The Formidable System: Alex Cole Secret Heir

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

 

 The side street was silent. Not the calm kind of silence, but the kind that pressed against your eardrums and made every sound feel magnified. Ethan’s breathing seemed too loud, each inhale scraping at his throat. Somewhere in the distance, a car hummed past, its tires sloshing through wet asphalt, and the faint drip-drip-drip of a leaking pipe echoed from above.

 And then...movement.

 A figure detached itself from the shadows. Tall. Lean. Wrapped in black from cap to boots, his face obscured by a cyclist’s mask. Only his eyes were visible. dark, unreadable, glinting faintly under the yellow glow of the lamppost. He didn’t advance. He didn’t retreat. He simply stood there. Watching.

 Ethan’s chest tightened.

 The System pulsed faintly across his vision:

 [Threat Detected. Unknown Identity. Risk Level: Moderate.]

 His palms dampened, his voice cracked before he steadied it. “Who’s there?”

 The man said nothing. Just the unnerving silence of someone who didn’t need to speak to make his intent known.

 Ethan swallowed. He felt his body begging him to turn and flee, but something inside, maybe humiliation from earlier, maybe the System whispering at the back of his mind kept his feet planted.

 

 “Who are you?” he tried again, forcing steel into his tone.

 Still nothing. The figure’s stance shifted ever so slightly, as though gauging him. Testing him.

 Ethan’s blood surged hot. Memories of Lily’s mocking laughter burned in his mind. All the nights he had walked away humiliated, powerless. Something snapped. He took a step forward.

 

 “Stop following me,” he growled. “Or…”

 The words faltered. Or what? He was exhausted from the gym, still trembling, barely able to hold his fists up. The truth stabbed deeper than any blade—he wasn’t ready.

 The System pulsed again, clinical as ever:

 [Option 1: Engage. Success Chance – 14%]

 [Option 2: Intimidate. Success Chance – 37%]

 Ethan’s throat tightened. Fourteen percent? He almost laughed. It was suicide. Even intimidation barely scratched a chance.

 Before he could decide, the man moved.

 Not toward him—away. A sudden turn, fluid and deliberate, as if the decision had already been made. The stranger bolted, sprinting for the mouth of the street.

 

 “Hey!” Ethan shouted, instinct overriding exhaustion.

 His body screamed in protest as he broke into a run, legs like iron rods after hours of punishment in the gym. His lungs burned, heart threatening to burst. But adrenaline shoved him forward.

 The man was fast. Too fast. His black figure blurred as he weaved through the sparse night traffic, dodging a honking taxi by inches. Ethan followed recklessly, horns blaring, tires screeching.

 The stranger reached a waiting black sedan. Its headlights flared to life, engine growling. The door yanked open, the masked man dove inside, and within seconds the vehicle roared off, tires screaming against asphalt. The taillights vanished into the night.

 Ethan skidded to a halt at the curb, bent double, gasping, sweat dripping off his chin. Rage and helplessness churned together, twisting his insides. He had been so close. So close and yet he hadn’t even glimpsed the man’s face.

 The System flickered:

 Mission Failed: Identify Pursuer.

 

 Partial Progress Recorded: Reaction Time +1.

 Ethan slammed his fist against his thigh, nails digging into his palms until they stung. Too weak. Still too weak.

 Headlights washed over him. A sleek black Cuban slowed to the curb, smooth and deliberate. The tinted window slid down, and a familiar voice cut through the night.

 “Get in, Ethan.”

 Ethan blinked at the face inside. “JonathanYou...how did you..,?”

 Jonathan Hale’s gaze was sharp, unwavering. “Now.”

 Something in his tone brooked no argument. Ethan, trembling and furious, yanked open the door and sank into the cool leather seat. The interior smelled faintly of polished wood and subtle cologne, a jarring contrast to the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

 The car glided forward, merging into the stream of lights. Jonathan studied him silently for a few moments, eyes sharp as glass.

 “You were followed.”

 Ethan barked a bitter laugh. “No kidding. I chased him, but he got away. I couldn’t even…” His voice cracked against the weight of failure. “…I couldn’t do anything.”

 Jonathan didn’t flinch. He let the words hang, heavy, before replying calmly. “And yet you tried. That matters.”

 “It’s not enough,” Ethan muttered, jaw tight. “I’m tired of being weak. Tired of losing.”

 For the first time, a thin smile curved Jonathan’s lips. “Then it’s time we change that.”

 The Cuban slid smoothly through the veins of the city, past glittering towers and neon-lit bridges, the Thames glinting like a ribbon of black glass under the moonlight. The noise of traffic thinned as they veered toward the quieter districts. Finally, the car slowed before a towering structure of glass and steel.

 Ethan’s eyes widened. The high-rise rose like a monolith, its surface reflecting the constellation of London’s lights. At the entrance, a doorman stepped aside instantly, bowing in silent recognition as Jonathan led the way.

 They ascended in a private elevator, the floor numbers climbing steadily. The ride was silent save for the hum of machinery and Ethan’s ragged breathing. When the doors opened, he stepped into another world.

 The penthouse stretched wide, walls of glass revealing London’s skyline like a living painting. Crystal chandeliers glowed warmly, scattering gold across marble floors. The furniture was sleek leather and polished wood, every piece radiating wealth without ostentation. Paintings hung in muted elegance, shelves lined with books that whispered of legacy and power.

 Ethan’s mouth went dry. “This… is yours?”

 Jonathan’s reply was steady, almost casual. “It was Alexander’s. Now it’s yours.”

 

 Ethan spun toward him, incredulous. “Mine? I live in a flat where the ceiling leaks when it rains. This…” He gestured at the sprawling luxury. “This isn’t my world.”

 Jonathan’s gaze hardened, cutting through his protest. “It will be. But only if you survive long enough to claim it.”

 He moved toward a cabinet, unlocking it with a key that gleamed silver. From within, he pulled out a slim black folder and tossed it onto the glass table with a soft thud.

 “Look.”

 Ethan hesitated, then opened it. Photographs spilled out. blurred images of men in tailored suits, others with hardened faces half-hidden by masks. Some in shadow, others caught mid-movement, but all radiating danger.

 Jonathan’s voice was calm, but the weight beneath it was undeniable. “These are some of the people who will come for you. Corporate sharks, mercenaries, assassins, rivals. Old enemies of the Cole name. They’ve waited for weakness. Your existence is that weakness.”

 Ethan’s stomach churned as he scanned the faces. His throat felt dry. “I’m not ready for this.”

 “No one ever is.” Jonathan’s gaze bore into him. “But you will learn. You have the System. And you have me.”

 The words struck like iron, but instead of comfort, they lit a fire. Ethan’s humiliation earlier, his helpless chase tonight. all of it coiled into resolve.

 Jonathan crossed to the bar, poured amber liquid into two crystal glasses, and slid one toward him. “Drink. Rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins. And when it does, the world that mocked you won’t recognize you again.”

 Ethan stared down at the swirling liquid, then past it, through the glass wall to the city beyond. London sprawled out like a galaxy of fireflies, restless, glittering, alive. Somewhere in that ocean of light, Lily laughed in some restaurant, convinced he was still the same broken man she had abandoned.

 

 But tonight, something had shifted.

 He wasn’t running anymore.

 He lifted the glass. The burn of it trailed fire down his throat, anchoring him to the moment. And as the System flickered faintly across his vision, Ethan felt for the first time not like prey, but like something waiting to emerge.