THIRD PERSON POV
Rain drizzled down the windshield, faint streaks blurring the city lights into a sar of gold and gray.
Ace gripped the steering wheel tighter, the leather creaking under his hands. His jaw was locked, his expression unreadable.
Chris’s voice echoed in his head.
"Boss, the van’s parked right outside your private apartnt."
It didn’t make sense. None of it did.
He pressed harder on the accelerator, the engine roaring as the car cut through the slick streets.
By the ti he turned into the street leading to his apartnt, the flashing of blue and red lights stopped him cold... Police cars.
Everywhere.
His stomach sank.
The van, that sa damned van sat right in front of his building, surrounded by officers with flashlights and notepads.
Chris was standing near the gate, face pale, hands raised halfway in defense as two officers barked questions at him.
Ace pulled up roughly and stepped out before the car even stopped moving. Rain splattered across his coat.
"What the hell is going on here?"
"Sir, stay back!" one officer shouted, moving toward him.
Chris turned imdiately, eyes wide. "Boss! I swear I didn’t..."
"Quiet," Ace said sharply, then turned on the nearest officer.
"That van doesn’t belong to ."
The officer held up a hand. "We received a report linking this vehicle to a kidnapping that took place earlier today outside NovaTech. And your na, Mr. Langley was ntioned in connection."
Ace froze, the words slicing through the rain.
"Who reported it?"
"That’s confidential," the officer said flatly.
"We’ll have to ask you to co with us for questioning."
Chris stepped forward. "He didn’t..."
Two more officers cut him off, one grabbing Ace’s arm as another began reading him his rights.
Ace didn’t resist, but his eyes were steel.
"I said," he repeated, voice dangerously calm, "who gave you that report?"
No one answered.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, but before he could reach for it, an officer snatched it away, bagging it.
Chris shouted, "Wait! That’s..."
"Back up!" the policeman barked.
Ace’s expression didn’t change, but his pulse thundered. He glanced once at Chris, the only signal between them, a silent don’t move until I say so.
As they cuffed him, the rain ca down harder, soaking his hair, his shirt, everything.
Reporters across the street began to whisper, so recording on their phones.
Ace Langley, son of Victor Langley, being dragged into a police car, for kidnapping.
He didn’t fight. He didn’t speak.
He just stared at the flashing lights, the reflection burning red and blue in his eyes.
Inside the car, he tilted his head slightly, watching the rain slide down the window. His lips twitched in sothing that wasn’t quite a smile.
"Clever move, Victor," he muttered under his breath.
The door slamd shut.
---
At Zion’s apartnt, the faint sound of luggage zipping broke the silence.
Zion moved around his dimly lit apartnt, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Two tall n in black stood near the door, bodyguards, silent, watchful.
Zion checked his watch. Midnight then his phone buzzed. Unknown Caller.
He frowned before answering. "Hello?"
His father’s voice ca through calm and distant.
"Zion."
He froze mid-step. "...Dad?"
"Are you packed?"
Zion’s eyes narrowed. "Packed for what?"
From behind the call, he heard his mother’s voice, faint but unmistakable.
"Just listen to your father, sweetheart. It’s for your own good."
Zion’s grip on the phone tightened. "Mom?"
Then ca his father’s voice again, firr now.
"We had to make sure you’d co back to the States. It’s safer here."
His pulse spiked. "What did you do?"
"You’re getting too involved in sothing you don’t understand," his father said quietly. "We’re trying to protect you."
"Protect ?" Zion’s laugh was low, bitter. "By dragging out when my friend’s missing?"
There was silence on the line for a beat then, faintly, a sound in the background.
Police radio chatter.
Zion’s face drained of color.
"What’s that noise?"
His father didn’t answer imdiately, then said, with chilling calm
"It’s for your good, son."
The line clicked.
Zion stood still, the room spinning. The guards moved closer, one gently placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Sir, your flight’s been arranged."
He looked up at them, eyes full of anger, confusion, betrayal.
---
The rain had thinned into a steady drizzle, pattering lightly against the tinted windows of the safehouse. Inside, the air was still cold enough to sting. Victor Langley stood with his back to the room, staring at the faint reflection of his own face on the glass.
Behind him, two of his n waited silently, their boots damp from the rain outside.
Victor’s phone buzzed once on the table. The screen flashed with a restricted number.
He answered...
"Langley."
A pause. A shaky breath on the other end.
"Sir... it’s about your son."
Victor turned slightly, voice steady. "What about him?"
"They... they’ve arrested him. Ace Langley. The police say the van involved in the kidnapping was found parked in his apartnt complex. They... they’re saying he might be connected."
Silence. Only the faint hiss of rain.
The man on the line swallowed hard.
"Sir?"
Victor exhaled slowly, his tone too calm. "Where?"
"Downtown precinct, sir. They’re moving him there now."
Victor ended the call without another word.
The room felt smaller now. The silence heavier.
He turned to the n behind him.
"Who involved the police" but the silence remained
"Which one of you," he said quietly, "thought it was a good idea... to involve the police?"
No answer. Just the faint hum of the overhead light.
Victor’s gaze moved slowly from one face to the next, sharp, calculating, deadly calm.
"Soone made a call. Soone talked. That van’s location didn’t fall into their laps by luck."
Still silence.
He exhaled softly, almost a sigh. "You have ten seconds."
The n murmured, no one admitting...
"I don’t like noise." Victor said coldly, raising his hand to shut them up
He turned to Collins. "Handle it."
Then, without another glance, Victor walked out calm, composed, but his eyes were burning.
"Get the street footage from his apartnt. Every cara, every angle. I want it now." he said to one of the n following him out
"Yes, sir."
He moved to the table, grabbed his gloves, sliding them on with precise calm.
Then he took out another phone, his private one and dialed.
It rang once. Twice.
A voice answered, nervous. "Mr. Langley..."
"Listen carefully," Victor interrupted, his tone razor-thin. "You tell whoever fed the police that location... they just declared war."
"Sir, I..."
"Don’t explain," he cut in sharply. "Just make sure they understand what it ans to co for my family."
He ended the call and stood still for a long mont, the only sound the rain whispering against the glass.
Then he murmured, almost to himself,
"They touched my blood."
He turned toward the door.
"Prepare the car," he said.
One of his n hesitated. "Sir, to the precinct?"
Victor’s eyes flicked toward him, cold and unreadable.
"No," he said. "To the station."
Then, after a pause he gave a faint, dangerous smirk.
"I’m not going as a father."
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