The jet carved its way through the golden sky, steel wings slicing the clouds with ruthless precision. Los Angeles sprawled beneath like a glittering beast, waiting. Inside the cabin, silence pressed heavy, broken only by the whir of turbines.
Jackson Voss sat immovable, his broad frame draped in a tailored charcoal suit, his sharp jaw set like stone. His piercing blue eyes lingered on the horizon, expression unreadable, every inch of him radiating cold control.
The pilot's voice cut through the intercom. "Altitude holding steady, Mr. Voss."
Jackson gave no reply, only the barest tilt of his head, his silence speaking more than words ever could.
Colt Winslow sat across from him, restless energy in contrast to Jackson's stillness. His sandy blond hair fell into his eyes as he leaned forward, breaking the hush. "You've been busy, Jackson. Too quiet for too long. Who's next on your list?"
Jackson's hand moved with calculated precision, slipping a slim, leather-bound notebook from inside his jacket. He opened it just enough for his own eyes, the faint scratch of a pen marking through another conquest. His fingers turned a page, movements measured, economical.
Colt caught a glimpse, just a flash of names etched in firm black ink, each one crossed out in ruthless succession: Grant Technologies. Darcy Shipping. Fenwick Apparel. Hastings Real Estate. Stonebridge Media.
Colt's brows lifted, a low whistle escaping before he could stop it. "And here… Matthews & Co."
Jackson didn't look at him. He closed the notebook with a soft snap and returned it to his jacket. The act was final, absolute.
Colt leaned back, his grin edged with unease. "So, it's them. The last one standing."
Still, Jackson said nothing. His gaze remained fixed on the city's glittering sprawl, his profile hard against the fading light. The jet tilted in its descent, but he didn't flinch, didn't move, his composure unshaken.
Colt studied him, searching for a trace of hesitation, humanity, anything. But Jackson Voss, the man once known as Jake Carter, was a fortress of silence.
The city drew closer, its fire-colored skyline shimmering like a battlefield waiting to be claimed.
Jackson's lips parted at last, a whisper cutting through the cabin air, cold and absolute.
"Home."
The jet touched down with a hiss of brakes and thunder. The stairs lowered, and Jackson emerged, the dusk wind tugging faintly at his coat. A swarm of journalists pressed forward at once, cameras exploding in white flashes.
"Mr. Voss, how long will you be in Los Angeles?"
"Mr. Voss, can we expect another acquisition soon?"
"Mr. Voss, what's next for your empire?"
He didn't turn, didn't break stride. His gaze stayed ahead, impassive, the storm of voices and light sliding off him as though he were carved from stone. Colt matched his step, amused by the spectacle, but silent under the weight of Jackson's aura.
At the curb, a sleek black limousine waited. Dixie Calhoun stood poised beside it, raven hair pulled back, her gloved hand holding the door open. "Mr. Voss." Her tone was crisp, precise.
Jackson entered without a word, Colt slipping in behind him. The door shut with finality, muting the chaos outside. Inside, leather and silence.
Dixie handed him a folder across the seat. He flipped it open, eyes narrowing on a glossy photograph: Emily Matthews, smiling, emerald eyes alight, cutting a ribbon at a school opening. The innocence of the image burned against the iron of his memory.
The limousine hummed forward through rain-slicked streets. By the time they reached the Voss estate, a mansion of steel and shadow perched on the hills, night had deepened, and the rain fell harder, drumming against the car roof.
Bernard Milton, tall and grave, stood waiting at the entrance, flanked by two housemaids holding umbrellas. As the door opened, Dixie stepped out first, raising a black umbrella over Jackson with seamless precision. He followed, unhurried, mounting the steps with Colt at his side, rain sliding harmlessly off the fabric above him.
"Welcome home, sir," Bernard intoned, bowing his head slightly.
Jackson moved past him, the storm carried in with him. Dixie followed inside, folder still in hand.
His voice, low and unyielding, broke the silence at last. "The Gala. Every detail in place."
"Yes, Mr. Voss," Dixie replied, her eyes sharp with understanding.
Jackson ascended the marble steps, the echo of his stride resonating through the mansion. The rain pounded against the tall windows, and in the reflection of the storm, his eyes glinted like steel, fixed, unrelenting, already set on Matthews & Co.
The chandeliers glowed like captured stars, scattering their fire over glass and silk. The Matthews' ballroom swelled with laughter, the clink of crystal, and the hush of power in conversation. Yet when Jackson Voss entered, the sound seemed to pull taut, heads turning instinctively as though a draft of cold air had sliced through velvet warmth.
