By morning, the penthouse air was thick with the scent of fresh espresso, but neither Damon nor Jasmine touched their cups.
Instead, they stood by the massive windows, watching the city below awaken—unaware that somewhere in its veins, a silent war was unfolding.
"I don't want you walking alone anymore," Damon said, voice low but firm.
Jasmine leaned her forehead against the glass. "I can handle myself, Damon. I'm not a porcelain doll."
"I know you're not," he muttered. "But this isn't just about street thugs or jealous executives anymore. We're dealing with ghosts. With blood debts that were never settled."
She turned to face him. "You think it's your brother?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stared down at his ring—the one he swore he'd never wear again—now heavy on his finger.
"I think… it's something worse."
---
Later that day, campus life roared around Jasmine like a flood.
Students flooded the courtyard, headphones blaring, vape clouds swirling lazily into the spring air. Influencers filmed dance trends under the cherry blossom trees, business majors argued over startup valuations near the economics building, and Bitcoin junkies loitered around the finance hub, hunched over charts and candlesticks.
But Jasmine wasn't here to relive her college days.
She was here for Yelena.
Or at least, for what Yelena had left behind.
She slipped into the underground library—a place few students bothered with anymore now that everything was online—and took the back stairs to the storage levels.
Room B7.
Where campus archives, old surveillance footage, and abandoned student projects went to die.
Inside, it smelled of dust and ancient toner ink. Rows of dead filing cabinets lined the walls. Jasmine found the university's system server tucked in the corner, a battered Lenovo terminal blinking stubbornly.
She hacked in using a code Damon had given her—something he once used during a campus hackathon when they first met.
The system groaned to life, sluggish.
Tapping rapidly, Jasmine pulled up dormitory records.
Yelena's access logs didn't lie.
Four nights before she disappeared, Yelena had signed into a restricted server named "Project Eden."
A project linked to a single sponsor: The Helix Corporation.
Jasmine's stomach dropped.
Helix wasn't just any company.
It was one of Damon's father's old holdings—long thought dissolved after a mysterious fire destroyed their European branch.
But here it was, alive, and recruiting students under the radar.
For what?
She barely had time to screenshot the evidence before the system froze, a red message blinking:
"Unauthorized Access. Security Notified."
Her heart jackhammered against her ribs.
Footsteps echoed outside.
She ripped the USB from the terminal, shoved it into her jacket pocket, and slipped out the back door, sprinting through the boiler room.
Whoever was playing this game wasn't just a hacker.
They had boots on the ground.
And they were closing in.
---
Meanwhile, Damon sat at a mahogany conference table, far above the city in the glass skyscraper that housed Monarch Investments—one of the financial arms his father had quietly built before vanishing into history.
Today, it was his.
But control wasn't guaranteed.
A dozen men and women sat around him—billionaires, old-money aristocrats, secret society heirs—all pretending this was just another quarterly meeting.
It wasn't.
They wanted answers.
"Damon," an older man barked—Chancellor Velez, a man whose private equity fund controlled four African oil pipelines. "The market is unstable. Your sudden rise to the Talon Digital board sent shockwaves through investor circles. People are asking questions. Questions about where your true holdings lie."
Damon smiled coolly, fingers tapping the polished table.
"They can ask all they want. Monarch is solid."
"Then why the shadow activity?" another woman snapped. Lucia Moretti, heiress to a tech dynasty and an old flame from Damon's wilder days. "Anonymous Bitcoin wallets opening under your name. Shell companies popping up in Zurich, Tokyo, Dubai. You're moving assets like a man preparing for war."
He met her gaze without flinching.
"Maybe I am," he said.
The room went still.
An older board member—Arthur Weng, who survived three corporate assassinations in his career—leaned in. His voice was barely above a whisper.
"Is the Helix project back on?"
Damon froze.
For a second, the mask slipped.
Then he smiled, slow and dangerous.
"Helix is dead," he said smoothly. "And if anyone tries to resurrect it, they'll wish they stayed in their graves."
The meeting ended with polite smiles and cold handshakes, but Damon knew better.
He was being circled.
Predators disguised in silk and pinstripes.
And somewhere among them… his real enemy watched.
Waiting for the moment to strike.
---
That night, Jasmine returned to the penthouse, breathless, adrenaline still surging.
She tossed the USB onto the kitchen counter, and Damon caught it mid-air without looking.
"Helix," she said.
He closed his hand around the tiny drive.
The world seemed to tilt slightly.
"You're sure?"
She nodded. "It's recruiting students. Offering them Bitcoin wallets, promising internships at fake companies. It's all connected. The crypto pings last night weren't just scams. They were breadcrumbs."
Damon set the drive down carefully.
"It was never about Talon Digital," he murmured. "Or even Monarch."
Jasmine stepped closer. "It's about Helix."
He nodded.
"And everything my family tried to bury."
---
Later, wrapped together in the warm shadows of their bed, Jasmine traced lazy circles on Damon's bare chest.
He stared at the ceiling, lost in thought.
"What was Helix, really?" she whispered.
He exhaled slowly. "Helix was...a genetic project. Decades ago, my father believed he could create the perfect leader. Not through politics or money. But through blood. DNA manipulation. Selective breeding. Artificial intelligence-enhanced cognition."
Jasmine's fingers froze.
"He wanted to build...superhumans?"
"More like...dynasties. Rulers who would control world economies without ever lifting a sword."
"And you—?"
"I was supposed to be the crown jewel. But I wasn't the only one."
His voice cracked slightly.
"My brother… he was the first prototype. But something went wrong. There were...complications. Emotional instability. Obsession."
She touched his jaw, forcing him to look at her.
"You're not your father's creation, Damon."
"I know," he whispered. "But sometimes, late at night, I wonder how much of me is me... and how much is programming."
She kissed him fiercely.
"You are the man who fights for what's right. Who protects people, even when it costs you everything. You are the man I love."
The words stunned both of them into silence.
She hadn't planned to say them.
He hadn't dared hope to hear them.
Slowly, he smiled—a real smile, the kind she hadn't seen in months.
"I love you too," he murmured.
And it wasn't just a confession.
It was a vow.
---
But across town, beneath an abandoned casino on the East River waterfront, another meeting was taking place.
In a cavernous, smoke-filled room lit by flickering fluorescent lights, figures in hoodies and designer suits stood around a table covered in schematics.
In the center of it all stood a man with silver hair and eyes like frozen glass.
He tapped a pen against the blueprints.
"We trigger the Helix resurrection at the student union rally," he said. His voice was smooth, hypnotic. "Use the influencers to spread the manifesto. Use the Bitcoin wallets to fund chaos. Force Damon onto the world stage."
An assistant hesitated. "And Jasmine Vale?"
He smiled coldly.
"She's the catalyst. Hurt her, and Damon will burn the world down."
The others nodded.
The countdown had begun.
And this time?
No one would be safe.
---