing for her to pause. Lena stopped mid-sentence.
He tilted his head toward her plate and said softly:
"You haven’t even touched your food… Come on. Eat."
Lena blinked, realizing her plate was still full. She pulled it closer, her cheeks coloring slightly as she began eating in silence.
After a moment, she said sheepishly:
"Sorry… I didn’t realize I’d been rambling for so long. I must’ve been annoying you."
Greyson took a sip of water, set the glass down, leaned back in his chair, and looked at her.
Then, with a gentle firmness, he tapped the table with two fingers.
Lena looked up at him.
He was serious now—quiet, unwavering—as he said:
"Greyson Blackwood… could never be disturbed by Lena West."
Then he stood, walking toward the office room.
"I have a few things to finish. Bring two cups of coffee when you're done. I’ll listen to everything you want to tell me."
And with that, he disappeared into the hallway.
Lena stared at her plate, thoughts stirring inside her.
Who was this man?
She had heard from Carl and Thomson that Greyson couldn’t stand small talk. That he was cold, curt. That he’d shut down anyone who spoke too much around him.
But this… this Greyson… who listened to her endlessly, who smiled at her silly stories… who waited patiently through her endless chatter…
Who was this man?
The night deepened, wrapping the mansion in its blend of charcoal and ink. The imposing structure, part modern, part antique, slowly disappeared into the shadows. If one entered from the main hall and took the left corridor—past two double doors—they’d find Damien lounging on a long sofa, eyes fixed on a massive LED screen. The morning news played back his press conference with fervent coverage.
A moment later, he picked up the remote and switched it off. The screen went black, and silence filled the room. This was the theater room—more like a private cinema. A wide screen dominated the front wall, surrounded by rows of large, plush leather recliners. The room was bathed in shades of brown and beige. Unlike other spaces in the mansion, this one bore the imprint of newer architecture—each room, in fact, seemed to belong to a different world entirely.
Damien leaned back, resting his head against the cushion and closed his eyes with a deep, measured breath.
And there she was… Lena.
Her face floated before him, shimmering like a mirage on the canvas of his mind—those honeyed eyes soaked in tears. Only Damien knew the storm he had quelled inside himself that moment, when Lena had clutched his arm and wept into his shoulder. 202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxk7qpHzsaW
That one gesture had broken through the walls he’d spent a lifetime fortifying. 202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1anoaNNSRH
Childhood came rushing back in waves—the cold, cruel nights, the absence of comfort, the silence he had learned to live with… all of it clawed its way back into his chest.
And for a split second—he had wanted to tell her everything. The ache. The loneliness. The things he had survived in the dark.
But then—he didn’t.
Silas’ voice echoed in his memory.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCUXBIQc686
He remembered it vividly—the day he came home, beaten and bruised from another schoolyard brawl. He’d cried to Silas about the boys who hurt him. Silas hadn’t comforted him. No, instead he’d grabbed Damien by his thin arms—he was so frail back then—and dragged him to the back of the house. Into that room.
That room.
There, chained by a loose lock, was a snarling dog. It lunged at Damien, barking ferociously, foam at its mouth. Terrified, Damien turned to Silas, tears rolling down his cheeks.
“P-please... please don’t leave me here. He... he’ll kill me,” he sobbed.
Silas looked down at him, that bitter smile curving his lips. He crouched so they were face to face.
“If you’re going to keep whining about your pain and your weakness,” he said coldly, “then it’s better this dog tears you to pieces.”
His tone held no mercy.
“I hate people who cry about their pain,” Silas spat. Then his voice dropped to a chilling whisper, “Instead of crying, destroy the one who hurt you. Kill them. End them.”
And with that, Silas walked out.
Damien ran after him, pounding on the locked door, voice shaking with sobs.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpVEROJHzac
“You can’t do this! Please! Please open the door!”
Silas' voice came through from the other side.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOM2l48vbbI
“The lock on the dog’s chain is loose. If he pulls hard enough, he’ll break free.”
That froze Damien in place.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiu5ud6RIkA
He turned around slowly.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAi8j7qEBGF
The dog was already jerking at the chain, foam at its mouth, maddened by the scent of fear.
The room was dim, littered with broken furniture and shadows. There was no place to hide, no window to escape. Nothing. Damien was alone.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4E1IEbvpBJ
He was ten. Just a child.
But in that moment… he had to become more than that.
His eyes fell on something—a sharp dagger lying among the debris.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqwFx6vCxuX
Hands shaking, he picked it up.
And just as he turned—the dog lunged.
Its fangs sank into his leg, dragging him down.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEqrZgKY4WV
He screamed, the sound wrenching through the walls of that dark, filthy room. The beast pulled, tearing flesh. Blood soaked the floor as Damien writhed and clawed, helpless, pain searing through every nerve.
And then—he stabbed.
With the last of his strength, he drove the dagger into the dog’s neck.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5wR2TaeuTg
Blood sprayed across his face. The beast reeled, yelping, but still it didn't let go. 202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGxE0Z25PoC
Damien stabbed again—near its eye. Again in the neck. Over and over—until the dog collapsed.
Only then did Damien lose consciousness, his world bathed in red.
When he awoke, the air was thick with the stench of blood. His own leg oozed crimson. The pain was unbearable. He gagged, nearly vomiting, and forced himself to move. With trembling hands, he tore his shirt with his teeth, fashioned a crude bandage, and tied it around his wound.
There was no fear left in him now. No tears. Just silence. Just breath.
The door creaked open.
Silas entered, looked once at the dog’s lifeless body, and then at Damien.
He smiled.
And Damien looked back at him—with dry eyes.
The boy who once cried had died that night.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZwDRVoxm9p
The boy who rose in his place… was Damien West.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAlcCLgWh6V
His first kill. Not the last.
From then on, he stopped crying over pain. Yes, he still came home with bruises—but now he tended to his own wounds. Alone.
