Simon hated the feeling—being useless.
Weeks had passed, and still, he had nothing. No suspect. No pattern. No leverage. Just bodies.
It wasn't just the murders. That alone would have been enough to keep him awake at night. But the whispers—those were worse. High-profile kidnappings. Politicians. Influential figures. People who didn't just disappear unless something deliberate was at play.
Simon didn't believe in coincidences. Not in this city.
And he knew one thing with uncomfortable certainty—most of those "important" figures weren't clean. Ninety percent of them had skeletons buried deep enough to suffocate truth itself.
"Supposed to be our job," Robert muttered, exhaling sharply as he leaned back. Frustration bled through his voice, but there was something else underneath it—agreement. "Someone got tired of the crime wave and stepped in. Honestly? I'd rather be hacking the Elder's Casino than chasing a serial killer who's basically doing our work."
Simon didn't look at him.
"But who is he?" he said quietly. "Is he working alone?"
Silence answered him.
"He's good," Natasha added, tapping her chin, her brows drawn in concentration. "No evidence. No prints. No digital footprint. It's like he doesn't exist."
Robert shifted, restless. "The Elder Casino reopens tonight. Don't you thi—"
"We've been watching the Elders for years," Simon cut in, his tone firm but controlled. "We know what they are. Mafia, every last one of them. But knowing and proving are two different games. And right now, we don't have the pieces to play."
He sank into his chair, the weight of it all pressing down.
"So we just… what?" Robert pressed. "Chase a killer who's doing what we couldn't?"
"The killer, Robert." Simon's voice sharpened. "Focus on that. He's leaving bodies in public spaces. A school kid found one yesterday. You think that child walks away from that unchanged? This isn't justice. It's trauma."
Robert clenched his jaw, grabbing a bottle of water, saying nothing.
"I'll tap into the city cameras again," Natasha said, her voice calmer, grounding. "There has to be something we missed."
"Do it," Simon nodded. "Robert, get back to the station. Pull every contact, every source. I want information flowing from every direction."
They moved.
And just like that, the room emptied—leaving Simon alone with the hum of machines and the weight of unfinished work.
The recent killings had drained him more than he cared to admit.
A week ago, he had made a decision—one he thought was final. He was going to shut it all down.
AID.
For five years it had survived without its founders. Five years since Paige and Victor Samuels died in a way no one deserved. Brutal. Public.
The Samuels Group had funded everything. When they died, so did the money.
What remained was a ghost of what AID used to be.
On the surface, it was just a private library. Quiet. Harmless. Forgettable.
But beneath it—
A different world.
A hidden lab. Surveillance systems. Advanced tech. A training facility. Cells. Interrogation rooms. Everything was built for a war they no longer fought.
Only Simon and a handful of trusted people knew the truth.
And now, five years after stepping away from the fight, he wanted out. Clean. Final. Let the past stay buried.
But then this killer appeared.
Efficient. Calculated. Untraceable.
Exactly the kind of threat AID was built to handle.
Simon stared at the screen, jaw tight.
He had to end it.
"One last job," he muttered.
Shikongo Mansion
Alexander walked down the hallway toward his room, his expression unreadable.
Marriage.
The word felt foreign in his mind—like a concept designed for someone else's life.
He was a businessman. A force, more accurately. People didn't just respect him—they feared him. He owned half the city and controlled the rest through influence and leverage. Well, the other half still belonged to his rival, Samuels Group, but that company was slowly dying deep in debt, and Alexander was glad.
Marriage didn't fit into that equation.
And yet…
"Good morning, handsome."
Catty appeared as if summoned by his thoughts, her voice smooth and playful. She always had a way of doing that—slipping into his space like she belonged there.
She had loved him for years.
Back in high school in South Africa, she had confessed publicly. Bold. Fearless. He had rejected her just as publicly.
It made her a laughingstock for a week. But she didn't stop.
In college, she tried again—this time privately. Same answer.
Alexander had never seen her that way. To him, she was family. A younger sister, if anything.
"What are you thinking?" Catty snapped her fingers in front of his face, pulling him back.
He exhaled slightly. "Nothing important."
"Aunty Sofia said being given the flag doesn't mean—"
"When are you going home?"
Monica's voice cut cleanly through the moment as she approached, her expression already shifting Catty's mood.
"Monica," Alexander said, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "show some respect."
"It's a question," Monica replied, stepping slightly in front of him. "Or do you think I hate you, Cat—" she paused, correcting herself with a thin smile, "—Catherine?"
"You've been on my case since I arrived," Catty shot back.
Monica didn't respond. Instead, she leaned closer to Alexander, whispering something into his ear, as his gaze lingered too long on Catherine.
Whatever it was, it lit her up as he nodded unfocused.
She pulled back, grinning, then ran toward the living room, barely containing her excitement.
Alexander watched her go, his gaze lingering a moment too long before shifting away.
The dining table was alive with quiet chatter and clinking cutlery.
Breakfast at the Shikongo mansion was a ritual—structured, orderly, but never silent. Everyone had somewhere to be. Work. School. Meetings.
A servant stood near the entrance, attentive, ready.
Monica slid into her seat beside Daniel, barely able to hide her smile.
"Good side of the bed today?" Betty asked casually.
Monica ignored her, leaning into Daniel and whispering.
His reaction was immediate—a sharp gasp of excitement.
Betty frowned, completely lost.
"Is Alexander even coming down today?" Adam joked. "Or is he still recovering?"
A few chuckles circled the table.
"Maybe he's exhausted," Cinthia added. "Destiny really put him on display last night."
Laughter followed.
Catty smiled along, composed.
"Catty," Cinthia leaned forward, curious. "You saw Alex this morning, right? He's fine?"
"Yes," Catty nodded, then paused—just long enough to draw attention. "He's preparing for the wedding—"
She coughed suddenly, covering it with a sip of juice.
"I mean… work. Preparing for work. Slip of the tongue. Sorry."
Monica stiffened, her mind flashing back to earlier.
They were too close. Far too close.
The word marriage had become unavoidable in the house since last night. Since the flag.
Monica wanted Alexander married.
Just not to her.
Her gaze drifted to Catty's outfit—the butterfly skirt—and she grimaced slightly, pushing away an intrusive thought.
"You're not staying here forever, right?" Monica said at last.
Catty tilted her head, amused. "Why? Worried I might become your sister-in-law?"
Monica didn't hide her expression this time.
"Catty can stay as long as she likes," Kuku Veronica said warmly. "She's family."
"Mom, you seem… unusually happy," Damien observed.
"She's fine," Sophia added, though her eyes searched for confirmation. "Right, Mom?"
Kuku Veronica smiled, almost glowing. "I am. My son accepted the marriage flag."
She took another bite, clearly pleased.
"I'm your real son," Adam muttered, a flicker of something darker crossing his face before he masked it. "Though knowing him, he'll probably marry in—"
"Two months."
The voice cut through the room with authority.
Silence followed instantly.
Alexander stood at the entrance, composed and precise. His suit was immaculate—silk, tailored, and finished with a gold chain draped from his pocket. Every detail is intentional.
He set his briefcase down.
"I'm marrying Catherine," he said, calm and direct. "The wedding will take place in two months."
No hesitation. No room for debate.
"It will be grand," he added, his gaze sweeping the table. "I prefer my affairs that way."
And just like that—
He rewrote everyone's expectations in a single sentence.