LOGINBecause Sterling Industries had "unexpectedly" won its showdown with Vance Capital, the once-struggling family business was suddenly back in the spotlight of New York's high society.
A gold-embossed invitation was delivered to the Sterling estate.
—The "Heart of the City" Annual Charity Gala.
It was one of the most prestigious social events in all of New York City. To receive an invitation was to be among the elite of every industry.
Susan Sterling was so excited she could barely sleep for days. In her eyes, this was the perfect opportunity for the Sterling family to reassert its prestige. To showcase the family's "harmony" and "dignity," she insisted that Jack must attend as Katherine's escort.
"Remember, Jack," Susan nagged endlessly before they left, her critical eyes scanning the ill-fitting, rented tuxedo Jack was wearing. "Once you're there, you don't say a word, you don't do a thing. Just follow behind Katherine, hold her handbag, pass her champagne. If anyone asks, you just say you're her personal assistant, understand?"
Jack nodded meekly, seemingly unfazed by the humiliating arrangement.
The gala was held in a luxurious hotel on the top floor of a Manhattan skyscraper. Crystal chandeliers glittered like a galaxy, elegant classical music flowed through the air, and impeccably dressed men and women mingled with champagne glasses, creating a tableau of glamorous and hollow high society.
When Katherine walked in with Jack on her arm, they immediately drew everyone's attention. Katherine was breathtaking in a moon-white haute couture gown, as ethereal and noble as a moon goddess. But when people saw the man beside her, in his cheap tuxedo and slightly awkward demeanor, their eyes filled with a knowing disdain and mockery.
"Is that the Sterling family's live-in son-in-law? He looks... really average."
"I heard Preston Vance was 'jinxed' by him. What an unlucky star." "Such a shame for Katherine. A beautiful flower wasted on a pile of manure."The whispers buzzed like flies. Katherine's body tensed unconsciously, but Jack seemed completely oblivious.
His hearing, enhanced by his Alpha bloodline, was now like a high-precision radar. He wasn't listening to the boring gossip at all; instead, he was filtering and capturing all the valuable information in the room.
"...Hammer Industries is bidding for that piece of land in the east district. I heard they have some cash flow problems..."
"...The vice president of Morgan Bank is under internal investigation next week. The tech stocks he holds will definitely be sold off..." "...I heard the mysterious founder of the 'Aegis Foundation' is also here tonight. I wonder which big shot it is..."Countless business secrets and insider tips flowed into his brain like data streams, rapidly analyzed and integrated. To him, this gala wasn't a social event; it was a gold mine of information.
Susan, on the other hand, was parading around her circle of socialites like a proud peacock. To show off her family's "uniqueness," she embellished the story, implying that Vance's downfall was directly related to a "talisman" blessed by a high lama from Tibet.
"Not only that," she lowered her voice conspiratorially, "my son-in-law, you may not think much of him, but his cooking is absolutely divine! Even New York's most discerning food critic, Mr. Anthony Hopkins, has nothing but praise for him!"
She was purely making things up to make herself look good.
But no sooner had she spoken than an elderly gentleman standing nearby, with graying hair and dressed simply like a retired professor, turned around and asked with a smile, "Oh, is that so? I am Anthony Hopkins. And where does this gentleman work, may I ask?"
Susan's face instantly turned beet red.
This Anthony Hopkins, publicly a food critic, was in reality the founder of the Hopkins Restaurant Group, a multi-billionaire who was notoriously low-key.
The tycoon's gaze passed over the embarrassed Susan and landed with interest on Jack. Jack gave him a respectful nod and chatted briefly about the nuances of sauce-making in French cuisine. His professional and unique insights made the tycoon's eyes light up, and he proactively offered his personal business card.
Susan stood by, regretting everything. Her one foolish boast had ended up handing a top-tier connection to the son-in-law she despised the most.
Just then, Jack suddenly felt something strange.
It was a peculiar sensation from deep within his bloodline, a feeling of both attraction and repulsion towards his own kind.
His gaze cut through the crowd, precisely locking onto a shadowy corner of the ballroom. A man stood there, tall, wearing a waiter's uniform, but his eyes were like those of a lone wolf in the night, filled with vigilance and scrutiny. The calm, mountain-like aura he exuded was definitely not that of an ordinary waiter.
For the first time, the supernatural world had unveiled a corner of its mysterious veil to Jack.
"Well, well, if it isn't Mr. Miller. What's the occasion? Done with cooking and trying your hand at being an errand boy?"
A malicious and provocative voice interrupted Jack's thoughts. Alex, with his posse of rich kids, swaggered over, clearly intending to humiliate Jack in public.
Jack's eyes instantly turned cold.
However, before he could speak, a cold and firm voice sounded from beside him.
"He is my husband, Jack Miller. The master of the Sterling family."
Katherine, contrary to her usual demeanor, took a step forward and tightly linked her arm with Jack's. She lifted her beautiful face, her gaze as sharp as a blade as it swept over Alex and his friends, and declared, word by word:
"Anyone who disrespects him is officially declaring war on all of Sterling Industries."
The entire room fell into a stunned silence.
This was the first time Katherine Sterling had so forcefully defended the status and dignity of her "live-in" husband in such an important public setting.
Jack could clearly feel the arm Katherine had linked with his trembling slightly from the force of her grip. A wave of warmth instantly spread through his entire body.
Alex's face turned shades of green and white before he finally retreated with his friends under Katherine's powerful aura.
The immediate crisis was averted, but Jack's brows furrowed.
His extraordinary hearing had just picked up a conversation it wasn't supposed to.
In another corner of the ballroom, David Sterling was clinking glasses and speaking in low tones with another man in a suit. That man was the CEO of Hammer Industries, Richard Hammer.