Another day—another beating.
Some schoolboys dragged him behind the building, kicking and punching him until he curled into a ball, trying to shield his face.
Suddenly, a powerful kick landed—not on Damien, but on one of the attackers. The boy flew backwards, groaning. The others paused, turning.
There he stood—Nicolas.
Shirt half-unbuttoned, school tie wrapped around his hand like a bandage, messy hair falling over his brow, a silver chain glinting at his neck, and that ever-present lollipop between his lips. Muscular, cocky, infamous—Nicolas was one of the school’s untouchables.
He stared the bullies down, smirking.
With a lazy flick, he popped the lollipop out of his mouth and gestured for them to leave. Reluctantly, gritting their teeth, they did.
Damien remained on the ground, dirt and blood covering his clothes.
Nicolas stepped forward and held out his hand.
Damien ignored it.
He stood up on his own, dusting off his clothes quietly, and reached down to grab his bag.
Just as Damien turned to leave, Nicolas stepped in front of him, blocking his way.
Damien lifted an eyebrow at him with a questioning look.
Nicolas gave a slight smile and said, “When someone helps you, you're supposed to say thank you.”
Damien paused for a moment, his expression unreadable—then he said seriously, “Thank you.”
Without another word, he stepped aside and began walking past him.
Nicolas frowned, clearly annoyed. Being a guy like him—famous, charming, used to attention—this kind of cold dismissal didn’t sit well with him.
He quickly stepped in front of Damien again and said, “Hey, I helped you.”
Damien stopped, raised his brow again, and replied in a calm, flat tone, “And I said thank you...”
He tilted his head slightly.
“Or do you want money now?”
That was it—Nicolas punched him.
Without warning, Nicolas punched him in the jaw. Damien stumbled but straightened, unfazed.
Before Nicolas could say anything more, he stormed off, furious.
Damien simply shook his head and walked away.
Now, back in the present, Damien exhaled and opened his eyes.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnizI2UEa0a
The memories still clawed at him, but he refused to dwell.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1XtrDt1WoE
He stood from the couch and left the theater room, the hallway cloaked in shadow.
He climbed the stairs slowly, his body weary.
At the top of the stairs, Damien paused. His own room was to the right—but his eyes drifted toward the hallway on the left.
He turned his gaze down the corridor. On either side of the hallway, three doors lined the walls—three on the left, three on the right. And directly ahead, at the very end of the hallway, stood the large door to the hall—the same hall where Damien’s grand piano rested, where his old books were still kept, untouched.
He turned, abandoning the steps that led to his room, and instead walked toward the hallway.
When he reached the end, he stopped in front of the hall doors. For a moment, he turned his face and looked back at Lena’s door. So many beautiful memories from their childhood were tied to this place… so many moments they had lived right here.
Then, with a sharp shake of his head, Damien dismissed the thought.
He turned back, opened the door to the hall, and stepped inside.
But as soon as he entered—A figure in black struck him hard from the side.
Damien staggered back, slamming into the wall as the assailant dashed past.
But Damien was faster.
He lunged, grabbing the figure’s cloak and yanking them back. The attacker turned, delivering a swift kick to Damien’s face. He stumbled, blood at his lip, but retaliated with a punch that knocked the figure through the living room doors.
The attacker rolled onto the floor.
Damien advanced—calm, cold, relentless.
The figure backed away, crawling—face covered in a mask, but those icy blue eyes were visible.
And then—
A click.
The assailant pulled something from their pocket—yanked a pin.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZYMTuXWedQ
Damien narrowed his eyes—
Smoke. Everywhere.
A smoke bomb exploded in the corridor. Thick fog enveloped everything.
Damien pushed forward, coughing, searching—but by the time the air cleared…
The cloaked figure was gone.
Night’s darkness had begun to fade, and morning’s light spilled gently across the world, chasing the long, cold night away. The air was sharp with winter chill, a silver frost clinging to roads, trees, and rooftops, while a soft white blanket of snow covered everything in sight. Birds stirred in their nests, taking flight in search of food. Above, the sky was painted in faint shades of pink and blue.
Inside her room, Lena lay diagonally across the bed, her body angled, her honey-brown eyes carrying the weight of a sleepless night. Her face was quiet—too quiet. Not the warm, animated quiet that came with peace, but a cold, heavy stillness. The sparkle that usually lived in her eyes was absent; instead, there was a distant seriousness, and the dull ache of exhaustion.
Slowly, she sat up. Gathering her hair to one side, she let it fall over her left shoulder, a few loose strands swaying forward to brush her cheek. Rising from the bed, she stepped over to a sofa near the window, where a brown shawl lay folded. Wrapping it snugly around herself, she slid open the glass door leading to the balcony.
A sudden gust of icy wind swept over her, sending a shiver down her spine. But she kept moving forward, placing both hands on the cold railing, gazing down at the garden below. 202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIrGtimcAWx
The lawn, too, was buried under snow—snow that was already being cleared away, as it was every morning. Greyson made sure of it. He knew Lena loved spending time in the garden, so he oversaw the clearing himself to ensure the flowers and plants stayed unharmed.
But this morning, Greyson was nowhere in sight.
Lena leaned forward, glancing around.
And then—she saw him.
Even in this biting cold, he wore only dark trousers and a black sleeveless shirt, the fabric clinging to his frame, exposing strong, defined arms. His hair was damp, pressed messily against his forehead, and his face was flushed from exertion. He was coming from the far side of the mansion, jogging back toward the cleared lawn. Reaching a nearby bench, he sat down, breathing deeply, elbows resting on his knees. Greyson trained hard—too hard sometimes—and it showed in the deliberate heaviness of his breath.
He stared off to his right, his back to her, unaware of her gaze—until a servant arrived with a bottle of water. Greyson drank, then accepted a towel, running it across his face and neck. When the servant left, he leaned back against the bench. Something in him stilled, as if sensing someone’s eyes on him.
