The Billionaire Heir Nobody Saw Coming

2. Midnight Breach

The sea wind sharpened as Jacob broke into a run. Marble steps blurred beneath his shoes; the city’s glitter fell away like sparks. Behind him, the security man kept pace, breath even.

“Details,” Jacob demanded.

“Two intruders, maybe three,” the guard said. “Sensors tripped on the east wall of the Villa des Roses. Inner cameras went dark a minute later.”

“How dark?”

“Signal cut clean. Someone knew the system.”

They reached the promenade. A black SUV idled at the curb, engine low and menacing. The driver threw open the rear door.

Jacob slid in. “Timeline?”

“Earliest breach twenty-three ten,” the guard replied as the SUV roared into motion. “We dispatched interior teams, but radio silence from the villa staff. No shots reported.”

“Grandfather?”

“In the panic room. He initiated a lockdown. But he’s alone.”

Jacob’s jaw tightened. “Alone?”

“All personal aides were off duty. His decision.”

The lights of the harbor whipped past as they climbed toward the hills. Jacob’s phone vibrated, an encrypted ping from the family network.

VILLA STATUS: BLACK.

LAST CODE ENTRY: UNKNOWN.

He typed a single word: ETA?

A reply flashed: FOUR MINUTES.

The SUV fishtailed around a hairpin curve, tires squealing. Jacob braced against the seat as they rocketed higher into the cliffside roads. The guard glanced back. “Orders, sir?”

Jacob kept his eyes on the dark sweep of the Mediterranean. “Silent approach. Cut headlights at the tunnel.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Call me Jacob,” he added.

The guard hesitated. “Mr. Smith.”

“Names don’t matter tonight.”

They killed the headlights as the road plunged into a narrow stone tunnel. Blackness swallowed them, the engine a muted growl. Jacob’s pulse steadied, each beat a deliberate count.

He remembered his grandfather’s rule: “An heir must know how to defend, not only inherit.”

At the tunnel’s end, the villa’s distant silhouette emerged, a pale fortress against the starlit sea, but something was wrong. No perimeter lights. Total darkness.

The driver slowed, engine barely above a whisper. “Infrareds off,” the guard murmured. “Power cut at the source.”

“Backup generators?” Jacob asked.

“Should have kicked in. They didn’t.” A cold knot tightened in Jacob’s stomach.

The SUV rolled to a silent stop beneath a stand of pines. Crickets buzzed in uneasy harmony.

Jacob stepped out. Night air smelled of salt and ozone. From here the villa’s glass terraces looked like a sleeping beast, shadows coiled.

The guard retrieved a compact carbine from the trunk and handed Jacob a sleek black pistol. “Just in case.”

Jacob checked the magazine with practiced motions. “Let’s move.”

They followed a gravel path toward the east wall, feet silent on the soft earth. A single moonbeam broke through clouds, silvering the marble facade. Jacob froze. “Hear that?”

A faint metallic click, then silence. The guard whispered, “Motion sensor?”

“No. Mechanical.”

They eased forward. A shadow flickered across the terrace above, a quick, deliberate silhouette. Jacob crouched behind a cypress. “Two o’clock, second floor window.”

The guard lifted binoculars, glass glinting faintly. “Got him. Not staff.”

Another shadow joined the first. “Three,” Jacob breathed.

A sudden buzz vibrated in Jacob’s pocket. He fished out his phone. A message glowed on the encrypted screen. STAY OUT.  No sender.

The guard glanced at it. “They know you’re coming.”

Jacob’s pulse thudded. “Or Grandfather sent it.”

“No signature. Protocol says he always signs.”

Jacob slipped the phone away. “We go in.”

They scaled the east wall using the old gardener’s trellis, ivy cold against their hands. At the top, Jacob paused, scanning the terrace. The night smelled faintly of gun oil.

Inside, the grand salon lay in shadows. Moonlight spilled through arched windows, painting silver streaks on the marble floor.

The guard raised a finger, wait, then crept toward a side corridor. Jacob followed, pistol low.

From somewhere deep in the villa came a muffled thud. Then another. Like heavy doors closing.

They reached the inner hall. A smear of light leaked from the library door. The guard mouthed, “breach room?” Jacob nodded. He eased the door open.

The library smelled of leather and dust. A single lamp burned on the massive desk, casting long shadows across the bookshelves. No intruders. Just silence, then a soft creak overhead.

Jacob jerked his gaze upward. The chandelier swayed, barely, but enough. Someone was on the balcony above.

The guard motioned: Cover me. He slipped toward the staircase. Jacob kept his pistol trained on the upper rail. A voice drifted from above. Low. Male. Foreign accent. “…Smith… package.”

Jacob strained to hear more. “Heir arrives… take him alive.”

The guard froze mid-step, eyes wide. Jacob’s heartbeat turned to iron. Another voice answered, sharper: “Confirm kill order?”

Static crackled from a hidden earpiece, then, clear as glass: “Alive. The old man said alive.”

The guard looked back at Jacob, question blazing in his eyes. Jacob silently mouthed, “who’s the old man?”

Before the guard could signal, a loud clack echoed, a rifle bolt chambering a round. Lights exploded overhead. Blinding white. “Drop the weapons!” a voice barked.

Three figures in black tactical gear loomed on the balcony, rifles leveled. The guard dove behind a column. Jacob rolled toward the desk, heart hammering.

A burst of gunfire shredded the air, splinters rained from the oak shelves. Jacob crouched, mind racing. These weren’t random intruders. They knew his name. His inheritance. His exact arrival.

One of the men called down, voice amplified by a modulator. “Jacob Smith. Come out. Your grandfather wants a word.”