The room had no windows.
Elina preferred it that way.
No skyline.
No distractions.
No reminder that the world outside continued normally while wars were planned in secret
A single file lay on the steel table in front of her.
Stamped in black:
PROJECT KINGS
Across from her sat Harris.
Quite.
tense.
controlled.
"You've heard of them," he said.
It wasn't a question.
"Everyone in intelligence has heard of them."
The Kings.
An organization without a face.
No confirmed leader.
No confirmed base.
No arrests that ever stuck.
They did not announce themselves.
They destabilized countries,governments and societies—through , through politics, power and wealth
Harris slid the file toward her.
"We believe we have a doorway."
She opened it.
Photographs.
Business records.
Press clippings.
And then—
Antony Damian Corven.
Chairman of Corven Group of Companies.
Polished smile. Cold eyes.
"the corvens?" Elina asked.
Harris leaned back.
"yes, their Untouchable. Every investigation collapses. Every witness dead, Every officer reassigned or went missing"
That meant they had power.
Real power.
"Why now?" she asked.
"Because we finally have reason to," Harris replied. "we have reason to believe that someone in the corven mansion is a big part of the kings,but we don't know who yet."
Elina's eyes scanned further.
Images of the family.
Vivian Corven.
Cassian Corven.
Damian Corven.
Her gaze paused slightly on Damian's photograph.
He wasn't standing beside Antony in the image.
He stood half a step behind,it was obvious that there was more than one thing dividing them
"what's the reason" she asked.
Harris's fingers tapped lightly against the table.
"An insider ,not from outside,but seems to be willing to help us?"
Silence stretched.
Then—
"You're going in."
Elina's expression didn't change.
"As what?"
"Domestic staff."
A pause.
"A maid?" she clarified.
"Low visibility. High access. The Corven mansion cycles staff through Mr. Matthew, the family butler. We've arranged credentials. Background. References."
Arranged.
So the board was already moving.
"You'll observe," Harris continued. "all you need to do is pass the interview"
Elina closed the file.
"When do I start?"
"Three days."
Later that night, John met Elina outside headquarters.
"You're quiet," he said.
"I'm thinking."
He leaned against his car. "About the mission?"
"About the family."
John frowned. "You haven't even met them."
"I've seen enough."
She held up the file slightly.
"The all look so serious."
John studied her for a moment.
"Be careful, Elina."
She met his eyes.
"I don't intend to lose."
And truly she never did
The walls of Corven Mansion were thick — thick enough to keep out noise, light, and perhaps even truth.
Morning had arrived, but inside the grand dining hall, it felt as though time itself moved carefully, cautiously.
The long mahogany table stood like a throne extended across the room. Silverware gleamed beneath the chandelier's muted glow. Servants moved quietly along the edges, trained to exist without being noticed.
At the head of the table sat Antony Damian Corven.
His posture was immaculate. His suit flawless. His presence alone was enough to command silence. He did not rush his meals, nor his thoughts. He observed.
Vivian Corven sat to his right, poised and elegant as always, emerald silk draped perfectly over her frame. Across from her, little Lily swung her legs lightly beneath her chair, her small fingers wrapped around a glass of juice.
Two seats remained empty.
Antony noticed.
He always noticed.
He lowered his cup with deliberate precision.
"Vivian," he said calmly, though the calm carried weight. "Where is your son?"
The faint clink of metal against porcelain broke the silence as Vivian set down her cutlery. She lifted her eyes slowly, meeting his gaze without hesitation.
"I don't know, dear."
A slight tightening formed around Antony's mouth.
"You'd better find him before he causes another scene," he replied evenly. "We won't keep cleaning up after him."
The words were directed at her, but the warning carried further.
Silence fell again, stretching thin.
Then Antony turned his attention down the table.
"Lily," he said, his tone softening just slightly. "Where is your brother?"
Lily smiled innocently.
"Damian is in his room reading."
A brief pause.
Antony shifted his gaze toward the side of the hall.
"Matthew."
As if summoned from the air itself, Mr. Matthew appeared beside the table.
"Yes, Mr. Corven?"
"Call Damian. Tell him to join us."
Before the butler could move, the sharp scrape of a chair echoed across marble floors.
Vivian rose abruptly, fury flashing behind her composed exterior.
"I am not sharing a table with your bastard."
The word fell heavy. Ugly.
Antony did not react immediately. He did not slam his hand or raise his voice.
He simply looked at her.
"Then leave."
The simplicity of it was more cutting than anger.
"Matthew," he continued without breaking eye contact, "do as I say."
"Yes, sir."
Vivian turned sharply and walked out, her heels striking the floor in controlled rage.
Lily lowered her gaze.
Antony resumed his breakfast as though nothing had happened.
Upstairs, the mansion felt quieter.
The long hallway was lined with portraits of Corven men from generations past — men who had built empires, broken rivals, shaped markets.
Matthew stopped before a dark wooden door and knocked gently.
"Come in," came the calm reply from within.
Matthew entered.
The sight before him made him pause.
Golden morning light poured through tall windows, casting warmth across the otherwise cool-toned room. By the window sat Damian Corven, a book resting open in his hands.
The sunlight traced the sharp lines of his face — high cheekbones, composed expression, dark almond-shaped eyes scanning the page with quiet focus.
For a moment, he looked less like a son in a divided house and more like something untouchable.
"Is something the matter, Mr. Matthew?"
Damian's voice was smooth, steady.
Matthew straightened immediately, realizing he had been staring.
"Forgive me, Young Master. Mr. Corven requests your presence at the table."
Damian closed the book carefully, placing it aside as though the act itself required thought.
He rose.
There was no rush in him. No irritation. No fear.
"Tell Father," he said softly, "that I will join him soon."
Matthew bowed his head slightly.
"Very well, Young Master."
As the butler exited, Damian turned toward the window once more.
Below, the mansion grounds stretched wide and controlled.
Inside these walls, power was inherited.
But loyalty—
Loyalty was something else entirely.