And then, he turned.
There she was—Lena—standing on the balcony, shawl wrapped around her, brown hair swept over her left shoulder, both hands resting lightly on the railing. She was looking straight at him.
For a moment, surprise lit his face. Then a small, almost boyish smile curved his lips.
Lena froze, caught staring. Embarrassment flickered through her expression, and she quickly lowered her gaze, sinking out of sight—though it was far too late for that. He had already seen her.
Greyson’s smile widened, a warm laugh escaping him.
Curious, Lena risked a glance. He was looking down, still smiling to himself. When their eyes met again, she was leaning against the railing, only her face tilted upward toward him.
He rose to his feet, that easy smile never leaving. Looking at her made him want to keep smiling forever. With a single gesture—just a subtle lift of his finger—he motioned for her to come down.
She shook her head, turning away. Greyson returned to his bench, this time facing the doors where she would eventually appear. He sat with elbows on knees again, waiting. Lena was becoming a habit for him—and habits, he knew, could be dangerous.
She descended the stairs, tightening the shawl around herself, a faint smile playing on her lips as she walked toward him. Greyson watched her the whole way, rising when she drew near. His gaze lingered, steady and unguarded, making her glance away nervously. 202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ70tDrChFsM
When he looked at her like that, it felt as though he could see right through her—into every unspoken thought.
“Is something troubling you?” he asked quietly, his voice low, the softness in his eyes unshaken.
Lena met his gaze, then smiled, shaking her head. “No… nothing’s wrong. Why? What makes you ask?”
Greyson’s eyes didn’t leave her face. “Your eyes,” he murmured, taking a slow breath before lifting a finger to gesture toward them. “They’re the mirror of the soul. Whatever’s inside you—it shows there.”
Her gaze wavered, and she looked away, tucking her hair behind her ear as she began to walk. Greyson fell into step beside her.
She glanced at him. His skin still glistened faintly from sweat, hair damp, and his nose pink from the cold. Yet he walked easily, as though unaffected by the freezing air.
“Don’t you feel cold,” she asked, “dressed like this?”
Greyson smiled and shook his head.
Lena rubbed her hands together inside the shawl. “And I’m freezing, even with all this on…”
He looked at her again, his smile deepening. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, her hands pressed together, pulling the shawl tighter around her. “I can see that,” he replied.
They walked on, side by side, the path taking them into the back garden. Behind them, a large swimming pool lay still, seating arranged neatly along its edge. From the kitchen’s glass wall, the same view unfolded—birds calling overhead, the breeze making the lavender sway, flowers shifting gently under the morning light.
And there they were—the tall, broad-shouldered man, and the petite, delicate young woman walking beside him, wrapped in her shawl, her fair skin tinged pink from the cold. Two figures moving quietly through a winter-painted world, their steps in sync, neither needing to say the words that hung in the space between them.
202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSE10Jdl448
Since last night, the entire security team and the guards stationed in the CCTV control room had been facing Damien’s wrath. After the incident that occurred, Damien’s fury had shattered every man’s courage—he had left the entire mansion security trembling, bones metaphorically broken beneath the weight of his anger.
And yet, every single one of them insisted on the same thing: they had seen no one in a black cloak entering the mansion. Not a shadow, not a trace. Even the CCTV cameras showed nothing.
When Damien questioned the man in the control room, the guard’s face paled. He had only one answer:202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡu53opnt7Ce
“The exact moment of the incident… the CCTV footage froze. It hung completely, and I was still trying to get it back.”
In that instant, the puzzle fit together in Damien’s mind. He understood. Zero. The intruder had hacked into the footage, slipping past without leaving a trace.
But one question still clawed at Damien—why? Why was Zero here? Why did he keep appearing before him again and again?
Damien West sat in silence on the lounge sofa, his gaze heavy with thought, fixed through the glass wall. His honey-brown eyes narrowed as they drifted upward toward the staircase. The first time, I saw him near the lounge… the second, near the hall.
Turning his head slowly, his eyes locked on the corridor leading to his office. His expression sharpened, as though analyzing something invisible to others. Then his gaze fell upon the delicate glass table before him.
Leaning forward, Damien ran his fingers along the edge of one of the carved legs. The table’s glass design blurred the side borders, making the joints invisible, while the center was crystal clear. His hand brushed lightly across the underside—back and forth—until suddenly, his movements stilled.
He had felt it.
Pulling his hand back out, he revealed what rested between his fingers. A tiny voice transmitter. Damien turned it over, examining it with cold precision. Then his eyes lifted, burning with a predator’s fury, fixing on the chief of security standing across the room.
Moments later, chaos erupted across the mansion.
Every room was torn apart. Men rushed frantically, combing through furniture, walls, and hidden spaces. Devices were pulled out one after another—voice transmitters, countless of them.
And Damien remained where he was, seated on the sofa, watching silently as the pile grew on the glass table before him. His men placed transmitter after transmitter before his eyes: from the kitchen, the office, the study, the lounge, the ballroom, the piano hall, the garage— even from Damien’s own bedroom. Every corner of the mansion had been bugged.
The air in the room grew heavy with dread. The pile of transmitters looked like a graveyard of secrets, each one a violation.
Damien’s men shifted uneasily, but he did not move. He only sat, his face carved in stone, his gaze locked on the heap of devices as if they were living enemies.
Zero had crossed a line.
And now, Damien knew—finding him was no longer an option. It was a necessity.
Zero’s repeated presence inside his home was not just disturbing.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPaveyggi1Y
It was war.
Damien, lost in thought, lifted his gaze as his secretary entered hastily, clutching a file in his hands. With a questioning raise of his brow, Damien waited.
“Boss,” the secretary spoke quickly, almost breathless, “the man following you… he isn’t Zero.”
