Chapter 8: Revelations and Retribution
Vivian’s heart sank as the weight of her actions hit her. It turned out that everything Helen had said was true. She had humiliated the wrong people, and now the consequences were staring her in the face. Her legs gave way, and she collapsed to her knees in front of Dylan and Helen. Cold sweat dripped from her forehead, and her hands trembled as she clasped them together in desperation. "Please, Helen... Young Master Dylan..." Vivian’s voice cracked, and tears streamed down her face. "I was wrong. I didn’t mean it! I didn’t know who you were! Please, forgive me. I’ll do anything to make this right!" Helen stood tall beside Dylan, her sharp gaze pinned on Vivian. Her voice was cold, yet steady, as she spoke. "You didn’t mean it? Was it ignorance or arrogance, Vivian? You didn’t bother verifying who we were before treating us like dirt. And now you’re groveling? Do you think that excuses what you’ve done?" Vivian’s sobs grew louder, and she crawled closer, reaching for Helen’s hand. "I was blinded by my assumptions! I swear it won’t happen again. Please, Helen, Dylan, give me another chance!" Dylan’s eyes remained calm but distant, his hands in his pockets as he looked down at the groveling woman. Before she could continue begging, John Nelson’s booming voice cut through the room. "Enough." The authority in his tone silenced everyone. John’s expression was as cold as steel as he glared at Vivian. "You’ve disgraced the Nelson family name and tarnished the reputation of the Royal Elysian Hotel. Do you think begging for mercy will undo the humiliation you’ve caused my granddaughter and the Young Master of the family?" Vivian shook her head desperately, her tears now soaking her face. "No, Mr. Nelson! Please, I was wrong. I’ll do anything, even if you want me to resign." "You don’t need to resign," John interrupted icily. "You’re fired." A strangled gasp escaped Vivian’s throat. "Fired?" she echoed, disbelief flashing across her face. "Mr. Nelson, please! I’ve dedicated years to this place!" John’s sharp gaze didn’t falter. He turned to the security guards standing nearby. "Escort her out of the premises. I don’t want to see her face in this hotel ever again." The guards hesitated for a moment, but John’s authoritative stance left no room for argument. They moved swiftly, grabbing Vivian by her arms and dragging her toward the exit. She screamed and begged all the way out, her voice fading as the murmurs of the crowd grew louder. --- **In the Grand Lobby** John turned to face Dylan and Helen, his expression softening as guilt flickered in his eyes. "Young Master Dylan, I deeply apologize for this disgraceful incident. As the chairman, this was my responsibility, and I failed to ensure the dignity of our guests. Please, allow me to personally invite you to the Supreme Banquet Hall to make amends." Dylan gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. "Let’s not dwell on it, Mr. Nelson. Lead the way." As they entered the elevator, whispers followed them. "The Supreme Banquet Hall?" one guest murmured. "That’s reserved for VIPs!" "Who is that guy? Mr. Nelson called him the Young Master!" "Could he be from the Nelson family?" --- **At the Supreme Banquet Hall** The room was a breathtaking sight. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, and the golden décor shimmered in the soft light. The aroma of fine wine and gourmet dishes filled the air. John personally pulled out a chair for Dylan at the head table. "Please, sit, Young Master Dylan," he said respectfully. Once they were seated, John leaned forward, his tone sincere. "Young Master Dylan, I cannot express how ashamed I am. This was an unforgivable oversight. I assure you, it will never happen again." Dylan’s expression remained calm. "Mr. Nelson, this wasn’t entirely your fault." He glanced at Helen briefly before continuing. "Jane had a hand in this. She orchestrated it deliberately to create trouble for us." John’s face darkened at the mention of Jane. A flash of alarm crossed his features as he suddenly remembered something. "The cooperation agreement with her company!" he muttered, standing abruptly. "I haven’t canceled it yet!" He quickly pulled out his phone and called the manager in charge of the deal. His tone was sharp and urgent. "Cancel the cooperation with Jane’s company immediately. Do you hear me? IMMEDIATELY!” There was a brief silence on the other end of the line before John’s expression turned grim. "What? The manager has