He did not save her-he armed her

Episode two

Kylen’s POV

The car drove smoothly into the illuminated mansion, its black and gold exterior standing magnificently against the quiet night. Tall lights lined the long driveway, their glow reflecting off polished stones and wet marble tiles still glistening from the earlier rain. Each reflection stretched and twisted like shadows that refused to rest. The estate looked peaceful on the surface, but peace had never truly existed here.

The massive black iron gates opened automatically as the vehicle approached. Guards stood stationed at calculated intervals, some walking slow patrols, others standing perfectly still. Their eyes followed the car with sharp focus, their hands never far from their weapons. This was not just a home. It was a fortress. And fortresses were built for war, not comfort.

The car came to a controlled stop.

Rhon stepped out first, his movements instinctive. His eyes scanned the perimeter, noting every detail, every shadow, every guard. It was a habit now, one drilled into him over years of training. Only when he was satisfied did he move to Kylen’s side and open the door.

Kylen stepped out.

The air seemed to shift the moment his feet touched the ground. He did not rush. He never did. His presence alone commanded silence. His dark eyes held no warmth, only distance and calculation. The tailored coat he wore hung perfectly on his broad shoulders, unmoved by the soft night breeze, as though even the wind knew better than to touch him without permission.

He walked toward the entrance with long, deliberate strides.

The mansion doors opened before he reached them.

The butler bowed deeply, his posture precise and practiced. “Young Master, you are back.”

Kylen acknowledged him with a brief nod. “Hmmm.”

“Master is waiting for you in his study,” the butler said, stepping aside.

Kylen did not respond. He simply moved forward.

The grand hall stretched wide and imposing, its marble floors polished to a mirror-like shine. Tall pillars rose toward the ceiling, carved with designs that spoke of wealth, tradition, and bloodline. Family portraits lined the walls, generations of men who had built empires, broken rivals, and ruled without apology. Kylen passed them without looking. He knew their faces. He knew their stories. None of them mattered tonight.

Rhon followed a step behind until they reached the study door. He opened it smoothly, bowed respectfully toward the man inside, then turned and left, closing the door behind Kylen.

The study carried the weight of decades.

One entire wall was lined with shelves packed tightly with books. Some were ancient, their spines cracked and faded. Others were newer, their titles sharp and modern. Many of them held knowledge that could destroy governments or protect empires. Another wall displayed framed artifacts and photographs. Business victories. Political alliances. Old family moments frozen in time. Proof that power had always belonged here.

The wide wooden desk was immaculate. Papers and files were stacked neatly, every document placed with intention. Nothing was careless in this room. A lamp cast a soft glow over an untouched cup of coffee, long since gone cold.

By the window stood an old man.

His hands were clasped behind his back as he gazed down at the city below. The rain had stopped, leaving the streets slick and shining beneath the distant lights. The city looked calm. Too calm. Kylen had learned long ago that calm was often the most dangerous state.

The ticking of the wall clock filled the silence.

Half past two in the morning.

From behind, the man’s gray hair revealed his age, yet his posture was straight and firm. His presence was solid, unyielding. This was not the strength of youth, but the strength of survival. The kind forged through betrayal, loss, and absolute control.

“Kylen,” the man said calmly, without turning. “How did the journey go?”

Kylen inhaled slowly, steadying the anger still simmering beneath his skin. “Terrible. The lead we got was lost.”

The old man turned around.

Alexander Simon.

Age had carved lines into his face, but his eyes remained sharp and calculating. They were eyes that missed nothing. Eyes Kylen had inherited, whether he wanted to or not. Alexander walked toward a drawer beside the desk and picked up a picture frame resting on top. His thumb brushed gently over the glass, lingering as if touching something fragile. Something painful.

Kylen knew what the picture was without looking.

Alexander placed it back carefully and moved behind the desk, lowering himself into the chair opposite Kylen.

“Kylen,” he said again, his voice firm.

“We need to terminate all previous searches,” Alexander continued. “Every investigator. Every lead. Every operation.”

Kylen’s jaw tightened.

“For fifteen years,” Alexander said, “with all our resources, our influence, and our reach, we have been chasing shadows. Circles within circles. Not one real clue about who caused your parents’ accident. Not one solid answer.”

The word accident burned.

Kylen’s fists clenched against the desk. His knuckles whitened as anger surged through him, sharp and violent. The air around him felt heavier, colder, as though his emotions were seeping into the room itself.

Alexander watched him carefully.

“Age is catching up with me,” the old man said quietly. “But I trust you.” His voice softened just slightly. “From this moment on, you take full control of the investigation. I will not interfere.”

Kylen lifted his gaze.

“You may come to me whenever you need guidance,” Alexander added. “But the decisions will be yours.”

Silence pressed down on the room.

“There has always been a loophole,” Alexander said. “Someone we missed. Something we overlooked. I believe you are the one capable of finding it.”

Kylen felt the familiar pull of rage and grief twist inside his chest. Fifteen years of unanswered questions. Fifteen years of nightmares and restrained violence.

Revenge was not a desire.

It was a duty.

“You will have access to all resources,” Alexander continued. “Anything you need. Nothing will be denied.”

The ticking clock grew louder.

“I think you should get some rest,” Alexander finally said. “You may leave.”

Kylen stood, bowed respectfully, and turned toward the door. His hand had just reached for the knob when Alexander spoke again.

“Good night, Kylen.”

Kylen nodded once and stepped out of the study.

Rhon was waiting outside, standing alert.

“You can go rest,” Kylen said as they walked down the corridor. “But today’s incident must not be mentioned to my grandfather. Or to anyone else.”

Rhon did not hesitate. “Understood.”

Kylen continued down the hallway alone, the marble floor cold beneath his feet. The mansion felt larger at night. Emptier. Every corridor echoed with memories he refused to confront.

Yet even as he walked away, his thoughts did not return to the investigation or his parents.

Instead, his mind drifted to a pale girl lying silently in a hospital bed. To eyes filled with pain, fear, and something else he recognized instantly.

Broken.

Just like him.