Damien’s expression remained carved in stone, his voice cold, measured.
“Do you have proof of this claim?”
The secretary immediately stepped forward, placing the file on the glass table before Damien. Opening it, he straightened, speaking firmly.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6wlz4KnaQW
“Sir, the man everyone believes to be Zero—he’s someone else.”
He tapped the file, then continued.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbxuXM2pRdi
“Some years ago, rumors spread across the dark web that Zero was dead. Assassinated during an assignment. These whispers circulated everywhere.”
From the file, he pulled out several printouts—screenshots of old dark web messages, scattered fragments of information. He laid them out on the table in front of Damien.
Leaning forward, Damien scanned each page carefully. The messages were three, perhaps four years old. If true, it meant even if he launched an investigation, nothing solid would surface. Zero’s so-called death had long since turned into a cold case.
And yet, even with these scraps in his hands, nothing was certain. It did not prove Zero was dead.
Damien placed the papers back on the table and leaned against the sofa once more. His voice was edged with disdain as he spoke:202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMOu5lROFxt
“So you want me to believe that three to four years old rumors are enough for me to decide whether Zero is alive… or rotting in some forgotten grave?”
The secretary, resolute, nodded.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIbP9g0OWs5
“Yes, sir. This is the only way we can uncover the truth—whether it’s really Zero behind you, or someone else. If it is someone else, he’ll be forced to intervene in our investigation. After all, he’s parading under Zero’s name, and to protect that cover, he’ll go to any lengths. But… if it truly is Zero, then it won’t matter to him at all whether we investigate.”
Damien leaned back, legs crossed, one arm resting against the sofa’s edge. His honey-brown eyes remained steady, contemplative. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, in a voice like steel, he shook his head.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCCMwBHHPeT
“Even if he isn’t Zero… he isn’t foolish enough to expose himself out of fear. No imposter would risk interfering in an investigation so openly—or attempt to erase evidence. That would only shatter his disguise.”
His gaze darkened, fixed somewhere beyond the room, as though caught on a point invisible to others. Silence pressed heavy, until the secretary’s voice returned cautiously.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2EuIehug6B
“In that case, sir… we still gain something. If the investigation succeeds, we’ll know who the masked figure really is.”
Damien’s eyes dropped to the pile of voice transmitters scattered across the glass table. His jaw tightened.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxXYEhtEiV5
“No one among us betrayed this information. We ourselves placed it into our enemy’s reach. It was deliberate—our own words about when and where the weapons would arrive.”
The secretary nodded slowly, realization dawning.
Damien’s voice deepened, carrying a warning.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡczed4U1Kph
“That man—Zero, or whoever he is—passed the news straight to Greyson Blackwood. Which means he can leak every single one of our moves to him. This was not just exposure. It was a warning.”
At that, unease flickered across the secretary’s face. His tone lowered, edged with concern.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5WpoAjgopr
“Sir… what do we do now? You’ve only just begun stepping into the family business. If any hint of your… less legal dealings reaches the most powerful agency in the city, they won’t simply overlook it. They won’t overlook you.”
Damien tilted his head slightly, acknowledging the point with a grim nod. Then his decision was final, his words sharp, decisive.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdWPdiulGeD
“Send a message to Silas. Tell him that for now, he will handle everything. Every deal, every move—let it pass through his hands. I want distance from all of it for the time being.”
He waved a hand, dismissing the lingering mess.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7gOZtOol7x
“As for this chaos—clean it up. Quickly. I’ll focus solely on the business front for now.”
With that, Damien rose. His footsteps echoed as he left the lounge, ascending the staircase with silent resolve. Behind him, the secretary stood with the file still in hand before finally turning toward the exit.
The morning sunlight stretched faintly across the mansion’s walls, but peace was a lie.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiI4A8cGFy2
For everyone inside, the day carried not calm—202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNPfHv6oCrr
but foreboding.
After walking in silence for a while, Lena finally turned her head toward Greyson and asked softly, her voice lined with concern,202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmPo9qnXcXk
“Don’t your wounds hurt you?”
Greyson’s gaze shifted slowly toward her. His reply was quiet, almost weary.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡebHH8T9xvT
“It’s been years since pain ever stopped me. Years since I groaned or sat still because of wounds. By now… I’m used to it.”
Her honey-brown eyes flared with both worry and quiet anger.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7gp501jgB1
“Still, you should take care of yourself,” she insisted.
Greyson halted for a moment, his dark eyes locking with hers. There was something about the way she said those words—anger wrapped in concern, her eyes shimmering with unspoken care—that made his heart beat with an unfamiliar rhythm.
For the first time, he smiled softly and nodded in agreement without resistance.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡspExWWdV3G
Lena blinked, surprised. Greyson West was not the kind of man who agreed so easily, let alone with such gentleness.
She was lost in her thoughts when Greyson, walking ahead, turned back with a faint smile tugging at his lips. His hands slid casually into his pockets as he called to her across the small distance.
“If you keep worrying about me like this… I won’t survive it.”
Her honey-brown eyes froze, tangled helplessly in his piercing black gaze. Greyson couldn’t break the pull either—until suddenly, Max appeared from the side, grinning ear to ear.
“Well, well! What’s this? Since when did my venom-spitting friend start dripping honey in his tone? What did you have for breakfast, Grey, sugar or syrup?”
Greyson rolled his eyes with visible annoyance, while Lena burst out laughing. Max chuckled triumphantly, watching Greyson’s rare beautiful moment get ruined, and in his mind he congratulated himself. Well done, Max.
Throwing an arm over Greyson’s shoulder with exaggerated cheer, Max grinned wide enough to flash every tooth.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqCaWFV7Poj
“Morning, buddy! How’s my lion today?”
