Mark and Zidan, with their beaten and bloodied bodies, stood as though rooted to the floor, their heads bowed and their shame hanging as heavy as the dim light in the room.
The room was silent.
It was the kind of silence that doesn't just fill a space—it invades it, sinking into the walls and pressing on the chest like a weight too great to bear.
The air itself seemed to accuse them, though Lena Volkov hadn't spoken a word.
She didn't need to.
Her presence alone carried more authority than any outburst could muster.
Mark felt a bead of sweat snake down his spine, irritatingly slow and cold, as though mocking him for standing there.
Zidan, for his part, had locked his jaw so tightly it was a wonder he hadn't shattered a tooth. Neither dared to look up.
Nothing was heard other than Lena's fingers slowly tapping against the armrest of her leather chair.
She was sitting like a queen on her throne. Her poise was unnervingly perfect. The light above cast faint shadows across her sharp features, emphasizing a beauty that was cold, calculated, and entirely without comfort.
If her looks could have been a weapon, they'd have been a dagger—sleek, precise, and designed to leave no trace of warmth behind.
For what felt like an eternity, the silence held. Then, Lena spoke, her voice low and calm, though it cut through the room with the precision of a scalpel.
"So," she began, each word carefully placed, "you were sent to tail a university student. A student."
She paused for a moment, glancing at Mark and Zidan before adding, "And instead of accomplishing something as simple as his background, you return humiliated."
Mark instinctively opened his mouth to respond, but before a word could form, Lena raised her hand.
The gesture wasn't sharp—it didn't need to be. The air itself seemed to freeze, silencing him more effectively than any shout.
"I'm not finished," she continued, her voice carrying an edge now, like frost creeping across a windowpane. "A kid. That's all it was. And yet, you're standing here telling me that he somehow beat you?"
Zidan shifted slightly, a breath escaping his lips as he tried to gather himself. "It wasn't just any kid, boss," he managed, though his voice sounded as if it might give out at any moment. "There's… there's something different about him."
Lena arched one elegant brow, the faintest flicker of interest passing over her face. However, it did not soften her glare.
However, it did nothing to soften the ice in her eyes. "Different, you say?" she repeated. "Explain. I don't take excuses lightly."
"He's skilled," Zidan blurted. He could feel the words were tumbling out now. "He knew every move we were going to make. The scariest part is we could only land a hit once, and that's it."
Zidan added, "He could sidestep every attack and easily disarmed us. He really... really made us look like fools."
Mark, desperate to back up his partner, nodded quickly. "It's true, boss. He's not just some rich kid. He's trained—really trained. We're not amateurs. But... he made us look like one."
Lena leaned back in her chair. She continued with her rhythmic tapping on the armrest of her chair. Her eyes narrowed as though calculating something they couldn't fathom.
"A university student with combat skills," she said softly, her voice carrying a curious lilt. "What you're describing doesn't sound like someone from an unknown family."
"Unknown family..." Mark blurted out. He was trying to make sense of everything that had happened.
However, before either of them could continue to speak, Lena's voice cut through the room. She was deceptively calm. One could say her voice was like a blade slipping through silk.
"Please be quick on your thinking. You know what kind of family that I mean here, right?" Lena asked.
Mark and Zidan nodded, their movements jerky and uncertain, like schoolboys caught out of their depth. They didn't need her to elaborate.
"Is he?" Lena asked again. However, her tone this time was different. She seemed more serious and interested than before.
The two men gulped. They did not know if Ethan was part of that family or not, and they forgot to check it. That thought never crossed their minds.
Since being drawn into this world—plucked from the lowest rungs of society and given a glimpse behind the curtain—they had learned more than they cared to know about how things truly worked.
The families Lena spoke of weren't the kind you'd find around a warm hearth or passing down heirlooms. No, these families weren't defined by bonds of affection but by ironclad hierarchies and ruthless ambition.
They didn't merely live in cities or states—they owned them, and through them, they owned everything else. Like unseen clockmakers, they wound the gears of entire nations, their influence stretching far beyond what most people could imagine.
She paused, her gaze flicking between them like a hawk deciding whether or not to strike. "If he's from a normal family, he shouldn't have the ability to take down even my weakest operatives. And yet, here you stand."
