The Grim Sovereign

Chapter 16

For years, the government swore they could predict evil.

They called it Project Clean Seed — an investigation designed to identify embryos carrying the psychopath gene, the same genetic anomaly Malik Radwan was born with. They said it was the only way to prevent another m******e like the one he orchestrated.

It didn’t matter if you were weeks from giving birth or barely pregnant.

If the test marked your child’s DNA with the red stamp, there was no trial, no appeal — only a cold, clinical termination.

I was still a boy when the law passed, and I remember the protests, the riots, the women screaming in hospital corridors. They called it murder. The government called it prevention.

Then Dr. Milton Carroway took office. The man smiled for every camera, promised to "restore the sanctity of life" and “respect the law institution guiding newborns.” His first act as Prime Minister was to abolish Project Clean Seed.

For a decade, babies were born without anyone looking at their genes first. Freedom returned… or so we thought.

Until Malik Radwan — the monster the law was built to prevent — resurfaced with something worse than his own bloodline.

He built something called "Red Serpent".

A slow-acting neurotoxin that rewires the brain, burning empathy away, sharpening aggression, until the victim becomes just like him — a manufactured psychopath.

The signs were clear to anyone who’d studied them: flat, glassy eyes even when laughing. A sudden fascination with pain — animals, insects… people. Cold logic where warmth should be. Sleepwalking and finally a grin at the wrong time.

I’d spent years tracking men like that.

I never thought I’d see those signs in my own home.

But last night at the police station, when my son stared at me and didn’t blink for twelve whole seconds… when his lips twitched into that wrong smile when I asked him why he killed the dog… a cold blade of fear slid into my chest.

Was it the poison?

Or had I — without knowing — fathered something I’d spent my life hunting?

An alarm wailed suddenly, ripping me out of a shallow, feverish sleep. I jerked upright, my head pounding like someone had buried an axe in my skull.

The room was a wreck — empty bottles, scattered clothes, the stench of stale liquor and sweat. My eyes burned. I swung my legs off the bed and stepped straight onto glass — no, a bottle. Last night’s whiskey.

I’d drowned myself in it after returning from the police station. Too many questions. Too much pain I couldn’t bury. Prison had taken enough from me. Now my son was about to take the rest.

The door slammed open.

A tall figure stepped in, his suit crisp, his stare sharper than a blade. It was my department head, Donovan Kade.

“Kael,” his voice was steel, “what the hell are you still doing in bed? You’ve got work to do, not a pillow to hug.”

I rubbed my face, trying to pull the fog from my brain. “I… I’m sorry, sir.”

He didn’t move. “Sorry don’t put food on the table.”

I pushed to my feet, every muscle screaming, and grabbed my jacket. “Understood.”

I headed straight to the corner where the mop and bucket were kept — an old, dented metal bucket they called The Mule because it squeaked like a dying animal whenever you moved it. I grabbed it without a word and made my way to the far side of the hall.

The floor was sticky, smelling of stale beer and something I didn’t want to identify. I dunked the mop in soapy water, squeezed it out, and started scrubbing in slow, steady strokes.

One section done. I pushed the Mule forward, moving to the next spot.

That’s when I saw them — four of the other workers huddled near the back door, smoke curling from their lips, laughter spilling out with the reek of cheap cigarettes.

I ignored them. Work first.

But the moment I dipped my mop back into the bucket, one of them stepped forward, his voice dripping with mockery.

“Hey… how dare you be so rude, huh? Can’t even greet?”

Another one smirked. “Yeah… wasn’t this the guy Darren brought in yesterday? All high and mighty now?”

Then the third one spoke — the kind of bastard who likes twisting the knife.

“Ohhh… wait. I know him. Ain’t you that popular criminal? The one who got out a few days ago? The murderer who killed his own comrades? The ones who were supposed to protect this country?”

A low chuckle passed between them, sharp and cruel.

“Men like you don’t deserve to breathe,” one spat. “Should’ve been put down.”

I kept mopping. Their words rolled off me like rain on stone.

Then I heard footsteps. It was heavy and deliberate.

One of them yanked the mop from my hands and threw it to the ground, water splattering across my boots.

“When we’re talking to you,” he growled, “you damn well learn to respect your elders.”

Another sneered. “Respect? For a criminal? Please. If it wasn’t for your brother Darren, you’d still be rotting in a cell.”

Then he leaned in, his voice a venomous whisper meant to hurt.

“Face it — your whole family’s a mess. Younger brother? A useless murderer. Older brother? Sold himself to a rich family like some cheap whore.”

The words hit harder than they knew. My jaw tightened. My fingers curled into fists.

Before I even thought about it, my fist connected with his jaw — a heavy, bone-cracking punch that sent him sprawling to the floor, coughing and cursing.

I stood over him, my voice low but dangerous.

“Say what you want about me,” I said, “but you don’t ever insult my family.”

The guy lunged at me without warning, fist c****d back.

But before his knuckles could come anywhere near my face, my hand shot up, catching his wrist mid-swing. I twisted ithard.

A sickening crack echoed, followed by his howl.