Greyson answered only with a deadly glare. Max, unfazed, dragged Lena into the conversation too.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡja2Cvh0Yrc
“And Lena—don’t worry about Greyson. He doesn’t need it.” With mock pride, he slapped Greyson’s broad chest.“Our lion here can’t digest his food unless he takes a bullet first.”
Lena laughed again at Max’s theatrics, while Greyson shot his friend a look fierce enough to devour him alive. Max only shrugged, pretending innocence.
After Lena excused herself to oversee breakfast arrangements, Greyson gave Max a little “lion’s demonstration.” It didn’t take much—one heavy punch to the stomach had Max sprawling on the lawn bench, groaning dramatically as if near death.
“Damn it, Greyson…” Max clutched his stomach, gasping, then sprawled like a broken doll across the bench. On the next bench, Greyson stretched out, one leg crossed over the other, elbow resting, sipping his satisfaction as he watched Max’s misery with a smirk.
Finally, Greyson stood, walking over innocently.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTcyCUQEkbg
“Did I hit you too hard?” he asked with mock concern.
Max shot up angrily.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8fWkMvEabT
“Oh no, not at all! When your ten-kilo punch slammed into my stomach, it felt exactly like someone gently threw a flower at me!”
Greyson burst out laughing, unbothered. Max sat again, sulking.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9zXfOYjMWA
“I swear, you think I’m your punching bag.”
Suppressing his laughter, Greyson leaned back and said lightly,202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXFGs8S0wz0
“Alright, alright. Stop sulking already.”
Max glared like a scorned lover, wrinkling his nose.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡU2DC9u1lWC
“No one values me. And my conscience doesn’t allow me to stay a single second where I’m not appreciated!”
He stood dramatically to leave—but Greyson called after him with feigned casualness,202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZuZta6g66M
“Oh, right. Didn’t you want that new watch and shirt I bought? The ones you said you liked?”
And just like that, Max’s conscience swallowed a handful of sleeping pills. He turned back slowly, lifting his chin like a king granting mercy to his peasants. With majestic pride, he declared,202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ72Xer2tLSB
“Well… since you insist so much, I’ll stay.”
He marched back inside as though blessing the house with his presence. A small stone in his path nearly tripped him, and the great “king” barely saved himself from falling. Greyson shook his head, laughing quietly as he followed.
By the time Lena returned, the breakfast table was laid. Fresh from his shower, Greyson walked in as well. Max sat at the head chair, furiously typing on his laptop, irritation written across his face.
Greyson raised a brow questioningly. Max shot him a mind-your-own-business glare and went back to typing.
Greyson strolled over, standing behind him. “Hmm… password cracking again? Forgot it?” His eyes skimmed the screen. “This is minutes’ work for me.”
Max turned, giving him a pleading, sheepish smile. Greyson smirked knowingly and asked, “Hand me a glass of water first.”
Max, relieved, leaned forward, pouring water from the jug into a glass. In that instant, Greyson’s lips curved into a devilish grin. Just as Max sat back down with the glass, Greyson yanked the chair backward and snatched the glass. Max landed flat on the floor.
“Damn you, Greyson!” Max shouted, sprawled on the ground. Morning punch, stubborn laptop, and now this. He pulled at his hair in frustration while Greyson, lounging in the chair, drank the water leisurely, enjoying the sight. Revenge had never tasted better.
Greyson tapped the chair’s armrest, pointing at it playfully as if to say: This seat is mine.
Max stood, fuming, ready to throw his shoe at Greyson’s face, when his gaze fell back on the laptop. Suddenly he forced a smile, dusted himself off, and slipped an arm around Greyson’s shoulder.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrbL0QifaRj
“Hahaaa, no worries. These little things happen between friends.”
He shoved the laptop toward Greyson with a pitiful expression. But Greyson wasn’t in a forgiving mood yet—he simply pushed the laptop aside and sipped his water.
Grinding his teeth, Max slumped onto the chair beside him and began breakfast angrily. Greyson, meanwhile, scrolled through his phone.
Soon Lena entered the dining hall. Greyson immediately pocketed his phone, smiling warmly, and gestured to the chair beside him. She sat there without hesitation.
Noticing Max eating with exaggerated focus, Lena frowned slightly.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡdIFwdq9JGO
“You didn’t have to wait for me, you could’ve started.”
Greyson smiled, about to reply—when Max cut in with a sarcastic scoff.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFOmBliUt1E
“Huh… pretending to be a gentleman, are we?”
Lena hide her laugh, watching Greyson’s face redden. She quickly handed him the omelet, before World War III could break out across the table.
After breakfast, Greyson handed a briefcase to a neatly dressed servant, his phone pressed to his ear as he descended the staircase. At the same time, Lena—also on her phone—was walking toward him, a bright smile dancing on her lips at whatever she was hearing.
Just then, several servants entered from outside, their arms full of shopping bags, chocolate baskets, bouquets, and expensive gifts. Lena’s eyes widened in delight as she looked at them.
“Oh wow! Damien, you sent all this?” she exclaimed, her voice brimming with happiness as her gaze swept eagerly over every gift.
Greyson, still with his phone against his ear, stiffened at the sound of that name. His deep-black eyes hardened, but when Lena’s gaze shifted toward him, her excitement only grew. She nearly squealed, “Look, Greyson! Damien sent all of this for me!”
Greyson forced a smile, his eyes resting on her glowing, joyous face. Will he ever be able to tell this girl… that her beloved cousin is the very reason for so much of her ruin? The thought struck like iron in his chest, but he kept it buried.
Lena, listening to Damien’s voice on the other end, nodded in agreement. “Yes, yes, he’s here… okay, I’ll give it to him.” She extended the phone toward Greyson.
Taking it, Greyson lifted it to his ear, his expression cool and unreadable. “Greyson Blackwood speaking.”
On the other end, Damien’s smooth, almost cheerful voice came through.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHfFWBKW08S
“Good morning, Mister Greyson.”
