Dr. Raymond read the message once.
Then again.
The screen of his phone dimmed slightly as his grip tightened around it. The words were short, almost careless in how they were delivered, yet they carried a weight that pressed against his chest.
We are watching you.
For a moment, he remained seated behind his mahogany desk, the hum of the air conditioner the only sound in the room. Then, abruptly, he stood.
His chair slid back with a soft scrape as he reached for his phone again and dialed a familiar number.
"MELISSA, (head of public relation)" he said the moment the line connected, his voice firm but restrained. "Call everyone. everyone. We meet tonight."
There was a brief pause on the other end. "Tonight, sir?"
"Yes," he replied, already turning toward the window. "No delays."
He ended the call before she could ask another question.
Dr. Raymond stood before the wide glass window of his office, the city stretched beneath him like a living organism—lights blinking, traffic flowing, unaware of the quiet wars being fought above it. His reflection stared back at him from the glass, older, heavier, more guarded than the man he once was.
His mind drifted—unwillingly—backward.
Back to a time when ambition had not yet learned the language of desperation.
He remembered the small electronic repair shop he had owned decades ago. A cramped space with flickering fluorescent lights and shelves stacked with salvaged parts. ROSELINE—his wife—had been pregnant with their first child then, sitting behind the counter, carefully organizing receipts while offering customers warm smiles that brought them back.
Money had been tight, painfully tight. Yet those were days he remembered breathing freely.
After their first daughter was born, something shifted. The shop began to grow. Word spread. Jobs became more frequent, larger. When Roseline told him she was pregnant again, he had laughed—pure, unguarded joy—and promised her everything would be fine.
Then came the job.
A massive contract, far beyond anything he had handled before. He hadn't questioned it enough. Hadn't examined the details closely. One misplaced electronic component—just one—was all it took.
The system failed. The contract collapsed.
The penalties were crushing.
He remembered the panic, the sleepless nights, the way Roseline's worried eyes followed him as he pretended everything was under control. He borrowed money. Then more. Loan sharks. Desperate men with patient smiles and violent solutions.
His shop was slowly regaining its former glory when they came.
They destroyed everything.
Smashed equipment. Ripped wires from walls. Left him with debt and a single week to repay it.
That was when he was introduced to them.
An underground company—no name, no faces he could remember clearly. They handled problems. Big ones. Shady ones. They offered him a deal, and with his back against the wall and his family on the line, he accepted.
From that day on, his rise was meteoric.
But nothing came free.
Every time trouble appeared, he ran to them. Every time, they fixed it—until the last time. The time they couldn't. Or chose not to.
That was when Jedidiah entered the equation.
And now—now those same shadows that once shielded him were silent, while a message with no sender reminded him of how fragile his power truly was.
Dr. Raymond exhaled slowly and turned away from the window.
He adjusted his suit with practiced precision and walked out of his office.
As he exited the apartment hallway, he nearly collided with Michael and Michelle, his grandchildren, returning from their lectures. They were laughing quietly, backpacks slung over their shoulders, their youth momentarily unburdened by the weight of the world.
He paused.
Something unfamiliar tugged at his lips.
A smile.
It formed unconsciously, surprising even him. The children noticed it too, their expressions flickering with confusion before they greeted him politely.
They currently stay with him after his strain relationship with his daughter (Alice), he brought them in with him because Alice had mysterious travelled as of then.
He nodded once and continued on his way, unaware that Kate, standing nearby, had witnessed the entire exchange. Her jaw tightened, irritation burning beneath her composed exterior.
Not long after Dr. Raymond left the residence, the front doors opened again.
Jedidiah stepped inside.
Ava followed closely behind, her steps lighter but her eyes sharp, absorbing every detail of the space. The house felt heavy—too quiet, like a place holding its breath.
Jedidiah approached a house help and asked calmly, "Dr. Raymond?"
"He left not long ago, sir," the woman replied respectfully.
Jedidiah nodded—and then he saw them.
Michael and Michelle.
Their eyes met.
For a split second, time folded inward. Memories surged uninvited—running through hallways, gaming late into the night, arguing over assignments, walking home together after school. A time when laughter had been effortless.
When had it changed?
Was it when Michelle began avoiding him in school?
When Michael stopped walking home with him?
When they lied about him?
Or when Hayden and Jane entered their lives, subtly replacing him?
Now they stood before him like strangers, bound by blood yet separated by silence.
"Jedidiah."
Ava's voice cut gently through his thoughts.
He inhaled deeply, steadying himself, then walked toward them. His tone, when he spoke, was restrained—carefully detached.
"Where's Hayden?"
Michelle answered quietly, eyes lowered. "He's… he's still in his room."
Her voice trembled with something unspoken—guilt, perhaps. Shame. Michael said nothing at all, staring at Jedidiah with a mixture of shock and awe. His elder brother looked different now. Composed. Magnetic. Untouchable.
The space between them was thick with words none of them dared say.
Jedidiah nodded once. No judgment. No warmth either.
He turned and walked inside.
Ava lingered behind for a moment, watching the siblings in silence before following—only to stop short when Jane stepped out of her room.
Their gazes met.
And the atmosphere froze.
No words were exchanged, yet something sharp passed between them—recognition, tension, history waiting to resurface.
The house, once again, held its breath.