Chapter One: Wrong Wallet

(Noah's POV)

Okay, look. I didn’t mean to rob a mafia boss.

It was supposed to be a stupid flex—like, “Look what I can do, losers,” then vanish back into the depths of my energy-drink-infested cave before anyone noticed. But no. Of course not. Because the universe has a personal vendetta against me.

But let’s rewind.

It started with boredom. The kind that sinks in at 2:13 a.m. when you're on your fifth Red Bull, your fingers are twitching, and the rest of the world is asleep—or dead, I guess. I was in the mood for mischief. Small mischief. Hacker mischief.

I cracked my knuckles over my battered mechanical keyboard, eyes squinting through blue-light glasses I haven't cleaned in weeks, and dove into my usual mess of VPNs, spoofers, and code snippets that probably violate at least seven federal laws.

Just for fun, I targeted a cold Bitcoin wallet. No movement in months. Hidden behind weak encryption like it was a grandpa’s savings account.

Too easy. Within 40 minutes, I was in.

“Boom, baby,” I whispered to the empty room.

I didn't touch a coin. I’m reckless, not stupid. I just took a screenshot of the transaction history—because it was massive, and weirdly clean—and posted it on my favorite underground forum like an idiot.

—

Anonymous_Lynx (Me):

cracked a dead BTC whale. No coins moved. just flexin'.

attached: screenshot.png

gl1tchQueen:

holy sh*t bro that’s like 2 million sitting there???

ZeroPoint:

careful. too clean. that wallet smells... gov or mob.

ByteDaddy:

lmao Noah out here asking to be disappeared

"Mob? Pfft." I laughed out loud and rolled my chair back. The soda cans on the floor rattled.

“Who even says that?” I muttered, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose.

The screen flickered. Once. Twice.

Then everything froze.

“What the hell…” I leaned in, tapping the escape key like that would do anything. The cursor started dancing—without me touching it.

I ripped my hands off the keyboard. “Okay. Not funny, guys.”

My speakers hissed. A pop-up blinked on the screen:

YOU'VE BEEN SEEN.

“Nope, nope, nope,” I muttered, diving for the power cable.

The screen flashed once more—my own webcam feed stared back at me. Me, wide-eyed, tousled black hair, hoodie pulled halfway over my face like that would help. Then it went dark.

The laptop powered down. Silence.

I sat there in the glow of my lava lamp, heart punching against my ribs, every horror movie warning siren blaring in my brain.

“Sh*t.”

I was being traced.

And I had no idea who the hell I’d just poked.

But something told me... they weren’t laughing.

My little fun play didn't seem funny to the owner of the wallet but I didn't move a single damn coin so I wouldn't exactly get in trouble, no?

___

Somewhere across the city, deep in a penthouse suite veiled behind mirrored glass and silence, Lucien Vale sipped espresso like it was blood.

The room was too clean. Glass tables. Steel fixtures. Black-and-white art. Every line sharp. Every object deliberately placed—because chaos disgusted him. He wore no tie, only a loose black shirt unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing tattooed veins and lean muscle underneath.

We're talking about Lucien Vale.

Lucien Vale didn’t wake up to alarms.

He woke up to silence.

The kind of silence that came with control—perfect, intentional, curated. The penthouse was dim, lit by the faint blue pulse of server racks in the adjacent room, and the distant hum of the city down below. Lucien liked to rise before the sun. Before the world had a chance to breathe.

He sat on the edge of his bed, sliding a hand through his dark hair, then reached for his robe—charcoal silk, like everything else he owned. He moved through the suite like a panther in a cage of glass, every step measured.

It wasn’t until he entered the security room that the first tremor of disorder greeted him.

“Red,” he said, voice calm but cutting. “Why is the server acting like it’s in cardiac arrest?”

The man in question turned from the monitors, one brow raised beneath the curtain of auburn hair he always wore slicked back. Red was lean, well-dressed, and ever so slightly afraid of Lucien, though he’d never admit it.

“We caught something last night,” Red said, tapping a key.

Lucien’s screens shifted. A single screenshot filled the largest one.