already left to sign the contract? Get me his number, now!" --- **Meanwhile, in Another ordinary Banquet Hall** In a smaller, yet elegant banquet hall, Jane and Bobby were entertaining a middle-aged man with a slick smile. The man was the manager of the Nelson family’s business division, and he was there to finalize the cooperation agreement with Jane’s company. The room was filled with Jane’s carefully invited guests—business associates, potential investors, and socialites. Jane had planned this moment meticulously, ensuring that everyone would witness her "success" in securing a deal with the Nelson family. The manager raised his glass in a toast, his tone flattering. "Ms. Jane, I must say, you’re very fortunate to have such a reliable partner. It’s clear someone powerful is helping you behind the scenes to secure this deal." Jane raised her glass with a practiced smile, her eyes filled with gratitude as she looked at Bobby. “I couldn’t have done this without you, Bobby. Truly.” Bobby smirked, leaning back in his chair as if the whole affair was beneath him. “You give me too much credit, Jane. It was just a few phone calls.” The manager, seated across from them, looked mildly amused but suddenly furrowed his brows. “Ms. Jane,” he asked, his tone light but curious, “Isn’t your husband here? I expected to see him at such an important occasion.” Jane’s smile faltered, and an awkward silence fell over the table. Her grip on her wine glass tightened as she scrambled for an answer. “Ah… my husband…” she began, her voice tinged with forced nonchalance. “He’s just an ordinary man, you see. He doesn’t feel comfortable in high-profile settings like this. So Bobby offered to accompany me today.” The manager raised an eyebrow, his curiosity growing. He turned his gaze toward Bobby, studying him with a hint of skepticism. “Bobby, was it?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Forgive me, but I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before. Your family… I don’t recall them having connections with the Nelson family.” Bobby’s confident expression wavered for a split second before he recovered. “Oh, well, we don’t flaunt our connections,” he said smoothly, brushing off the remark. “I prefer to keep things discreet.” The manager’s eyes narrowed slightly, but before he could press further, his phone buzzed loudly on the table. He glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted immediately to one of alarm. It was Mr. Nelson calling. “Excuse me for a moment,” he muttered, standing abruptly and walking a few steps away to answer the call. “Hello, Sir” his voice was low but urgent. After hearing what Mr. Nelson said, his expression changed abruptly, and he quickly left the banquet hall.
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The rusted gate groaned on its hinges as Vivian slipped through first, weapon sweeping left to right. The tunnel beyond was dim and dripping—cracked floor lights flickered beneath a thin layer of murky water.Dylan followed close behind, every step tense. “Where would they even keep a hostage down here?”Vivian checked her scanner. “No signals. Could be storage. Boiler rooms. N7 means sector seven—probably retrofitted an old maintenance area.”Then came the sound—fragile, trembling.Muffled sobs.Childlike.Vivian’s posture straightened, boots splashing faster through the shallow puddles.Dylan’s breath hitched. “Molly?”From the shadows, a hunched figure recoiled, then stumbled. A little girl—bloodied knees, tangled hair, duct tape dangling from one wrist.“Molly!” Dylan choked, rushing past Vivian.The girl lifted her head—dazed, eyes searching. Then they locked on him.“Daddy?”He dropped his weapon without hesitation, falling to his knees and pulling her into his arms. “Oh God. Mo
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Mara pointed behind the living room sofa. “They installed a small mic unit—wired into the wall.” Vivian stared. “So they’ve had eyes and ears inside for longer than we thought.” Dylan said quietly, “We’re in a goddamn fishbowl.” Marie called out suddenly. “I’ve got movement on CCTV. Pause it.” She stuck a headset on. Vivian and Dylan leaned in as flickering frames advanced. They saw Garren walking through the corridor, just past midnight two nights ago. In his hand was a small device—and he slipped into the bathroom, just as AlphaGhost was being installed. Vivian’s voice went cold. “Pause. Zoom.” Marie did. Garren clicked a panel, pulled a small drive from under the sink. Dylan’s eyes went wide. “That’s BIOS level.” Vivian said flatly: “He had physical access. He’s the one who planted the software. And the burner.” Silence hung. Marie whispered, “He pinged HQ. That’s how they knew to hit us.” Dylan pressed forward. “We take him alive. We need answers, locations. He’s the
