Chapter One: Shadows of a Shattered Empire
"Seems like what?" Aaron Taylor snapped, his voice dripping with irritation. Frustration carved deep lines across his sharp features, his storm-gray eyes blazing with uncontained anger. He paced the glossy marble floor of his penthouse office like a caged predator. If this leaked—no, if even a whisper of it escaped—it would ruin everything. His life, his company, his legacy.
For heaven's sake, he had poured millions—no, billions—into silencing the media, bribing networks, and sweeping every crumb of evidence under an unforgiving rug. He was nearly bankrupt, yet someone still dared to threaten his empire. Someone, somewhere, was hell-bent on tearing down the fortress he had built with blood, sweat, and ruthless ambition.
And then there was SKILL—the so-called "hacker extraordinaire." Useless. Pathetic. The man couldn't even bring down one single notification. Just one tiny red blip threatening to light up every citizen's phone. How hard could it possibly be? Aaron felt his blood boil as his patience frayed into thin, fragile threads.
His father's face appeared in his mind—a cold, stern man with a voice that could freeze fire. If this scandal exploded, his father would strip him of every last share of Macruz Oil & Gas and hand the golden crown over to Hazel. Hazel—the genius older brother. Hazel—the 25-year-old prodigy with a mind like a steel trap and the personality of a smug hedgehog.
Hazel, the perfect son. The golden boy. Aaron seethed.
Aaron hated Hazel with a passion so raw it felt like acid in his veins. Hazel, who had everything handed to him on a silver platter. Hazel, who once looked at Kayla Kornels with those love-struck eyes at the grand ball. Aaron clenched his fists. Kayla had been Hazel's weakness, his Achilles' heel. But she had chosen Aaron—or rather, Aaron had made sure she chose him. Not out of love, though. No, Kayla was just another pawn in this infernal chess game.
But that didn't stop Hazel from retreating, his pride wounded, his perfect little world cracked. Aaron had won that round, but Hazel was a snake, and snakes always found a way to slither back into the light.
"Sir… S-sir," SKILL stammered from the far corner of the room, snapping Aaron out of his furious thoughts.
"What is it now?" Aaron hissed, his patience barely hanging by a thread. "Has it been done?"
"Si-sir… there's a message for you."
Aaron's brows furrowed. "A message?"
"Yes… on your phone." SKILL's trembling hand reached out, the sleek black device glinting under the office lights.
"You're an idiot, SKILL. A complete, utter, brainless idiot. You call yourself a hacker? I should have hired a child off the street; they'd probably do a better job than you!" Aaron's voice rose with every syllable, venom dripping from each word.
SKILL's face fell, his lips pressed into a thin line. But he didn't speak back. He couldn't. He needed this job. Needed the money. Needed the reputation. But most importantly, he needed to salvage his pride.
Aaron snatched the phone from SKILL's hand and unlocked it with a swipe.
The message glared back at him in bold letters:
"Aaron Taylor, if I ever find out you are the one responsible for my parents' legendary downfall and my grandma's death… pray I don't catch you. Because if I do, I swear on every breath in my body, I will skin you alive and toss your wretched corpse into the depths of the ocean, where even the fish will refuse to devour your dry, soulless remains. Mark my words, Aaron—I will destroy you and everything you hold dear. Yours, Dry Bone."
Aaron felt his breath hitch. His heart pounded violently in his chest, like a war drum signaling imminent doom. He re-read the message again. And again.
"Who dares…" he whispered. But no one answered.
The silence in the room was deafening.
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Chapter Two: Whispers of Grief
Kayla Kornels paced the length of her sunlit living room, her bare feet sinking into the plush ivory carpet. She stole a glance at the grandfather clock ticking away in the corner—it had been over an hour since Akim disappeared into his study.
Today was Sunday—a day meant for rest, reflection, and peace. But peace felt like a distant dream. She hadn't been to church in months, not since her grandmother, Cecilia Lion, passed away. Cecilia had been her rock, her anchor in a stormy sea. They used to attend Sunday Mass together at St. Mary's Cathedral. Her grandmother would always say, "Faith, my dear Kayla, will carry you through even the darkest night."
A sharp knock broke through her thoughts. Akim stepped into the room, his face calm, his expression unreadable. In his hand, he held her phone, which buzzed incessantly with a caller ID flashing across the screen: Mr. Rogers.
She took the phone, her voice steady but soft.
📞 "Good morning, Mr. Rogers."
📞 "Morning, Miss Kayla. How have you been?"
📞 "I'm… managing," she said, her voice trembling slightly.
📞 "Good to hear. Miss Kayla… I'm calling about your grandmother's funeral arrangements."
She froze.
📞 "It's been finalized for the 30th of next month. I hope you'll be able to attend."
Her eyes flicked to the calendar app on her phone—it was a Saturday. She sighed deeply, her chest heavy with grief.
📞 "I'll be there, Mr. Rogers. Thank you."
The call ended, and for a moment, the silence felt suffocating. Kayla clutched the phone to her chest, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Oh, Grandma… I miss you. I miss your warmth, your strength. I wish I could hear your voice just one more time."
But no. She wouldn't cry. She couldn't. Grandma Cecilia had always taught her to be strong, to carry the weight of her family name—the mighty Lion and the noble Kornels—with pride.
"Are you okay?" Akim's voice broke the silence, his eyes filled with quiet concern.
Kayla nodded, forcing a small smile. "I'm fine… I think."
Akim tilted his head slightly. "You might want to check the news channel."
Kayla frowned. "What are you talking about?"
"No matter how much they've paid to silence the networks, they can't buy everything. Do you remember Qillian News? The one station your family owns? It can't be silenced, Kayla. And it's broadcasting something you need to see."
Realization struck her like lightning. Of course—the Qillian News Channel. It had been in her family for generations, passed down through ironclad trust agreements.
"Oh… Oh, God. Akim, you're right!" she said, her voice trembling with urgency.
Without another word, she lunged for the remote and flicked on the TV. The Qillian logo filled the screen, followed by the solemn voice of the news anchor.
And there, staring back at her, was a headline that made her blood run cold.
"MACRUZ OIL & GAS SCANDAL: NEW EVIDENCE UNCOVERED."
Akim looked at her, his expression grave.
"Kayla… it's starting."