the last king of vale

The engine should have been dead.

Adrian Reed knew that before he even opened the hood.

A thin trail of smoke curled from the battered sedan while its owner stood beside him, nervously checking the time.

“Can you fix it?”

Adrian didn't answer immediately.

He leaned over the engine and listened.

Three seconds.

That was all he needed.

“Start it.”

The owner frowned. “The other mechanic told me not to. He said—”

“Start it.”

Something in Adrian's voice made the man obey.

The engine coughed violently.

Once.

Twice.

Adrian raised a hand.

“Turn it off.”

He reached between two cables, removed a small connector, and stared at it.

A hairline crack ran across its edge.

“There.”

The owner blinked.

“What?”

“Your fuel pressure sensor is giving false readings. Someone replaced the original connector with a cheaper one. When the engine heats up, the plastic expands and breaks contact.”

The man stared at Adrian.

“You figured that out by listening?”

Adrian wiped the grease from his fingers.

“Mostly.”

He didn't mention that he had known exactly where the problem was before touching the engine.

That happened often.

Machines made sense to him.

People didn't.

His phone vibrated.

Adrian glanced at the screen.

7:42 PM.

His expression changed.

“Damn.”

Today was his third wedding anniversary.

And he was late.

Again.

---

Twenty minutes later, Adrian stepped out of the garage bathroom wearing the only black suit he owned.

It wasn't expensive.

His shoes were old.

There was still a faint cut on his thumb from repairing an engine that morning.

But in his hand was a small velvet box.

Inside rested a silver necklace.

It had taken him almost four months to save for it.

His coworker, Mason, looked at him and whistled.

“Look at you.”

Adrian ignored him and adjusted his cuff.

Mason's eyes dropped to the box.

“For Vanessa?”

“Who else?”

“You know her family could buy fifty of those without checking their bank account.”

Adrian looked at the necklace.

“Vanessa isn't her family.”

Mason went quiet.

Everyone knew what the Reed family thought of Adrian.

Three years ago, Vanessa Reed—the only daughter of one of the city's wealthiest real-estate families—had shocked everyone by marrying an orphaned mechanic.

Her father called Adrian a parasite.

Her mother preferred mistake.

Her older brother usually called him something worse.

Vanessa had been different.

At least, she had once been.

Adrian slipped the box into his pocket.

“She liked this one when we passed the store.”

“You remembered that?”

“She stared at it for eleven seconds.”

Mason laughed.

“You counted?”

Adrian paused.

He hadn't.

He simply knew.

Eleven seconds.

Exactly.

Another strange detail his mind had stored without asking permission.

“See you tomorrow.”

He grabbed his keys.

Mason called after him.

“Happy anniversary!”

Adrian raised a hand without turning.

For the first time that day, he smiled.

---

The Imperial Crown Restaurant occupied the top floor of one of the tallest buildings in the city.

Adrian stopped outside.

A mechanic earning his salary had no business eating here.

Tonight was supposed to be different.

He had booked the table two months earlier.

Half his savings were about to disappear over one dinner.

He didn't care.

Vanessa had barely spoken to him during the past few weeks.

Late meetings.

Unanswered calls.

Locked phone.

Adrian had noticed all of it.

But marriage wasn't an engine.

You couldn't simply replace a damaged component and expect everything to work again.

Maybe tonight they could talk.

He entered the restaurant.

“Reservation?” the hostess asked.

“Adrian Reed. Table twenty-one.”

Her fingers moved across the screen.

Then stopped.

“Sir…”

Adrian noticed the hesitation.

“What?”

“Your reservation was cancelled this afternoon.”

“By whom?”

Before she could answer, Adrian saw her.

Vanessa.

She was sitting near the glass wall overlooking the city.

She wore the blue dress Adrian loved.

But she wasn't alone.

A man sat opposite her.

Damian Blackwood.

Adrian recognized him immediately.

Everyone in the city did.

Thirty years old.

Blackwood Corporation heir.

A family with enough money to turn politicians into friends and competitors into memories.

Damian was smiling.

Vanessa wasn't.

Adrian's hand tightened around the velvet box inside his pocket.

He walked toward them.

Damian noticed him first.

His smile widened.

“Well.”

Vanessa turned.

The color drained from her face.

“Adrian?”

He stopped beside the table.

For several seconds, no one spoke.

Adrian looked at the wine.

Two glasses.

Then the candle.

Then Vanessa.

“Happy anniversary.”

Her eyes flickered.

Something moved across her face.

Pain?

Fear?

It vanished too quickly.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Damian leaned back.

“Careful, Reed.”

Adrian looked at him.

Damian wore a watch worth more than Adrian had earned in the past five years.

Yet Adrian noticed something else.

A faint red mark beneath Damian's cuff.

And a small bulge beneath his jacket.

Shoulder holster.

Interesting.

Why would Damian Blackwood come armed to dinner?

Vanessa suddenly placed a folder on the table.

“Adrian.”

He looked down.

“What's this?”

“Open it.”

He did.

PETITION FOR DIVORCE.

For a moment, the restaurant seemed strangely quiet.

