Ethan stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the unconscious girl lying on the polished floor of his penthouse. Her body looked too fragile for the horrors her appearance hinted at. Dirt smeared her pale skin, streaked with bruises across her cheekbones and jawline. Her arms trembled even in sleep, twitching as though they still remembered chains. But what unsettled him most wasn’t the damage—it was the resemblance.The sharp cheekbones. The pale gray eyes, closed now but still burned into memory. The delicate shape of her mouth, curled slightly even in silence. Ethan’s chest tightened. She looked like Helena.But she wasn’t Helena.This girl carried the same face, yet something was missing—the defiant fire, the quiet venom Helena had honed into a weapon. This one seemed fragile, almost breakable.Camille had already secured the doors, sweeping the penthouse with her usual precision. She leaned against the wall now, eyes sharp, a knife in her hand though no one had heard her draw it. Ju

The morning sun glinted off the Mediterranean coast, a blinding shimmer rolling across the waves like molten glass. From the villa’s terrace, Ethan stood motionless, fists clenched on the railing. The salt air filled his lungs, but it did nothing to clear the pounding in his head. The revelation from the night before echoed in his mind like a relentless war drum, beating louder with every breath.Someone shared his blood.Not in metaphor. Not in brotherhood forged by fire.No—biologically.He had a twin.And that twin had accessed the Ghost Fund systems. Not Phantom. Not Helena. Not Cain or some other pretender from the Nine’s rotten core. No. This was something far worse.It was him.Or someone close enough to him that the world wouldn’t know the difference.The idea coiled in his stomach like a snake. A double. A shadow. A reflection sharpened into something monstrous.Behind him, footsteps sounded against the polished tiles. Wren appeared, a file gripped tight in her hand. The wind

The Acropolis loomed above Athens like a sentinel of time, its white marble catching the moonlight like bone. For centuries, it had survived empires, wars, and flames. But tonight, a darker fire was rising beneath its shadow, and Ethan Cross knew he was about to wake it. The jet touched down just past midnight. No reporters waited, no red carpets, no flash of cameras—only the cold wind sweeping across the tarmac and the quiet echo of history. The night smelled of jet fuel and salt from the Aegean Sea. Wren descended first, boots hitting the ground with the certainty of a soldier. She adjusted her sidearm without looking down, her eyes already scanning for threats. Camille followed, her movements sharper, coiled with restless violence. Together they flanked Ethan, shadows of fire and steel at his side. Ethan’s gaze never left the distant glow of the city skyline. Athens pulsed with life, but beneath the hum of traffic and neon, he heard something else—a heartbeat of chaos waiting t

The headlines hit the world like a thunderclap.Helena Vale: The Ghost Queen of Global Finance?Interpol Pursues New Syndicate Tied to Exiled Billionaire HeiressThe Nine’s Heiress Reemerges—And She’s Not Playing NiceIt was a calculated strike. Ethan’s media contacts, the anonymous leaks, and the decrypted flash drive from Monaco had painted a damning portrait of Helena Vale. In less than forty-eight hours, she’d gone from a ghost story whispered in boardrooms to global enemy number one.And she didn’t take it well.The safehouse in Marseille was cloaked in night when Wren’s voice sliced through the stillness like a dagger. “Satellite picked up movement near our perimeter. Looks like a drone scan.”Ethan looked up from the tablet, eyes narrowing. “They found us already?”“No,” Camille answered from the window, her sniper scope glowing faintly. “They’re trying to intimidate us. Force us to relocate. Wear us down.”“They’re forgetting one thing,” Ethan said, rising slowly to his feet.

Marseille, two days later.The sea whispered below, restless and endless, waves breaking against the jagged rocks like muffled gunfire. Ethan Cross stood on the balcony of the penthouse overlooking the harbor, the salt-heavy air brushing against his bare skin. He leaned his forearms on the railing, the scar along his ribs catching the faint light of dawn. He had always hated silence, and now it clung to him like a warning.Behind him, the sheets were tangled around Wren’s body, her hair a dark spill against the pillow, the subtle rise and fall of her breathing steady, unguarded. For a fleeting moment, the room carried an illusion of peace—one he did not believe in.He lit a cigarette, though he had no intention of smoking it. The ritual mattered more than the burn of smoke. His eyes traced the horizon, but his mind moved elsewhere. Cain had gone silent since the broadcast. Camille had disappeared after one final encrypted note about securing Helena’s offshore ledger. And Jules… Jules