“AHHH!—damn it! Let go!”

My voice came out cold, steady. “I can take a lot of things… insults, threats, even your sorry attempt at a punch. But nobody—” I tightened my grip until he dropped to one knee— “nobody talks about my family.”

The sound of heavy boots thudding down the hall broke the moment.

“Kael! What the hell is going on here?”

The supervisor’s voice cut through like a whip.

I released the man’s arm, watching him stumble back, clutching his wrist like it was about to fall off.

“You—” he spat, eyes burning, “follow me. Now.”

I didn’t move for a heartbeat. Then, without a word, I trailed him down the corridor, the silence between us heavy as wet cement.

Inside his cramped office, he grabbed a thick file and tossed it onto the desk so hard it slid toward me.

“Pick it up,” he ordered.

I flipped it open—and froze.

A termination letter. Neatly typed. Cold, clinical. The kind that tells you your service is “no longer required,” thanks you for your “contribution,” and warns you to return all company property immediately.

I looked up slowly. “What’s this supposed to mean?”

He leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Can’t you read the room, Kael? Nobody here wants you.”

My jaw tightened.

“What sane company,” he continued, “would hire a bastard who killed his own comrades on the battlefield? If you could gut your brothers-in-arms, what chance do civilians have around you?”

My voice dropped to a low, husky growl. “Since when do personal matters get mixed with work? What happened in the military was between me and those men—and it was handled under military law. I don’t owe anyone here an explanation.”

“Save your speech,” he cut in.

“No,” I snapped back, stepping closer. “Then tell me why you’re really sacking me. I read your damn company policy— the maximum sentence for a fight is one-week suspension for both parties. I didn’t. They came at me first with their mouths—and then with their hands.”

He scoffed. “And who the hell would believe you?”

I stared him down. “The truth doesn’t need believers.”

“Well, in this building,” he said with a cold grin, “I’m the truth. I make the rules. And the rule is—nobody wants you here.” He leaned forward, his voice dripping with venom. “Not even your precious brother Darren. That useless sellout traded his spine for a handful of cash—and it still won’t save you from this letter.”

My fingers curled into fists.

I was seconds away from snapping back when the sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor.

They were slow… confident.

A voice followed, casual but edged with curiosity.

“What’s going on here?”

The door creaked open.

And the moment his eyes met mine, I knew him.

That smug face. That perfect hair, styled like he had a personal valet following him around. The sharp suit, the expensive shoes…

It was him.

Mr Pellington.

The same arrogant brat I had slapped across the face at Black Spire.

His eyes lit up with recognition, and his mouth curled into a smirk that made my knuckles itch.

“Oh… well, well, well. If it isn’t you. Kael.”

The supervisor, who moments ago was talking down to me, suddenly straightened, then bent slightly like he was greeting royalty.

“Sir! Welcome, sir!” His tone was nauseating.

The man didn’t even glance at him. His gaze stayed locked on me.

“Do you know who this is?” the supervisor asked.

“Of course.” Pellignton’s nodding could have broken his own neck.

"Who doesn’t know Kael? The killer who slaughtered his own comrades… and rotted in prison for six years.”

That’s when it hit me.

He wasn’t just some rich boy. He was Delacroix blood. The last spoiled child in that family.

And if I was right… he was probably my brother Darren’s wife’s younger brother.

Which meant… I had slapped my own in-law.

I felt the realization settle like a weight in my gut.

“So,” he said smoothly, “what’s happening here?”

The supervisor leapt to answer.

“Sir, Kael breached company rules. He assaulted his fellow workers.”

“That’s not the truth,” I said, my voice low enough to make the air between us feel heavy. “Tell him exactly what happened. I didn’t start that fight.”

The brat’s smirk deepened as he stepped closer, his cologne thick in the air.

“Oh? Then tell me, Kael. Who started it? Go on. I dare you.”

His tone was dripping with taunt, his eyes daring me to move.

“You’re going to regret ever laying a hand on me,” he whispered. “And right now… I’m going to make sure you regret everything.”

Before I could open my mouth, the door slammed open again.

A man rushed in, breathing hard.

“Sir—Madam Seraphina Voss is here.”

The brat froze. His cocky smile slipped.

“She’s… here? To see me?”

“Yes, sir.”

Even I couldn’t ignore that name. Seraphina Voss. CEO of one of the most respected corporations in the city. A woman whose signature could make or break fortunes overnight.

Rumor had it he’d been chasing her for weeks. She’d never even given him a minute of her time.

The door opened wider, and she stepped in.

Seraphina was a storm in heels— a sharp suit, eyes like ice, and a presence that shifted the air the moment she entered.

The supervisor and my so-called in-law practically tripped over themselves, plastering on exaggerated smiles.

“Madam Voss, welcome! What an honor—”

She didn’t even glance at them.

“I’m looking for someone,” she said.

“Yes, of course, who?” the brat asked, his voice a little too eager.

Her gaze swept the room like a blade, cold and unhurried.

Then it stopped.

On me.

“I heard he’s working here,” she said.

“Kael.”