"Good evening, viewers, and welcome to our 7 p.m. news bulletin. We begin tonight with heartbreaking news..."
The television flickered in the corner of an opulent lounge, filled with soft golden lighting and gleaming designer furniture. Velvet armchairs stood like thrones, and glass vases glistened beside polished marble shelves. On the sleek leather sofa sat a man with grey hair brushed neatly back, black eyes wide with panic, his pale lips slightly parted.
The broadcast continued.
"Ms. Nicole Swerver, a 24 year old, esteemed detective lawyer from the prestigious Dominic Law Firm, was found dead this afternoon in the canal near Roseville Lake's dam site. Authorities report that she was abducted last night by unidentified suspects and discovered hours ago floating in the water. The police and the WFAB are investigating the incident and also appealing to the public for any information that could lead to the arrest of the people involved in the abduction and murder. They are also investigating the dam site as it was discovered to be a hideout for criminals who did illegal activities...."
The man gritted his teeth and turned the volume down, fists clenched. His breath came fast and shallow.
Then, he was on his feet.
"Bloody sons of bitches..."
Curse words flew from his mouth as he stormed out of the lounge, his track suit rustling with every angry step towards his study office.
Bookshelves lined with legal texts and trophies blurred past as he entered, slamming open the desk drawer. His fingers curled around a burner phone buried beneath papers. He powered it on and dialed a number.
The call was picked up after three rings.
"You bloody sons of bitches!! WHAT THE HELL AM I SEEING ON THE NEWS?!" he exploded into the phone. "This wasn't part of the deal! I said kidnap her and hold her captive until the damn trial was dismissed because of her absence! I needed that delay to bury evidence and shut those witnesses up! I didn't say anything about murder! Now the police are going to come after me since I am the first suspect!!"
Silence, cold, heavy and menacing stretched for a long moment.
Then the voice replied.
Low. Calm. Merciless.
"Then I guess you better start running."
Then the line went dead.
The man froze, the phone trembling in his hand.
His world was unraveling, and the countdown had begun.
"Hello?! Hello?! You son of a bitch!"
The man's shout cracked through the empty study like thunder. His voice trembled, not just with rage, but the kind of fear that comes from watching your safety slip through your fingers.
"You're going to regret this! I swear, I'll....!"
Sirens began to wail in the distance. Faint at first. Then louder. Closer.
"Shit! Fuck!"
The man cursed again, desperation clawing through his chest. He tore open desk drawers with trembling hands, stuffing passports, sensitive documents, and a suitcase bulging with crisp dollar bills into his briefcase. A firearm joined the chaos. He grabbed it without thought and sprinted toward the garage door.
His breath hitched.
A stabbing pain tore through his back. He faltered, but kept going.
Then the second wave hit, like fire burning in his veins.
He collapsed to the floor just a few steps away from the door to the garage, body writhing. His limbs refused to move. Panic surged as he glanced down at his hand, now stinging like embers beneath the skin.
Then came the horror.
His hand… was turning black. Fast.
He screamed.
In just seconds, black liquid began to pour from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, thick and burning like acid. His pupils vanished into void-like pools. Every thrash of his body only accelerated the decay as the inky substance began consuming him, his skin, his bones. After the liquid consumed the man, it turned into ash.
No residue. No remains. Just silence and smoke.
Police cars screeched to a halt outside. Voices echoed through megaphones.
"Mr. Blane! You're surrounded! Step out with your hands up!"
"Mr. Blane? Hello?"
Just then a blood-curdling scream echoed through the house.
Officers rammed down the door and stormed inside. At the end of the corridor, a maid stood frozen with wide eyes, pointing toward the passageway floor.
The scene left the officers speechless.
There on the floor, a discarded tracksuit lay stretched across the wood paneling, sculpted with outlines of white ash, in the form of a skeletal frame imprint painted by tragedy itself. Nearby, a gun lay untouched. A suitcase had fallen open, bills scattered like forgotten dreams.
One officer stepped closer.
"What the hell…?"
They exchanged stunned glances, unable to comprehend what they were witnessing.
Meanwhile, back in the study, the burner phone lay on the desk.
Smoke hissed from its edges.
A second later—it crumbled into ashes.
...
Back at the hospital ....
Across the room, Davis and Simeon were locked in an intense stare-down. Neither blinked. Neither flinched. The air between them crackled with silent challenge.
Davis stood his ground, though nerves tingled at the edges of his resolve. Simeon wasn't just Nicole's older brother—he was 'the' older brother. Stern. Muscled. Protective. And potentially explosive.
But Davis refused to back down. He couldn't afford to get intimidated by him. If he showed weakness now, Simeon might decide he was just another coward trying to hurt his dear little sister, Nicole.
"You haven't answered my question," Simeon said coolly, voice low and firm. "Who are you? And why the hell are you in my sister's hospital room?"
Davis took a slow breath.
"I'm Davis Hammock," he said, stepping slightly forward. "Special agent for the World Federal Agency Bureau."
Then, with deliberate sharpness, he leaned in a fraction closer.
"…And also," he added, locking eyes with Simeon, "Nicole's boyfriend."
Pfffft!
The sound of water being spit rang through the room.
All heads turned toward Zachariah, mid-sip, now wide-eyed and frozen like a deer in a spotlight.
"Damn… that's bold," Zach muttered, trying to casually wipe his chin as everyone stared at him.
Nicole felt heat flood her face like wildfire. Her cheeks blazed as she met her brother's surprised gaze. She turned quickly, trying to hide the growing blush, only to catch Patricia smirking behind a curled fist.