Adrian read the first page.

Then the second.

His expression barely changed.

Damian chuckled.

“Don't look so surprised. Did you really think Vanessa Reed would spend the rest of her life with a garage mechanic?”

Adrian ignored him.

He looked at Vanessa.

“Is this what you want?”

Her fingers tightened around her wineglass.

“Yes.”

“Look at me and say it.”

She did.

But Adrian noticed her breathing.

Too fast.

Her right thumb repeatedly rubbed the side of her index finger.

Three years of marriage had taught him what that meant.

Vanessa was afraid.

“I want a divorce,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because I'm tired of you.”

Damian smiled.

Vanessa continued.

“I'm tired of living with a man who has nothing. No family. No money. No ambition.”

That one hurt.

Not because of the words.

Because Vanessa knew better.

She had once sat beside Adrian on the garage floor at midnight, eating cheap noodles while he rebuilt an engine.

She had once told him she loved that he could make broken things work again.

Now she couldn't even hold his gaze.

Adrian picked up the pen.

Vanessa's eyes widened slightly.

“You're not going to argue?”

“Would it change your answer?”

“No.”

Adrian signed.

Damian's smile faltered.

Perhaps he'd expected begging.

Adrian closed the folder and pushed it toward Vanessa.

“Then we're done.”

He pulled the velvet box from his pocket.

For one foolish second, Vanessa stared at it.

Adrian placed it beside her wineglass.

“I bought it before I knew.”

“Adrian…”

“Keep it. Throw it away. Doesn't matter.”

He turned.

Vanessa suddenly grabbed his wrist.

Her hand was ice-cold.

Adrian looked down at it.

Then at her.

Her next words were barely audible.

“Leave the city.”

His eyes narrowed.

“What?”

“Tonight.”

Damian glanced toward them.

Vanessa immediately released Adrian.

Her expression hardened.

“I said get out of my sight.”

But Adrian had heard her clearly.

Leave the city. Tonight.

He stared at her for another second.

Then walked away.

Behind him, Damian said something.

Adrian didn't hear it.

Because in the reflection of the restaurant's glass wall, he saw Vanessa lower her head.

And wipe away a tear.

---

Rain had begun by the time Adrian reached the underground parking garage.

He didn't immediately start his motorcycle.

Something was wrong.

Vanessa's fear.

Damian's concealed weapon.

The cancelled reservation.

Her warning.

Adrian pulled out his phone.

He had one new message.

Unknown number.

YOU SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO YOUR WIFE.

Adrian stared at it.

A soft click came from behind him.

His body moved before his mind did.

He ducked.

A suppressed bullet struck the concrete pillar where his head had been.

Adrian rolled behind a parked car.

Another bullet shattered the window above him.

Three men.

Black clothes.

Masks.

Guns.

His heartbeat accelerated.

But strangely—

he wasn't panicking.

He could hear their footsteps.

One approaching left.

One circling right.

Third staying back.

How did he know?

Adrian grabbed a metal wheel wrench lying near the car.

The first attacker rounded the corner.

Adrian moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

The wrench struck the man's wrist.

Bone cracked.

Before the gun hit the floor, Adrian caught it.

He stared at his own hand for half a second.

How had he done that?

The second attacker charged.

Adrian turned.

Elbow.

Throat.

Knee.

The movements came naturally.

As if his body remembered something his mind had forgotten.

The man collapsed.

The third fired.

Adrian pulled the first attacker into the bullet's path.

Then rushed forward.

Three seconds later, the shooter was on the ground.

Silence returned.

Adrian stood between the bodies, breathing heavily.

He looked at his hands.

“What the hell…”

A cough came from behind him.

The first assassin was still alive.

Adrian crouched.

“Who sent you?”

The masked man laughed weakly.

“You really… don't know.”

“Know what?”

The assassin's eyes focused on Adrian's face.

For the first time, genuine fear appeared in them.

“Vale…”

Adrian froze.

“What did you call me?”

“The Vale bloodline…”

Blood spilled from the man's mouth.

“…should have ended eighteen years ago.”

His head fell sideways.

Adrian remained still.

Vale?

His surname was Reed.

Wasn't it?

Something white protruded from the dead man's jacket.

Adrian pulled it free.

An old photograph.

His breathing stopped.

It showed a baby.

Adrian didn't know how he knew.

But the baby was him.

Behind the child stood a man and woman.

Someone had violently scratched both their faces from the photograph.

Adrian turned it over.

Four lines had been written on the back.

The first contained his date of birth.

The second made his blood run cold.

ADRIAN VALE.

The third was even stranger.

SUBJECT 12.

And beneath it, written in red ink:

TERMINATION FAILED.

Adrian slowly lifted his eyes toward the three dead men.

For twenty-five years, he had believed he was an orphan nobody wanted.

Tonight his wife had divorced him.

Someone had tried to kill him.

And a dead assassin had just given him a name he had never heard before.

His phone vibrated again.

Another unknown message appeared.

This time there were only six words.

WE FOUND YOU, YOUNG MASTER VALE.