His dark suit framed his lean build, black silk skinny tie sitting immaculately at his throat. He moved without hurry, piercing blue eyes cutting across the crowd, every step deliberate, a man who commanded without noise. Guests whispered his name in currents, Quantum Quest Enterprises, the acquisitions, the fortune that seemed to appear overnight.
"Is that… Jackson Voss?" a banker murmured, breath nearly lost.
"Thought he was only a name in the papers," another replied, clutching her husband's arm.
Jackson didn't answer their stolen glances. His gaze was already fixed forward.
On stage, a polished presenter, smile sharp and rehearsed, lifted a hand for quiet. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to introduce tonight's keynote speaker, a young innovator whose work has already drawn admiration from leading scientists. Please welcome, Miss Emily Matthews."
Applause rose, warm and expectant, as Emily stepped forward.
Her curls cascaded over her shoulders, brown hair catching gold in the light. Petite, porcelain, her emerald eyes flamed with conviction as she gripped the podium. The hush deepened, this time in respect.
"I believe," Emily said, her voice ringing strong, "that medical progress should not be a privilege for the wealthy. My project, nerve-controlled robotic limbs for the disabled, belongs in hospitals, schools, and homes. For every soldier, every child, every person who lost more than flesh. This is about giving them back their lives."
A current of silence held for a moment, then applause thundered, layered and genuine. Anna Matthews dabbed at her eyes, Alexander sat stone-faced but proud, and Tyler clapped with the careful composure of someone long accustomed to applause.
Near the back, Jackson's jaw tightened. Every word was Annie's shadow, every tilt of Emily's chin dragged a memory out of him: freckles, a child's laughter, the fire. He gripped his glass, untouched, feeling his throat lock.
Colt leaned closer, whispering, "She's got the room in her palm."
Jackson didn't reply. His eyes never moved from her.
Emily stepped back from the podium, her smile trembling but radiant, her chest heaving with the thrill of courage. The orchestra struck a note, light catching the jewels at her throat, and in that instant, her gaze collided with Jackson's across the crowd.
Her lips parted slightly, as though she felt the force of it without knowing why. His stare was relentless, recognition, grief, and something darker curling underneath.
The music lifted, but for them, silence roared.
Jackson saw Annie alive in Emily's fire, saw the ghost of everything he lost standing there in silk and certainty. He didn't breathe. He couldn't. The crowd blurred into shadows.
His world locked into hers.
The orchestra swelled, couples drifting to the floor, but Jackson and Emily remained caught in that unseen thread. Her chest rose and fell sharply as if she had run, though she hadn't moved at all. At last, she broke eye contact, blinking rapidly before turning toward a group of well-wishers who surged forward.
"Miss Matthews," a silver-haired philanthropist said, clasping her hand. "Your words were… extraordinary."
"Thank you," Emily managed, her smile quick but distracted. Her eyes slid back, searching for the man who had burned into her vision.
Jackson was no longer by the pillar.
He had moved, as if shadows folded back to make room for him. When Emily looked again, he stood at the edge of her circle. People parted instinctively, their words faltering.
A councilman with a glass of champagne leaned forward, voice eager. "Mr. Voss. An honor. I wasn't sure you would grace tonight's gathering."
Jackson's reply was calm, deep. "The invitation found me."
Emily tilted her chin, summoning the courage she had just displayed on stage. "Mr. Voss. You've been staring as if I spoke to you alone."
Jackson's blue eyes fixed on her, unflinching. "Perhaps you did."
A hush clung to the edges of the group, a tension felt but unspoken.
Emily's smile curved, small but pointed. "Then tell me, Mr. Voss, did I sway even you tonight, or will you vanish back into your shadowy retreat?"
His answer came low, deliberate, every syllable cutting like a blade drawn slow. "Shadows are never safe, Miss Matthews. They see more than the light ever admits."
Their eyes locked, and for a moment, the world around them collapsed into silence, an unspoken clash of fire against steel.
Emily swallowed, but her gaze didn't falter. "Better to burn in the light than be owned by shadows."
For the first time, the corner of his mouth twitched, something between admiration and warning.
Before she could say more, her mother's voice cut across the din from a nearby table. "Emily, darling."
Emily turned reluctantly, her emerald eyes still caught in the blue fire of his. "Excuse me, Mr. Voss."
She slipped away, her perfume lingering, leaving Jackson alone in the wake of their exchange.
Only then did Colt emerge from the edge of the crowd, his grin easy but his eyes sharp. "You shouldn't play with her," he murmured. "She's not part of this."
Jackson's gaze followed Emily's retreat. "Everyone is part of it."
Colt studied him a moment, then forced a smile. "S
till the same, aren't you? Always the long game."
Jackson finally looked at him, voice quiet as steel. "And you still think you can stop me?"