His Bitcoin wallet.

Lucien’s personal vault. Hidden behind layers of encryption he’d hand-built over five years, never once accessed without his express permission. Untouched. Untouchable.

And yet, here it was. Open. Exposed. Captured in some pixelated image, watermarked with a forum handle Lucien didn’t recognize.

Anonymous_Lynx.

Lucien said nothing for a long while.

He simply stared, as if absorbing the data through his skin. Then, at last, he smiled.

Not warm. Not amused.

Predatory.

“Tracked it?” he asked.

“Working on it. The kid masked his signal with rotating IPs and rerouted through over fifteen proxy chains. Not military-grade, but quick. Clean.”

“Kid,” Lucien echoed, rolling the word on his tongue like fine whiskey.

“Yeah,” Red continued. “Judging by typing patterns, digital signature, syntax and the timestamp of his post—it was done on a consumer-grade laptop. English, native speaker. Time zone puts him somewhere local. Likely a teenager or early twenties.”

Lucien folded his arms, his jaw flexing.

“He posted the screenshot for clout,” Red added, tapping open the thread. “Didn’t move any coins. Just showed off.”

Lucien gave a low hum. “Then he’s reckless. Or arrogant. Or both.”

His eyes narrowed as he zoomed in on the post’s metadata.

‘cracked a dead BTC whale. no coins moved. just flexin'.

“‘Dead wallet,’” Lucien murmured. “He really thought it was abandoned.”

He turned from the screen, walking to the glass window of his office, the skyline sprawling before him in broken halos of light.

“No theft. No damage. Just curiosity,” he mused aloud. “That’s what makes it interesting.”

Red crossed his arms. “We can wipe him, boss. Quiet. Quick. You’ll never hear his name again.”

Lucien tilted his head slightly, lips curling.

“Do I look like I want silence?”

Red blinked. “You’re... not angry?”

“Oh, I’m enraged,” Lucien said, voice smooth like smoke. “But I’m also intrigued.”

He tapped a finger against the glass.

“This boy—this Lynx—got into my house. Not through the door, not with a key. He slithered through the wires and shadows, peeked into my vault like a child pressing his nose to a lion’s cage.”

Lucien turned, eyes gleaming with something darker than fury—fascination.

“I want to know why.”

Red hesitated. “So what’s the order?”

Lucien walked back to the console and leaned over the monitor. The watermark stared back at him like a ghost trying to be clever.

He whispered, “Bring him to me.”

Alive.

Unbroken.

Sane—enough.

“I want to see the look on his face when he realizes who he hacked.”

Red cleared his throat. “We should act fast. The forum's already buzzing with his post. Some folks recognized the address. If someone else finds him before we do...”

“They won’t.”

Lucien was already typing into a nearby device, loading up his internal network of operatives. Each click sounded like a countdown.

“You want to recruit him?” Red asked carefully.

Lucien’s smile returned—colder this time.

“I want to break him in.”

A pause.

“And if he’s useful... keep him.”

Red gave a short nod. “I’ll assemble a team.”

“No bruises on his hands,” Lucien added. “I want them intact. He’ll be working for me before the week is over.”

Red turned to leave, but Lucien stopped him with a final word.

“Oh—and Red?”

The man paused at the door.

“If he fights,” Lucien said, voice suddenly low and razor-sharp, “don’t kill him. Sedate him. Gently. The moment he wakes up... I want to be the first face he sees.”

Red gave a tight nod, then disappeared into the hall.

Lucien was left alone again.

He stepped closer to the screen, watching the forum thread as replies trickled in.

gl1tchQueen:

dude’s got balls, I’ll give him that.

ZeroPoint:

bro messed with the wrong wallet. anyone else getting chills?

ByteDaddy:

that whale is definitely is huge no chill one. kid is toast.

Anonymous_Lynx:

chill guys, it’s not like I drained it lol

Lucien’s smile widened at that one. Brazen little fool.

He leaned in, whispering to no one but the void.

“You just made the biggest mistake of your life, kitten.”

Then he closed the screen with one final tap, and the room returned to silence.

The hunt had begun.