Golden sunlight spilled across the beach. Waves lapped lazily at the shore, and soft music drifted from hidden speakers tucked beneath the palm umbrellas. Valeria sat on a cushioned beach chair, oversized sunglasses shielding her eyes from the sun, while Elijah returned from the beach bar, holding a tray of chilled juice cans. Sienna walked beside him, brushing grains of sand off her black linen wrap. He dropped the tray onto their table with a soft thud. “Juice delivery.” “About time,” Valeria said playfully, grabbing one and cracking it open. “I thought you abandoned us to go lift palm trees.” Elijah smirked, sipping his own drink. “Only if the tree disrespects me.” “Are you two enjoying the day off?” Valeria asked, adjusting her sun hat. “Big time, yes,” she answered herself, stretching dramatically. Sienna took a slow sip. “A little,” she admitted, smacking her lips afterward. “But honestly, I can’t wait to get back to work. My body doesn’t know how to process th

The cold blue glow of the X-ray flickered on the wall-mounted screen. A skeletal hand was on display—twisted, fractured, and unmistakably ruined. Joshua Quinn leaned forward from his leather seat in the private medical room, squinting at the highlighted damage. His middle finger looked like it had been through a war. Because it had. His war. Slammed by a hammer. Broken clean through the bone. By his own son. “Elijah,” he muttered under his breath, tasting the name like acid. Then slowly, almost amusedly… he began to chuckle. The doctor standing beside him cleared his throat nervously. “Sir, the fracture is severe. Without surgical reinforcement, the finger may never regain full mobility. Best-case scenario… six months for healing, if we act fast.” Joshua turned to the doctor, that same twisted smile on his face. “Six months?” “Yes, sir.” He flexed the broken finger slowly, the pain biting, but he welcomed it like an old friend. “What a funny life,” Joshua whispered. “A son

Valeria entered VIREX headquarters with her heart in her throat and her fists clenched so tight her nails dug into her palm. Two black-suited guards stood at the glass doors—silent, statuesque. She expected resistance, a challenge, even a gun in her face. But nothing came.They parted like curtains, eyes blank, and stepped aside.She slowed down, uncertain, glancing at one of them. He didn’t blink.They were told not to stop her.Her stomach twisted. The sweat underneath her silk blouse clung to her back. It wasn’t from the heat. It was fear. This wasn’t part of any plan. And she was doing it behind Elijah’s back.He’ll be furious.The moment spun in her mind like a reel: Elijah lying on the stretcher, shirt bloodied, face pale. The paramedics moved with urgency, trying to get a drip into his arm as they yelled instructions over each other. One of them had looked her in the eye and said, "If we came a minute later, the smoke would’ve shut down his system completely."Alec.He wa

The hospital floor was quiet. Too quiet. Elijah stood in front of the large window, his reflection faint against the glass, blending with the skyline of the city too loud to care. The afternoon sun burned like fire outside, too hot and bright—but the air inside was freezing. The AC hummed softly, but it made his skin prickle. He tugged at the blanket over his shoulder. The entire floor had been cleared. No nurses. No visitors. Just him and Sienna. She stood beside the hospital bed like a statue, arms folded. He looked over his shoulder. “You’ve been standing there too long. Take a break, Sienna.” She shook her head. “It’s my duty.” Elijah gave her a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s your heart. That’s the problem.” Sienna lowered her gaze. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then—distant noise. Raised voices. Shouts. Cameras clicking Elijah turned slightly, brows furrowed. “What’s with the noise?” Sienna moved quickly toward the door, checking the moni

Elijah stepped out of the black Jeep and onto the gravel driveway of his mansion, something filled his lungs.Something sharp. Old.Familiar.He paused.His boots crunched slower on the stone. The towering front doors were open—unusual. The guards stood still, their eyes down.Too still.Elijah stepped in, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the vast marble hallway like a countdown. His brow furrowed as the scent grew stronger.Oakwood…cologne…old wine.He stopped.His eyes lifted to the open archway of the dining room.And there he was.Seated at the head of the long mahogany table… chewing slowly, sipping from a glass.Elijah’s father.Sienna stood to the side, her head bowed, fingers trembling as they clutched the edge of the silver tray. Her eyes darted up—brief, apologetic.His father noticed.He turned casually, chewing, then met Elijah’s stare.A cold smile curved on his lips. “Son.”Elijah’s jaw tightened. “What the hell is he doing here?” he asked, his voice a low grow