At that moment, one of the servants stepped forward, presenting an elegant black box. Greyson glanced down as it was opened before him. Inside lay a pair of diamond cufflinks, a sleek branded watch, and a black invitation card bound with a crimson ribbon.
Greyson’s fingers stilled.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTl82Ytm0gi
A plain black card lay on the box, but what froze his breath was the crimson ribbon tied neatly around it—blood-red against the abyss of black.
It wasn’t just a ribbon.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCobuYXIGg8
It looked like ink and blood had bled together, one swallowing the other—darkness and violence bound in silence. The sharp contrast struck him with the force of a buried memory clawing its way back.
That shade of red was no accident. It was deliberate. A signature. A warning. A whisper from the past, written without words.
Greyson’s jaw tightened. His pulse thundered in his ears, but his face remained unreadable. To anyone else, it was just a ribbon. To him, it was a reminder—of blood spilled, of promises broken, of a ghost that refused to stay buried.
“A small gift from me,” Damien said lightly, his tone friendly.
Greyson slipped the phone between his shoulder and ear, lifting the card to read it. It was an invitation to a grand party, scheduled for December 31st—tomorrow night.
“Thank you,” Greyson replied in a measured tone. “But I usually avoid such gatherings.”
Damien chuckled softly, his voice holding a subtle weight. “This party isn’t just for celebration. It’s so the city’s elite and businessmen become aware of my presence. And tell me, would it not seem… incomplete, if the director of the most powerful agency in this city weren’t among them?”
A moment of silence passed. Greyson drew in a slow breath before answering firmly, “I’ll be there.”
“Thank you,” Damien said smoothly.
Greyson ended the call, slipped the phone away, and turned to Lena with a softer look. His lips curved in a tender smile.
“Tomorrow, Miss Lena, you’ll be chief guest at the party,” he said warmly. “I’ll leave the agency early today, and then we’ll go shopping together.”
He extended the phone back to her, raising an eyebrow in a questioning gesture. Lena accepted it with a smile, her eyes gleaming as she answered, “Okay.”
The call still lingered, and on the other side Damien listened in silence, his face stripped of its earlier charm, his expression cold and unreadable.
Lena finally lifted the phone back to her ear, exchanging polite farewells with Damien before ending the call. She turned, her smile still radiant, eager to explore the mountain of gifts Damien had sent.
Greyson, meanwhile, brushed his hand gently over her hair, a fleeting tender gesture, before stepping out of the mansion, leaving behind the echo of secrets he could never yet confess.
Lena was just about to head upstairs when her gaze fell on Max in the lounge, furiously hammering away at his laptop keys as if each keystroke carried his frustration. With a sigh, she changed her direction and walked toward him.
Sitting beside him, she asked softly, “What happened? Why are you so grumpy?”
Max dropped the laptop onto the table with a loud thud, exhaling as though the weight of the world sat on his shoulders. “This damn thing is driving me crazy. I’ve tried every password I can remember—nothing works. It won’t unlock. And cracking the system? Forget it—it’s like running into a brick wall.”
Before Lena could say anything, he snatched the laptop back up again, muttering curses as he resumed typing.
She tilted her head, watching him for a moment before asking, “Then why did you put such heavy security on your devices in the first place?”
Max groaned, throwing his hands up. “I didn’t! This is all Greyson’s genius idea. He goes, ‘you’re my friend, and my enemies can get to you, so extra caution is necessary’.” He mimicked Greyson with exaggerated seriousness, lifting his brow and dropping his tone in mock gravity.
Lena burst into laughter at his imitation, then gently said, “He does it for your safety, Max. Otherwise, his enemies really could hurt you.”
Max waved her words away dramatically. “Please. His enemies don’t need to kill me—he’ll do the job himself. I swear.”
She blinked at him in surprise, amused. “Why? What did he do now?”
Max shot upright, indignant. “Oh, don’t even ask. This morning, when you went back inside, that brute practically pummeled me to death in the lawn. And then at breakfast—I just asked him to crack this password, and what does he do? Pulls the chair out from under me, drops me flat on the floor, and still doesn’t help!”
His tragic, almost teary-eyed expression made Lena’s lips curve in sympathy. “He really hit you?”
Max nodded furiously, piling on drama with wide, innocent eyes. “Always! That’s all he does. He beats me, mocks me, tortures me—like I’m some kind of training dummy. Honestly, surviving this long with an animal like him? Only I know what it’s cost me.”
Her gaze softened as she caught faint old marks on his face, and for a fleeting moment, her heart tugged with pity. Max seized the moment, shaking his head with fake solemnity.
“Living with a beast like that… it’s a miracle I’m still alive.”
Lena smiled faintly, then stretched out her hand. “Here, let me try.”
Max blinked, then lit up as if someone had finally shared his burden. “Yes, please, be my savior!” he said dramatically, surrendering the laptop.
Settling it onto her lap, Lena fixed her eyes on the screen with steady focus. Without looking up, she said lightly, “Could you get me a cup of coffee?”
Grateful, Max sprang up immediately. “Sure, sure—coffee, right away!” He all but bolted toward the kitchen.
As soon as he disappeared, Lena’s smile flickered. She glanced once toward the lounge door, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Then, with a quiet breath, she turned back to the laptop—now she could work in peace. Now, Her fingers moved with practiced ease, too practiced for an ordinary girl.
Fifteen minutes later, Max reappeared, balancing two mugs in his hands. Sweat glistened at his temple—though whether it was from effort or irritation, who could tell? He placed the mugs on the table with a sigh and dropped heavily into the sofa beside her.
To his surprise, Lena was lounging comfortably, scrolling on her phone, coffee already steaming before her.
“Your work’s done,” she said casually.
Max blinked, baffled. He thought she was joking—until he grabbed his laptop, opened it, and froze. It was unlocked. Wide-eyed, his jaw fell open as he stared at her in disbelief.
