The marble floor gleamed under Redington’s calloused fingers, its chill biting into his skin as he scrubbed the same corner for the fourth time that morning.Outside, the golden sun bathed the estate in light, but here in the hallway of House Everhart, shadows reigned. Even the light didn’t dare linger too long.A polished leather shoe kicked the bucket beside him, spilling water across the floor. "You're in the way. Again," sneered Mason Everhart, the second son. He didn’t wait for a response. He never did.Redington lowered his head. “Sorry, sir.”“Don't call me sir,” Mason spat, his breath heavy with morning whiskey. “You're not military. You’re just a mop in a man’s skin.”He turned on his heel and strode off, leaving muddy footprints across the very floor Redington had just cleaned. Redington stared at them for a second too long.Another voice cut through the air, soft but firm. “Don’t waste your energy, Red.”Redington looked up to see the youngest Everhart: Emmett, fifteen, hol

The rain hadn’t stopped by morning, Grayson no longer Redington sat in the back seat of Emmett’s car as they drove through the dim outskirts of Graybridge. They had ditched the hotel an hour ago, using side streets and back alleys like fugitives. Because that’s what they were now.Fugitives of power. “Where are we going?” Grayson asked.Emmett adjusted the rearview mirror. “Somewhere no one knows about. My grandfather had a place in the hills. It’s not on record. No servants. No surveillance. Just trees, and silence.”Grayson nodded, trying to breathe through the fog in his mind, So far, he had learned three truths in the last twenty-four hours: He was the lost son of a dying billionaire, The people he had served for years had known or suspected and kept it buried.Someone out there wanted him dead, And that someone had influence, He’d seen it already: strange men in suits watching the hotel from across the street. A woman with a camera pretending to be a tourist. Cars that drove too

The cold hit first, Grayson woke to the biting chill of metal beneath his skin and the sharp sting in his neck where the taser had struck. His wrists were cuffed, and a blindfold covered his eyes.His head throbbed. His muscles ached. But his mind was alert. Where am I?. A familiar voice broke the silence, smooth, smug, and venom-laced.“Well, well. If it isn’t the prodigal son.”Grayson stiffened. “Lucien.”The blindfold was yanked off, He blinked against the light. The room was industrial, gray walls, metal chairs, and a single flickering bulb overhead. Lucien stood in front of him, dressed in a flawless designer suit, like he’d just come from brunch.“You know,” Lucien said casually, “when I first found out who you were, I laughed. You, our housekeeper, the heir to a trillion-dollar empire? It was pathetic.”Grayson didn’t blink. “Is this where you monologue and pose, or are you planning to kill me?”Lucien smiled. “Tempting. But killing you now would only make you a martyr. No, Gr

Grayson Wynthorpe sat alone in his father’s old office, bathed in the dim light of a desk lamp. The echoes of the boardroom still rang in his ears, the shocked faces, the murmurs, the vote. Eight to three.He had won, But the victory tasted like iron. On the desk before him lay a thin, unmarked manila folder. Alaric had left it for him with a single instruction: “When the crown is yours, open it. You’ll understand why they tried to keep you hidden.”His fingers hovered over the tab, He hesitated, Then he opened it, Inside were surveillance photos, grainy black-and-white stills from thirty years ago. One showed a woman, his mother, no doubt, sneaking out the back of a building with a baby in her arms.Another showed a van, its license plate scratched out, parked outside an orphanage. The next image struck like a blade: a photo of Clive Everhart, standing beside a much younger version of Alaric, shaking hands.A scribbled note under the photo: “The contract was signed. The child was gon

The plane ride back to Graybridge was quiet. Too quiet, Grayson sat alone in the rear of the jet, staring at the deep cut across his shoulder, stitched up and wrapped, but still burning. Not from pain… from memory.Wren Dax, Silent, Precise, Focused, She could have killed him. She didn’t, She was testing him. But why?Across from him, Emmett finally broke the silence. “You haven’t said a word since takeoff.”Grayson didn’t look away from the window. “There’s another one like me out there.”“Alpha-One.”Grayson’s jaw tightened. “Stronger. Smarter. Unstable.”“And Clive’s next weapon,” Emmett added grimly. “He’s going to unleash him.”Grayson nodded. “And when he does, I need to be ready.”Back in Graybridge, Clive Everhart moved through his underground vault, a compound buried deep beneath the city, untouched by law or loyalty, Steel doors opened to a dark chamber.Behind triple-reinforced glass, Alpha-One stood, shirtless, hooked to IV drips and sensors. His body was covered in scars.