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She tapped the screen. The message opened, the pin marking them as the target. Vivian swallowed and reached for her comm. “Dylan,” she called out, voice taut. He appeared in the doorway seconds later, rifle raised. “What is it?” Vivian didn’t look away from the phone. She whispered, “We’ve got a mole.” “What?” A moment passed. “Someone in the apartment pinged their position.” She slid the burner across the desk in silent accusation. “From inside.” Dylan’s face drained. “But we swept three times—no outsiders.” “Unless someone from our own did it,” Vivian said. Marie and Mara arrived, eyes widening. Mara said softly, “Helen’s last words…” Vivian cut her off. “Exactly.” Marie said, half to herself, “We bled together. We risked our lives.” She squared her shoulders. “But if someone inside fed them?” Vivian closed her eyes and replied, “And it’s not one of us, it’s someone with access to HQ intel. The burner phone was planted, or slipped in.” Dylan rubbed his temple. “Theta-9
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Suddenly, another figure emerged from the smoke — tall, broad-shouldered, but cautious. Mask down, face shadowed but unmistakable in the dim light. The last intruder. Dylan leveled his rifle. “Who sent you?” he demanded, voice low but fierce, like the growl of a cornered animal. The man sneered, lips curling. “Viktor.” The name hit Dylan like a punch to the gut — Viktor. The puppeteer behind the relentless attacks, the dark force pulling strings. “Viktor’s orders,” the man spat, stepping forward. Dylan’s grip tightened on the rifle, eyes narrowing. “You’re done here.” The intruder lunged, knife flashing. Dylan sidestepped smoothly, ducking the blow. With a brutal uppercut, he slammed his fist into the man’s jaw, cracking bone. The attacker staggered but recovered quickly, swinging wildly. Dylan’s breath was heavy, heart pounding thunderously in his chest. The fight wasn’t just survival anymore — it was retribution. He feinted left, then drove his knee into the intruder’s ri
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“It’s not going to hold,” Vivian warned. “They’re pushing teams in waves.”“Then we buy time,” Dylan said, voice low. “I’ll use the front to distract again. Vivian, watch the rear. Mara, get Helen across the threshold to the living room.”Dylan sprinted to the front room, rifle raised. He swept in a wide arc, firing through the bookshelf gap. Two intruders advanced—he dropped one, grazed the other.A third stepped behind him. Dylan turned and struck with the rifle’s butt, sending the man reeling backward. A gasp, a crash, and Dylan vaulted past him, the path now cleared.“Go! Move!” he roared, signaling the others.Vivian switched to a side door guard, rifle scanning. Marie rushed to Mara’s side, helping carry Helen through the living room toward a sturdied doorway entry.Smoke drifted sideways from the hallway into the kitchen. They regrouped behind the solid wood counter.“Everyone good?” Dylan asked, catching his breath.Marie checked Helen’s pulse. “Weak, but holding. We need to c
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⸻The moment the masked men burst in, Dylan was already moving.“Down!” he shouted, diving to the side and kicking the coffee table over for makeshift cover. Bullets ripped through plaster as Vivian returned fire with deadly precision, crouched behind the kitchen island.“Three hostiles!” Vivian barked, her voice sharp as she took another shot. “No insignia. No hesitation. They’re professionals.”“On it,” Dylan growled, vaulting over the couch. He slammed into one of the intruders, elbows-first, driving his knee into the man’s side before twisting the rifle from his hands in a fluid motion. Crack! The rifle clattered across the hardwood.“Nice,” Vivian called. “Keep them busy!”The second masked man lunged at Dylan with a baton. He ducked low—Mara, still crouching protectively over Helen near the far wall, lashed out with a metal tray, smacking the attacker across the jaw.“Get your hands off my patient,” she hissed, voice tight.“Mara, back!” Dylan shouted between gritted teeth, stil
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