“Wh—how—WHAT? Lena! This was Greyson’s agency-grade lock system—how the hell did you—”
“Relax,” she said with a shrug, sipping her coffee as if it were nothing. “I’m just good with computers. This is one of my skills. There are plenty more.”
Max stared at her with something between awe and suspicion. For the first time, he thought—maybe this girl wasn’t as harmless as she looked. Maybe… she could be useful.
His scheming mind lit up like a switch. If I can pull her to my side, Greyson won’t be able to control me anymore…
Instantly, he pushed the thought aside and put on his most pitiful face. His voice trembled, exaggerated with gratitude. “Thaaank you… thank you sooo much!”
Lena only smiled, acknowledging it with a graceful tilt of her head before standing to leave.
As she walked away, Max clutched his laptop with newfound energy, a sly spark dancing in his eyes. The mask of helplessness faded as quickly as it had come.
The Omega Task Force agency was alive with its usual hustle—people busy in their work. On the building’s top floor, Greyson was walking, as usual with his sleeves folded a little below his elbows, one hand slipped into his pants pocket while updating the people walking behind him with certain details as he moved toward his office. The three or four people behind him were quickly jotting down everything he was saying. From afar, only Greyson’s moving lips were visible.
By the railing, Nico was giving instructions to a junior officer when his eyes caught Greyson. He immediately sent the boy away and followed Greyson into his office. The people trailing Greyson exhaled in relief once they entered the office, before heading back toward their own cabins.
When Nico entered Greyson’s office, Greyson was bent over files, his eyes narrowed in deep thought, his elbow resting on the armrest of his chair and his fist against his lips. He lifted his gaze at Nico standing by the door, then set the file down on the desk and gestured for him to come closer. Nico stepped forward, pulled the chair across the glass desk, and sat down.
“Sir, I got information about the USB. Apart from Augustus West’s murder video, the rest of the data was put into it one week before his murder. The video of Augustus West’s murder was added just one day before you secretly went and retrieved all these evidences,” Nico said.
Greyson flinched slightly at the last part but stayed as he was and said seriously, “It’s clear that someone besides Augustus West is involved in this case.” Then Greyson turned his chair toward the glass wall, staring outside. His black eyes looked drowned in thought, sunlight slanting through the glass wall brightening his office. Silence lingered for a while before Greyson’s heavy voice broke it:
“Nico… who could have called me to inform me about the weapons smuggling?”
Nico looked at Greyson’s back in confusion. “What do you mean, sir?”
Still facing away, Greyson said, “The weapons that were seized in the raid—I received the information from an unknown number. And that number can’t be traced either.”
On hearing this, Nico quickly said, “So sir, do you think the one who informed you about the smuggling and the one involved in Augustus West’s case are the same?”
“Yes.” Greyson’s voice rang firm and certain.
“But sir, how can you say that with surety?” Nico pressed.
Greyson turned his chair back, met Nico’s eyes, and said gravely, “I’ll give you the answer to that in two days.”
Nico shook his head in incomprehension, stood up, and left.
Greyson leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and pressed his temples with his fingers. In the silent office, only his slow breaths could be heard. 202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPVIy0sVD6f
Since the day he shifted into the family mansion, peace had never come to his sleep. Because of the nightmares of his mom and dad haunting him every night, he suffered heavy mental exhaustion. No matter how much he tried to appear normal in front of Max, Lena, and the rest, the truth was, every night drained him.
After a while, Greyson picked up his mobile, called Max, put it on speaker, and set it on the desk while leaning back in his chair. The call was answered immediately.
“Heelllloooo!” Max’s voice rang, dripping with happiness.
Greyson had called thinking Max must still be sulking and upset, but contrary to his assumption, Max was in a good mood.
“I told Carl to—” Greyson began, but before he could finish, Max cut him off in a teasing tone, “Nooo… need, brother.”
Greyson straightened up, surprised. From someone as careless as Max, he never expected he could crack the password.
“What do you mean? You needed help and I—” Greyson said, but Max cut him off again, dragging his words playfully, “It’s dooone brooo.”
Greyson clenched his teeth, smiling tightly. “What’s done?”
“The passwoooord… brooo.”
Lines creased Greyson’s forehead. “Who did it for you… Carl?”
“Nope,” Max replied in the same annoying tone, “Lena did, brooo.”
At Lena’s name he smiled slightly. “Impossible. No one can crack such a difficult and heavily secured system. You must be joking.”
But Max immediately replied, “Lena did it. She told me she’s good with computers.”
Greyson shook his head side to side in disbelief. “Alright, fine.” Before he could say anything else, Max quickly added, “I just got an invitation to Lena’s freshly revealed cousin’s party—and it’s tomorrow.”
Greyson only said, “Hmm.”
Max frowned. “What does ‘hmm’ mean? Today we’re both going shopping together.”
Greyson cleared his throat, sat straighter, and said, “Well actually, I already promised Lena I’d take her shopping. So…” He left the sentence hanging, waiting for Max’s curses and complaints.
But instead, Max hung up without a word.
Greyson tried calling him back several times, but Max didn’t answer. Finally, Greyson decided he’d talk to Max at home and set his phone down, returning to his half-done tasks.
By evening, Greyson was already back at the agency. After lunch, dressed and ready, he descended the staircase, his eyes fixed on his phone as he typed away. Out in the porch, the driver stood alert beside the car, already prepared.
On the final step, Greyson paused, completely absorbed in his phone. From the mansion’s backside, Max emerged, catching sight of him. Instantly, he stepped back, his mischievous grin curling as his eyes flicked to the waiting car.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡB1Z6rke9I6
“Ohh, so someone’s going out shopping…” Max muttered under his breath with devilish amusement, his smirk widening as he looked back at Greyson.