Mark and Zidan exchanged uneasy glances. Their thoughts mirrored each other's. They weren't the best in Lena's ranks, but they were experienced—enough that this mission should have been straightforward.
And yet, it wasn't.
Lena rose from her chair. She moved with a deliberate grace. Then, she began pacing. One could hear her boots clicking softly against the polished floor.
"Do you know why you were tasked with this?" she asked. Her voice was deceptively soft.
They remained silent, not daring to answer. Sweat began to form on their foreheads. They knew well how dire the situation they were in.
"This task... it is beneath my best operatives," she continued, her tone shifting to something sharper now. "I assumed it wouldn't require much skill. Simple surveillance. And yet, you've managed to turn this into something far more complicated."
Mark flinched, his pulse quickening as he scrambled for words to defend himself. "We never thought he would fight back, boss. He was supposed to be easy—a rich kid with too much time on his hands. We thought—"
"There's your first mistake," Lena interrupted coolly. "You thought." She stopped pacing, her piercing gaze locking onto him. "In this business, you're not paid to think. That's not your best trait."
Zidan's knees felt weak, his hands trembling slightly as he clenched them into fists to hide the motion. The room felt smaller, as though the walls themselves were closing in. Mark, unable to hold his tongue, tried one last time.
"We didn't let our guard down on purpose!" he said, his voice rising slightly. "It's just… he's not normal. He's trained in something. We couldn't match him."
Lena tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing with faint amusement. "Trained," she repeated, her tone turning almost mocking. "Trained in what, exactly?"
Zidan faltered, his mouth opening and closing before he finally stammered, "We're not sure… martial arts, maybe."
A faint smile curled at the corner of Lena's lips, though it carried no warmth. She knew that these two men had eyes for such a thing, and she believed them.
'Interesting. I wonder which family he came from,' Lena wondered. It was normal for an heir of any family to suddenly appear out of nowhere. Maybe Ethan was in a similar case to her.
'If this is the case, we could use each other for our goals,' Lena concluded in her mind. 'But if he's really a wealthy kid from a normal family, it'll be easier for things to work in my favor.'
"So let me summarize," she said, her voice low but cutting. "A university student—one with no affiliations—managed to outsmart and overpower two of my people with martial arts."
Both Mark and Zidan nodded. If they were going to be punished, they would prefer that their leader know the whole truth.
She stopped pacing and stood before them, her sharp eyes calculating. "Enough of that," she said, her voice calm but cold, like the crack of ice underfoot. "Tell me about the money. What else do we know about him?"
Mark, ever eager to salvage the situation, leaped in as if to prove his worth. "The first thing we know, he had at least one billion dollars in his account. Suzanne, the bank teller, blurted it out."
"He was then called by the manager, and I waited in front, but he never came out from there," Mark continued. The scene where he was waiting with Zidan played in his mind. "But Zidan was waiting somewhere at the back, and we were lucky not to lose him."
"We followed him for a while, boss. He brought a bag with him. I believe it was money inside," added Mark. But before he could continue, Lena cut him out.
"Wait a minute. Are you saying he carried cash in a bag? That's stupid. Who'll do that?" asked Lena. She was confused by that action. "Continue."
Mark and Zidan pondered for a while. When they thought about it, that was kind of stupid, actually. But Mark continued his story anyway. "He went to the Jerai Royale Hotel, where we saw him meeting someone in a private room. But…" He hesitated, casting a sidelong glance at Zidan. "We couldn't get close enough to see who it was."
Lena's expression didn't change, but her gaze hardened, slicing into Mark like a blade. "So, you don't even know who he met?" she asked, her tone deceptively mild.
Mark faltered, his confidence visibly wilting. "Not at first," he admitted, his voice barely above a murmur.
Zidan, sensing an opportunity to step in, took over with a steadier tone. "But we followed him afterward, boss. The bag was gone. We believe he gave it to the person he met."
"The next day, he went to a property agency and was looking at that famous unsold building—that twelve million dollar building by Luca Moretti," Zidan continued.
Lena tilted her head slightly, her interest piqued. "That building? Interesting."