"...The plan is all set. The final item at tonight's charity auction is that piece of land in the east district. We'll work together to drive up the price and make that foolish woman Katherine think it's a treasure. As long as she buys it, Sterling Industries will go bankrupt from a broken capital chain within three months!"
"And then, we'll join forces and swallow it whole at the lowest price..."
A murderous glint flashed in the depths of Jack's eyes.
The inside of the "Pangolin" smelled of old grease, stale tobacco, and pure, unfiltered testosterone.It was cramped. The cabin was designed for two operators, not six.Dad was in the pilot's seat, his hands gripping the dual control levers. Mom was squeezed into the co-pilot seat, clutching her purse like it was a lifeline.The rest of us—me, Ben, Haley, Valerius, and Marcus—were crammed into the small cargo space behind the seats. It was intimate, in the worst possible way."Get your elbow out of my spleen, wolf-boy," Ben Carter grumbled, trying to protect his briefcase from being crushed by Valerius's knee."Touch me again, accountant, and you lose the hand," Valerius snarled, his eyes glowing yellow in the dim cabin light. He was hunched over, his massive frame taking up half the space. He looked like a tiger stuffed into a cat carrier."Quiet back there!" Dad shouted. He pulled a pair of cracked aviator goggles from the dashboard and pu
The sky wasn’t falling. It was being liquidated.If you’ve never stood beneath a rain of burning, multi-million dollar military hardware, I don’t recommend it. It smells like burning plastic and ozone, and it sounds like a thousand cash registers being thrown down a flight of stairs."Incoming! Twelve o'clock!" Marcus roared, shoving his heavy tower shield upward.CRASH.A flaming chunk of a "Valkyrie" drone, sleek silver chrome now twisted into a blackened pretzel, slammed into the energy shield. The impact sent a shockwave through the debris-strewn platform, rattling my teeth."That was a Mark-IV Guidance Module!" Ben Carter shrieked, scrambling on all fours under a slab of concrete. He wasn't hiding from the shrapnel; he was trying to scan the QR code on a piece of smoking debris with his wrist-comp. "That component alone is worth forty-five thousand credits before tax! Don't step on it! You're stepping on my year-end bonus!""Ben,
The sky to the south tore open.It wasn't a metaphor. The clouds were literally sheared apart by the sonic boom of something moving at Mach 5."Incoming bogeys!" Marcus yelled, tracking the radar on his HUD. "Multiple contacts! Fifty... no, a hundred! They're moving too fast for standard propulsion!"Silver streaks painted the sky. They weren't missiles. They were drones. But not the cheap, plastic quadcopters the Council used for surveillance. These were "Valkyrie" models—sleek, chrome-plated killers with swept-forward wings and engines that burned with a clean, white flame.They didn't attack us. They swarmed beneath the falling bombardment rounds.The Fenrir's Fang fired its first volley—massive tungsten rods designed to punch through bunkers.The Valkyries intercepted them.It was like watching a ballet of violent mathematics. Three drones would converge on a falling rod, fire high-intensity gravity-tethers to alter its trajectory,
The sound wasn't an explosion. Explosions are quick. This was a grinding, agonizing scream of geology being murdered.The ceiling of the underground city—a layer of permafrost and reinforced concrete that had held for a thousand years—didn't just crack. It was excised.A circle of ice, easily a mile wide, began to rotate."Drilling lasers," Marcus roared over the deafening noise, shielding his eyes from the sudden cascade of ice dust and debris falling like snow. "High-intensity thermal bores! They're cutting the lid off the jar!""My parents!" I lunged toward them, shielding them with my body as a chunk of frozen rock the size of a Honda Civic smashed into the walkway ten feet away, obliterating a row of empty cryo-pods."Up!" Haley pointed, her voice shrieking an octave higher than usual. "Look up!"The mile-wide disc of ice was lifted away by invisible hands, vanishing into the twilight sky above. In its place descended a shadow that blot
The final chamber was not cold. It was warm.It was designed to mimic a womb. Soft, amber light pulsed from the walls. The air was humid and smelled of nutrient fluid and ozone.In the center of the room, on a raised dais, stood two vertical pods. They were pristine, untouched by the decay that plagued the rest of the city.One was labeled Subject Zero-Pater.The other, Subject Zero-Mater.I stopped at the foot of the dais. My legs felt like lead. This was it. The reason I had fought through the frozen hell, the reason I had endured the Entropy Curse, the reason I had become a monster."Jack?" Haley whispered. She hung back near the door, sensing the intimacy of the moment. Even Ben stopped typing on his calculator."It's them," I whispered.I walked up the steps. I looked into the first pod.My father. The real one. Not the hologram. He looked younger than I remembered, his face unlined by the stress of the years he had missed. He floate
The air in the Cryogenic Storage facility was so cold it didn't just bite; it chewed. It was a sterile, absolute zero that froze the sweat on our skin instantly, turning our fatigue into a shivering, brittle exhaustion."It's quiet," Haley whispered, her breath puffing out in white clouds. "Too quiet. Like a library after hours.""It's a tomb," Valerius corrected, his voice echoing slightly in the vast, cylindrical chamber. "A very expensive tomb."We walked down a central gangway suspended over a dark abyss. On either side, stretching up into the gloom like books on a shelf, were hundreds of cryo-pods. Most were dark, their occupants long dead due to power failure. But here and there, amber status lights blinked, signaling life in stasis.I checked the Ouroboros Compass. The needle was spinning lazily, confused by the magnetic interference of so much dormant machinery, but it generally pointed toward the far end of the catwalk."Jack," Marcus called out, st