Greyson, still with his back to Max, didn’t notice him.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGWoyhNzLfh
Silent as a predator, Max crept toward the driver, who stood quietly like prey cornered by a beast. For a second, the poor man nearly suffered a heart attack when Max loomed dangerously close—until Max pressed a finger to his lips, signaling silence. Dusting off his clothes, Max slipped soundlessly into the car, sliding into the back seat, disappearing without a trace.
Greyson, oblivious, looked up only when Lena stepped outside. His stern features softened instantly; slipping his phone into his pocket, he walked over and opened the door for her. Lena, smiling warmly, slid into the seat. Greyson closed the door gently before turning to the driver, his voice firm and calm.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡImZFgLxdbF
“No guards will come with us.”202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGlS1hFlxOV
The driver, uneasy, hesitated. “Are you sure, sir…?”202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ47dQHnjwUw
Greyson’s hand brushed the pistol at his waistband, confirming its place. “I’m sure,” he said, stepping toward the car. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he cast Lena a quick glance before starting the engine, driving forward.
Hidden in the back, lying low by the footrest, Max stifled a laugh. He was just about to announce his dramatic presence when Lena’s voice reached his ears. Curious, he held himself still, deciding to eavesdrop instead.
“Is this car yours too, or do you use agency vehicles?” she asked casually, her voice light with curiosity.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtbcQNCmn0V
Eyes fixed on the road, Greyson smiled faintly, shaking his head. “I never use agency property for personal matters. This one’s mine.”202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtpnvmmqbC7
Understanding, Lena nodded. “But a few days ago, there was another car…” She spoke freely now, no hesitation in her tone, asking whatever crossed her mind to fight off boredom.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQH6fFXFrWB
Greyson chuckled softly. “Yes, that one’s mine as well.” He glanced at her briefly, his smile still there, before returning his focus to the road.
Behind them, Max’s face twisted with exaggerated annoyance. How could Greyson’s voice sound so soft, so sweet? It was unbearable.
Lena’s curious tone rose again. “So… how many cars do you actually have?”202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjLSCpPiJ1u
Greyson rubbed the back of his neck, a small smile tugging his lips. “I like collecting cars. I usually buy the latest models when I can.”202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiyDU1g0tpy
Her eyes lit up, admiration shining. “Oh? Then tell me, which ones do you own?” she asked, excitement sparkling in her voice.
Greyson cast her a sidelong glance, then listed calmly, “BMW, Rolls-Royce, Range Rover, Lamborghini, Audi, Dodge, Ferrari… and the one we’re in right now—Mercedes-Benz.”
He finished with his eyes fixed on her, watching her stunned reaction. Lena’s wide-eyed expression said it all.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhUE2qsKfUj
“Woow…” she breathed, amazement and admiration threading her voice. Then quickly, she added, “And which one is your favorite?”
Greyson smiled again, about to answer, when suddenly—
“BAYERISCHE MOTOREN WERKE!” Max’s thunderous voice erupted from behind.
Lena’s heart-wrenching scream pierced the car as Greyson swerved, jerking the vehicle sharply to the roadside. Both of them whipped around, eyes wide, staring at Max who now sat upright like a man risen from the grave.
“Surpriseee!” Max shouted gleefully, his voice brimming with unholy joy.
Greyson’s first instinct was to bury him alive for real this time. Lena, trembling, could only stare at Max in shock before snapping at him,202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTwZlsx6uPm
“What is wrong with you, Max?! How long have you been hiding there like this? Who even does such things?!”
Max only smirked, glancing at Greyson, whose furious eyes promised him a grave six feet under—if not for Lena sitting between them. Max, feigning innocence, pouted.202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHfY0295kNB
“I was just joking! Besides…” He pointed at Greyson. “He wasn’t taking me along, so I had to sneak in. Look at him—he’s still glaring at me!”
Lena looked from Max to Greyson, who hadn’t stopped glaring, his jaw tight with suppressed anger. How could Greyson Blackwood ever think Max would let him enjoy a peaceful trip with Lena? Impossible.
Lena broke the tension with a soft laugh, turning to Greyson. “Well, now that Max is here too, won’t it be more fun? Right, Greyson?”
Greyson’s gaze flicked to the rearview mirror, where Max winked shamelessly. Against his will, Greyson gave a curt nod, starting the car again.
This time, he drove in silence while Max chatted away with Lena, his mischief finally satisfied. Once again, Max Bennett had ruined Greyson Blackwood’s plans—and gained his own twisted sense of satisfaction.
Unlike its usual quiet charm, the mansion—draped in hues of ash-grey and shadowy black—was alive with unusual bustle. Servants rushed back and forth, their footsteps echoing as preparations for tomorrow’s grand party consumed every corner. Since morning, the vast halls had been filled with the stir of staff and the precise movements of the event organizers, each one racing against time.
Glancing at his wristwatch, Damien handed his briefcase to an attendant and stepped into the ballroom from the lawn side. The scene before him was one of disciplined chaos—curtains being drawn, carpets rolled out, tables and the stage taking shape, while the glittering crystal chandeliers were scrubbed to perfection until they glimmered like captured starlight.
Along the grand wooden staircase, its rails polished to a deep sheen, a lush red carpet was being spread, flowing down the steps like a regal river of velvet. This section of the mansion radiated majesty and grandeur, no less than a royal palace.
Damien’s sharp gaze swept across the arrangements—until it stilled. Workers were carrying in his piano, carefully maneuvering it through the ballroom doors. His stride faltered, feet pausing as his eyes locked onto the instrument. For a moment, the polished black surface seemed to catch his thoughts, pulling him into its gravity.
Then, with a flicker of restraint in his expression, he tore his gaze away. Without another word, Damien turned, his steps crisp and deliberate, heading out swiftly toward his office.
202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2UudUhrzAr
202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCbpbTBwW0W
202Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUcSGRPcXL3
and then Add to home screen.