Chapter One
Ten long hours.
That was how long David and Angela Kock had been waiting outside the surgical theater.
Ten silent, suffocating, unbearable hours.
Angela sat curled in a hospital chair, her perfectly styled hair now a disheveled mess of worry. David stood by the hallway window, unmoving, like a monument of power frozen in helplessness. The man who commanded boardrooms and billion-dollar contracts now stared blankly into nothing—his tailored suit wrinkled, his heart cracking by the second.
Passersby, hospital staff, and even concerned strangers stopped, recognizing the famous couple. Whispers floated around "That's David Kock." "The billionaire." "What's going on?" Some tried to offer words of comfort, soft greetings, gentle smiles.
But David barely nodded. Angela didn't even blink.
Their world had narrowed down to one room. One door. One boy.
Their son.
Steven.
Though not yet twenty, but the light of their lives. The heir to an empire, their miracle child, and their greatest fear rolled into one fragile body.
"This... this sickness," David murmured to no one, his voice brittle. "It's not ordinary. They said it themselves. Strange. Unpredictable. Aggressive."
He clutched the back of the metal bench, knuckles white.
"Who will I leave all of this to?"
His eyes glanced toward the double doors of the theater. His fortune, his empire, his legacy—none of it mattered right now.
Had he wronged someone? Had he ignored a warning? The silence offered no answer. Only guilt, and the echo of his thoughts.
Then—the doors creaked open.
A white-coated figure stepped out, peeling off surgical gloves with clinical precision. The lights above flickered once, as if sensing the tension in the air.
David snapped out of his spiral. "Doctor!" he barked, his voice hoarse. "How did it go?"
The doctor paused. For a second, he simply stood there, studying them with tired eyes that had seen too many outcomes—some joyous, many not.
"Mr. and Mrs. Kock," he said, voice steady but heavy. "Please... come with me."
Angela shot up instantly, her heels clicking with urgency. David followed, heart hammering like war drums.
Inside the doctor's office, the world felt quieter. The ticking clock on the wall mocked them with every second that passed.
Finally seated after hours of standing, Angela reached for David's hand and squeezed—hard. He didn't pull away.
The doctor sat across from them, fingers interlaced, face unreadable.
"I'm going to be honest," he began. "Steven's condition is rare. Complicated. His body is fighting—but the infection is... stubborn. The next twenty-four hours are critical."
Angela covered her mouth, stifling a gasp. Tears brimmed, then spilled silently.
David leaned forward. "But he's alive?"
"Yes," the doctor nodded. "He's stable—for now. But we'll need your consent to try an aggressive treatment plan. It's risky. But it may be his best shot."
David nodded once, firmly. "Do whatever it takes. Spare no cost. Just bring my son back."
The doctor nodded solemnly. "We'll do everything we can."
As they exited the office, Angela leaned into her husband, trembling. David wrapped an arm around her shoulders, gaze sharp with resolve.
He would fight the storm. He had no choice.
Because Steven Kock must live.
They had barely left.
David and Angela Kock had been ushered out gently by the staff, reassured that the aggressive treatment would begin within the hour. They had nodded, exhausted, and walked out of the hospital, clinging to hope like it was oxygen.
But hope wasn't the only thing entering that building tonight.
She walked in without announcement. No hesitation, no fear. Like she belonged there.
A woman dressed in midnight.
Tall, graceful, and composed—her skin was as smooth as obsidian, absorbing the sterile white light of the corridor. Her figure was divine, every curve crafted with maddening precision, like she'd been drawn by hands that understood obsession.
She didn't pause. She didn't look left or right.
She knew exactly where to go.
The surgical ward where Steven Kock—who in two months-will turn twenty, brilliant, burdened, and barely breathing—lay surrounded by machines that beeped warnings like ticking time bombs.
Inside, the team of specialists led by Dr. Adams were monitoring him with the intensity of a launch crew at mission control. His vitals were flatlined in spirit, even if the lines hadn't completely dropped.
Then the door opened.
No one had buzzed her in.
"Ma'am, you can't be—" one nurse began, already moving forward.
But she was already by the bedside.
Before anyone could stop her, her hand extended—graceful, slow, tender.
She laid her fingers on Steven's bare forearm.
Long. Warm. Deliberate.
Time… shifted.
The air changed—thicker. Heavier. Charged.
The fluorescent lights flickered once, then steadied. The room filled with a hum—faint, like electricity whispering through copper wires. One of the monitors spiked.
A nurse gasped.
Steven, motionless for hours, flinched.
His fingers twitched.
His lips parted.
Then, slowly, impossibly—his eyes opened.
Wide. Clear. Focused.
The staff froze in a blend of awe and disbelief.
Steven blinked once. Twice. Then, locking eyes with the woman—this stunning stranger who stood like both goddess and ghost—he said, voice hoarse but sure:
"Thank you for coming."
That was all.
No one understood the words.
But she did.
She gave him a single nod. Not solemn, not sorrowful—knowing.
And then—
She turned.
In the time it took a heart to beat, she vanished.
Gone.
Like the door hadn't opened. No footsteps. No sound.
The team looked at each other, stunned, speechless. Dr. Adams burst in seconds later, breathless from returning with Steven's medical file, and stopped cold when he saw the boy awake and blinking.
"What the hell happened?" he whispered, scanning the monitors. "What… just happened here?"
No one had an answer.
Only one thing was clear:
Steven Kock was awake.
And whoever that woman was, she didn't just walk in.
She came for him.