The look said it all:
'And here I thought I was the only red tomato face in the duo. Guess we really are cut out from the same cloth, my friend.'
Nicole groaned internally.
'Damn you, Roach. I'm going to roast you alive for this! Once I get out of this hospital bed, you're toast. TOAST!'
She shot Davis a death glare.
Davis met her eyes, a wicked little grin tugging at his lips.
'Guess I won this round, hooligan. That's payback for stomping on my foot earlier.'
Isaac cleared his throat, slicing through the tension like a calm blade to ease the awkward situation.
"Lieutenant Swerver," he said formally, "I'm Isaac Phillips, Captain of Division One, Special Secret Forces under WFAB. I'd like to apologize for the earlier incident. We assumed you were an intruder. Given the situation surrounding your sister, our priority is to protect her at all costs."
Simeon gave a slow nod, then turned back to Davis with a sharp glint in his eyes.
"So you say," he muttered. "But your partner here seems to have a different interpretation of protection…"
He stepped toward Davis again, shoulders squared, posture rigid with authority and testosterone. The room seemed to tighten around them.
But Davis didn't flinch.
He stood firm, eyes locked onto Simeon's and with a tiny grin tugging at his lips.
Simeon didn't blink.
His voice dropped.
"I hope that was a joke, punk. Because if it wasn't, I might just turn you into my personal punching bag. And trust me—I'd love nothing more than to wipe that smug arrogant grin off your face."
Davis arched an eyebrow. " I am afraid this punching bag is already reserved for someone else. Unless you are...willing to fight them for me. You can try...but we all know who will lose this round don't we..."
A flicker of amusement passed across Simeon's face.
He didn't smile, but he didn't strike either.
"We'll see about that."
Just then, Nicole broke the tension with her signature firecracker voice.
"Alright you two that's enough! You can fight it off later but not here. Right now I am in desperate need of a brotherly hug. Unless you want me to come over there myself with an injured leg."
Simeon snorted.
"That'd be great. It means you're healing."
Nicole pouted. "Rude."
Simeon chuckled, finally relaxing as he approached her bed.
"Kidding. You know Mom would skewer me alive if I let you strain yourself. Come here…"
He leaned in and wrapped her in a warm, heartfelt hug.
Everyone smiled, softness blooming in the room like dawn after a storm.
"Ooh… I missed you, big brother." Nicole whispered.
"Aww. I missed you too, Nicky," Simeon replied, voice low with warmth.
They pulled apart, eyes locked in quiet affection.
"You okay?" Simeon asked.
"I'm good… thanks to my Sweet Roach," she said, eyes darting toward Davis.
Simeon watched her carefully. The light in her eyes, the smile that refused to fade. He didn't like the cocky agent much…
But her happiness made him pause.
He'd keep an eye on Davis, no doubt.
But for now? Her smile was enough.
"I'm just glad you're okay, Nicky," Simeon said quietly. "When Patricia called and told me you were in the hospital… I nearly lost it. I'd just come back from the field, and hearing that you were injured—that was a gut-punch."
"Wait… Patricia called you?" Nicole asked, turning to her.
"Mmm… yes," Patricia replied. "I went by your house earlier to grab a few things for you. When I got there, I heard Simeon's voicemail. He'd stopped by last night to surprise you, only to find you missing. He was worried, so… I told him what happened."
Nicole nodded slowly.
"Thanks, Patty. I appreciate that."
Just then, Alisha gasped and reached for the remote. "Shh—guys. Look…"
She turned up the television.
"Earlier this afternoon, the body of Ms. Nicole Swerver, a prominent detective lawyer from Dominic Law Firm, was found floating in the canal near Roseville Lake's dam site. Sources say Ms. Swerver was abducted last night by unidentified suspects at a convenience store in the city of Roseville..."
Everyone fell silent.
"Police and WFAB are pursuing leads. And breaking news just in, Andrew Blane, owner of Platinum Bank Private Ltd., is dead. Authorities in Costa Rica confirmed that Mr. Blane, facing charges of extortion, fraud, and money laundering, was also the primary suspect in Ms. Swerver's case. Ms. Swerver had been representing one of Blane's former employees, Mr. Hus, in a fraud lawsuit..."
Simeon stared at the screen, stunned.
"What the hell…"
Isaac's phone buzzed.
He stepped out briefly, answering the call. Moments later, he returned with urgency in his stride.
"Duty calls, Davis," he said. "We're needed in Costa Rica. Blane's death is messy, very messy. Since I'm the one who flagged him as a suspect, they need me on scene."
"Wait, what?" Patricia asked. "Costa Rica? What exactly happened?"
"According to intel, Blane's death wasn't natural. WFAB's been summoned to investigate, and I'm heading the charge."
Simeon shot forward. "And why has no one told me my sister's being declared dead all over the damn news? What kind of operation are you running?!"
Isaac didn't answer. He stepped to Patricia, kissed her cheek gently, and motioned for Davis to follow. Without another word, they exited the room.
Patricia exhaled, watching them leave. Then she turned to the others.
"Alisha, Zach, come on. Let's head home. Nicole and Simeon need their privacy. We'll come back first thing tomorrow."
She leaned down, hugged Nicole tightly, and gave a reassuring smile before walking out with the others.
The door clicked shut.
Now, in the hush of the hospital room, Nicole sat facing Simeon.
His expression was tight. Stern. Controlled.
But beneath it were questions. Demands.
Nicole knew that look well.
The interrogation was coming.
And it was going to be a long night.