"Yes," Zidan continued, gaining momentum. "And he wasn't alone. He went to view it with a female agent. That's when we saw him—David Turner. It's him, boss. We're sure now. Turner must've been the one meeting Ethan at the hotel."
"And Moretti was there too," Mark added, stumbling over his words in his haste. "Both of them."
Lena's sharp gaze flicked between the two men, her interest unmistakable now. "David Turner and Luca Moretti?" she said softly, her voice carrying a dangerous edge. "How do two of the city's most influential men end up in a deal with a student?"
Mark nodded; his relief was palpable. "We're not sure what the deal was, boss, but it wasn't small. Moretti handed over the keys and access cards to the building. He bought that building."
Lena leaned back in her chair and drummed her fingers softly on the armrest. She focused intently, her thoughts racing ahead of her team.
Turner and Moretti didn't waste time on unimportant things. Their connection to Ethan Cole suggested that he was more significant than anyone realized.
"This isn't just a spoiled rich kid," Lena murmured to herself. "He's involved in much bigger circles than we thought."
The room fell silent again as Lena considered this. Turner and Moretti were careful and strategic. They chose their partners wisely and avoided unnecessary risks.
Yet, they were linked to a university student who seemed ordinary.
What did they see that she missed?
Lena's lips tightened as she started to connect the dots. Her family, the Volkovs, had built their reputation by always being ahead of others.
The Volkov family was known as successful business leaders in real estate, technology, and finance. However, they were also the founders of the Shadow Syndicate, a secret network that controlled much of the underworld.
For Lena, this family legacy meant more than just inheritance. It was a challenge she needed to overcome to become the next leader. But, she faced strong competition.
The Volkovs had three main heirs, and Lena was one of them. They all wanted to take control of the empire.
Novan City was Lena's battleground, where she aimed to outsmart the other heirs. Every operation, alliance, and acquisition was a step in the silent struggle for power.
Ethan Cole caught Lena's attention. If Turner and Moretti saw potential in him, maybe she could, too. 'If I can get something from him…' she thought, leaving the rest unsaid.
Lena smiled faintly, though it wasn't friendly. Ethan Cole was no longer just a random kid; he became part of a much larger game.
Now, he was on her radar.
"If he's connected to Turner and Moretti," Lena said, her voice low but firm, "then we can't overlook him. He either has powerful backing or is hiding some secret about his wealth."
Zidan swallowed audibly, his voice shaky as he ventured to ask, "What… what do we do now, boss?"
Lena's sharp gaze turned on him, and her expression shifted to one of unyielding seriousness. "We don't do anything," she said coldly. "I don't want any more mistakes. I'll handle this myself."
Mark and Zidan, visibly relieved, exchanged brief glances, their shoulders relaxing slightly. But their relief was short-lived. Lena's stern expression deepened, and her voice took on a cutting edge that made the air feel heavier.
"But let me make one thing clear," she continued, her words measured and deliberate, each one landing like the crack of a whip. "If you fail me again—on any mission—you won't get the chance to say sorry."
The men stiffened immediately, their brief reprieve vanishing as they nodded in quick, fervent agreement. Their throats seemed to close around the words they didn't dare utter.
"Now, leave," Lena commanded, a single, graceful gesture dismissing them. "And try to keep yourselves out of trouble."
Mark and Zidan wasted no time. They practically stumbled over themselves in their haste to obey, disappearing through the door with hearts racing and egos thoroughly battered.
The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Lena alone in the silence of the room.
Lena moved to her desk, her movements deliberate, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. She accessed the sparse file her team had pieced together on Ethan.
It wasn't much—barely more than a collection of breadcrumbs—but every detail seemed to carry weight, every missing piece hinting at something larger.
Her lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. Ethan Cole had become more than a target. He was a chance for her to beat the other heirs. And Lena Volkov never walked away from such a chance.
If he thought he could operate in her city unnoticed, he was mistaken. It was only a matter of time before their paths crossed. And when they did, Lena would ensure she held the advantage.
The room seemed to grow colder as she sat back, her thoughts sharp and deliberate. The game had begun, and Lena Volkov wasn't one to lose.