"Say that again?" Dylan was furious. He hadn’t expected Lisa to speak so disrespectfully about his daughter.
"Hah! You useless man, all you do is puff yourself up in front of women, huh? You don’t have a penny to your name—what do you think you can provide for your daughter?" Lisa continued mocking him without a care.
Dylan’s gaze remained as cold as steel, locking onto Lisa’s smug expression. “How I raise Molly is none of your concern,” he said, his voice low but firm.
Lisa let out a dry laugh, crossing her arms. “Oh, please, Dylan. Let’s not pretend you’re doing her any favors. You’re a broke, useless man with no future. Molly deserves better than being dragged down by you.”
Dylan opened his mouth to reply, but a small voice interrupted from the doorway. “You’re a bad woman!”
Both heads turned toward Molly, who stood clutching her stuffed bunny as though it were her only shield. Her innocent face was streaked with tears, her big eyes glistening with hurt.
Lisa’s eyes narrowed in irritation. “What did you just say, you little brat?”
Upon hearing Lisa's words, Dylan's face turned cold. He stood up and positioned himself in front of Molly, coldly saying.
"Repeat what you just said? Who gave you the guts to call my daughter like that?"
Lisa let out a cold laugh, thinking Dylan was a clown.
"I called her a little brat!"
Lisa's face was full of mockery. "What are you going to do to me? Hit me?"
Dylan clenched his fists tightly, unable to accept that someone would dare insult his daughter.
Molly took a shaky step forward, her tiny fists clenched at her sides. “You’re bad! You made Daddy sad!”
Lisa rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, grow up, you spoiled little—”
“Enough!” Dylan’s voice cut through her words like a whip. His jaw clenched as he stepped protectively in front of Molly. “Apologize. Now.”
Lisa laughed harshly, leaning back against the wall. “Apologize? To a child nobody even wants? Don’t make me laugh, Dylan. Even her own mother doesn’t care enough to stick around.”
“Mommy loves me!” Molly cried, her voice breaking as fresh tears streamed down her cheeks.
Lisa smirked, her voice dripping with venom. “Oh, sweetheart, if your mother really loved you, do you think she’d have left you with this useless man?”
Molly cried loudly, throwing the plush toy she was holding at Lisa. Lisa was seething with anger, feeling deeply offended.
"You little brat!" She raised her hand, intending to slap Molly hard.
"What do you think you're doing?!" Dylan angrily stood up, positioning himself in front of Molly.
Lisa collided with Dylan, and his strong body made her feel as if she had slammed into a wall. She screamed and fell to the ground, her head hitting the corner of the table, blood pouring out.
"Blood! I'm bleeding! Dylan, you're a complete maniac! How dare you hit a weak woman?!" Lisa screamed, touching her forehead.
Dylan sneered coldly. "I didn’t hit you. You were the one trying to hit Molly. I was just protecting her! There are cameras in our living room!"
But Lisa ignored Dylan's words, she screamed, “You think you can get away with hitting me? You’re nothing but a pathetic excuse for a man, Dylan! You have no money, no status, nothing! How dare you!”
However, her rant was interrupted by the distant rumble of engines. The sound grew louder, cutting through the morning quiet until it was impossible to ignore.
“What’s that noise?” Molly asked, her tears momentarily forgotten as she peeked out from behind Dylan.
Lisa strode to the window, her anger replaced by confusion. “What the…” she muttered.
Outside, a procession of sleek, luxurious cars pulled up in front of Jane’s house. The sun gleamed off the polished surfaces of the vehicles—Rolls-Royces, Bentleys, Aston Martins—each more dazzling than the last.
Lisa’s jaw dropped. “Are you seeing this?” she asked, though she wasn’t speaking to anyone in particular.
Dylan didn’t move, his expression unreadable.
Moments later, men in tailored suits began stepping out of the cars, their movements precise and exuding authority.
Lisa turned back to Dylan with a smug smirk. “See that? This is Jane’s life now. These must be her new business partners. The Nelsons. Real men with power and money. You’ll never even get close to this kind of wealth.”
Dylan’s lips curved into a faint, mocking smile, one that sent an inexplicable chill down Lisa’s spine.
From one of the cars, a strikingly handsome man emerged. He was tall, with sharp features, and his three-piece suit fit him perfectly, exuding elegance and power.
Lisa’s breath hitched. “Who is that?” she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away.
She turned to Dylan with a triumphant look. “This must be one of Jane’s wealthy suitors,” she said loudly. “Look at him—class, wealth, everything you’ll never have. Face it, Dylan, you’ll never compare to—”
Seeing the handsome man walk up to her, Lisa quickly straightened her clothes.
She put on what she thought was her most beautiful smile and said to the handsome man, "Hello, sir. I'm Jane's best friend, Lisa. She's not here right now, but I can show you around..." However, the man walked straight past Lisa without even glancing at her. Instead, he stopped in front of Dylan and, to her utter shock, bowed deeply. “Mr Grenville,” he said, his voice filled with respect. “I am Charles Emerson, the Nelson family’s butler. It’s an honor to see you here.” Lisa’s mouth fell open. “What?” she stammered, her brain scrambling to make sense of what she had just witnessed. Before she could say more, another car door opened. This time, a stunning woman stepped out, her movements graceful as she helped an elderly man to his feet. The old man leaned on a silver cane, his face lit with emotion as he approached Dylan. “Young master,” the elderly man said, his voice trembling. “Welcome home. We’ve been waiting for this day for so long.”
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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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