Two bodies lay intertwined on the carpeted floor, facing each other, their embrace so close that no space remained between them.
"How is she?" Mila whispered, her head resting on Deathstalker's upper arm. Her warm breath brushed against his neck, sending a fleeting sensation through his skin.
Deathstalker pressed a kiss to the top of her head before answering. "Some broken bones, a few first-degree burns, and a concussion. That's probably why she thinks you're the one behind it."
Mila smiled sadly. "I guess… she hates me to the bone."
"She doesn't," Deathstalker argued softly, instinctively defending his mother.
"I hope you're right," Mila murmured, silencing any further discussion by capturing his lips in a slow kiss. She sighed against him, pressing her body closer. His warmth, his presence—it fit hers perfectly, like they were sculpted from the same stone.
A few moments passed before Deathstalker spoke again, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her back. "Tell me… why can't you read my mind?"
Mila shrugged against him. "I don't know," she admitted. "There are some people whose minds can't be read. Not many, but they exist."
"What would you have done if you could bend me?" Deathstalker asked, twirling a strand of her black hair between his fingers.
Mila pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes. "I would've stripped away your will to become a soldier," she confessed. A sad smile flickered across her lips. "To be honest… knowing I couldn't bend you didn't stop me from trying."
"You tried to stop me from becoming a soldier?" Deathstalker asked, surprise flickering in his voice.
Mila nodded. "But I failed. She was too strong."
"Who? Mom?"
Another nod.
"Is she a mind-bender too?"
Mila shook her head, rolling onto her back as she stared at the ceiling. "Worse. She's a persuader."
Deathstalker propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes narrowing. "What's a persuader?"
Mila exhaled slowly before explaining. "A mind-bender works by manipulating the unconscious mind. We can alter thoughts, implant ideas, even erase memories—but only in an unconscious state. The person never realizes they've been bent."
She turned her head to look at him.
"But a persuader? They work with the conscious mind. They use their words, their presence, their charisma to make people do what they want—while making them believe it was their decision all along."
Deathstalker frowned. "You think Mom persuaded me to become a soldier?"
Mila let out a bitter chuckle. "I know she did. The moment you said you wanted to be a soldier to protect her and me, I knew she had her hooks in you."
Deathstalker's brows furrowed.
"Don't blame yourself," Mila added. "She's powerful. If she wasn't, she wouldn't be one of the High Seaters. Even Father is under her influence. The only reason I still have some control over him is because I can bend his mind back when she pulls him too deep. That's why she hates me." Mila chuckled dryly before sighing.
"Can't you bend her mind?" Deathstalker asked.
Mila shook her head. "I can only read her thoughts when she's persuading someone. That's when she's at her most vulnerable."
A sudden bang echoed from the door.
"Miss Rauss! Are you okay?" a man's voice called out, thick with concern—and barely contained anger.
Mila sighed and sat up. "I'm fine," she called back, pulling on her clothes. "I'll open the door in a minute."
She turned to Deathstalker, who was still lying there, completely unbothered.
"You better put on some clothes. I don't want my P.A. drooling over your body."
Deathstalker chuckled and complied.
The second Mila opened the door, a flood of men stormed in, weapons raised, ready to fire.
Deathstalker lifted his hands in mock surrender, his expression unreadable.
"STOP!" Mila commanded. "Put your guns down!"
"But Miss—he killed dozens of our men!" one of them protested.
"Put your guns down! That's a direct order," Mila repeated, her voice dropping into an icy, authoritative tone.
The hesitation lasted only a second before every man lowered his weapon.
"Are you alright, Mila?" A woman, only a few years older than Mila, stepped forward, concern evident in her eyes.
"I'm fine. It was just a misunderstanding," Mila replied smoothly. She walked over to Deathstalker, pulling his hands down. "Everyone, meet my little brother, Quint Rauss."
The young woman gasped, covering her mouth in shock. The men whispered among themselves, exchanging glances of disbelief.
Deathstalker nodded in acknowledgment.
"Kamal," Mila addressed a muscular man standing near the front.
"Yes, Miss?"
"Take your men and clean up the mess," she ordered. Kamal nodded before leaving with a group.
"Ken," she called next. A smaller Eastern man with glasses stepped forward.
"Yes, Miss."
"Investigate the accident involving my mother. It happened…"
"Two days ago," Deathstalker finished for her.
Ken nodded. "Understood, Miss," he said before disappearing down the hall.
"Tabby," Mila said, turning to the young woman beside her. "I think I know where your dear professor is hiding—and what he did with your thesis results."
Tabby frowned. "What are you saying?"
Mila turned to Deathstalker. "Would you kindly demonstrate what you're capable of, bro?" she requested.
"Like what?" Deathstalker asked, playing dumb.
Mila smirked. "Close the door. Without moving from where you are."
Deathstalker exhaled but obeyed. With a subtle flick of his hand, the door swung shut on its own.
Tabby's eyes widened. "How—"
Mila's smirk faded. "Did you have another brain surgery after I left?" she asked, her tone sharp.
"Yeah," Deathstalker answered cautiously.
Mila's gaze darkened. "They activated your brain cells, didn't they?"
Deathstalker stilled. "How do you know?"
This time, Tabby spoke. "My professor spent years researching neuron activation."
"I was his assistant," she continued. "I worked with him while completing my doctorate. We spent four years trying to stabilize the process. And then… one night, I finally did it. I found the method."
Her voice wavered as she continued. "I was so excited. I called my professor immediately. He congratulated me. Told me to come to his house to celebrate."
Her hands clenched into fists.
"But when I got there… he was gone."
Her jaw tightened, voice dropping into something almost hollow. "When I returned to my lab… everything was gone. My notes. My research. My specimens. All of it."
Deathstalker's gaze darkened. "Your professor?"
"Disappeared. No trace."
"When did this happen?" Mila asked.
"Seven years ago," Tabby murmured.
"When did you have your surgery?" Mila turned back to Deathstalker.
"Three and a half years ago," he replied. "They said they had the method three years before that."
Mila glanced at Tabby, who nodded grimly. "That lines up."
"Who else has undergone activation?" Mila pressed.
Deathstalker's expression turned unreadable. "I won't answer that."
He reached for Mila's waist, pulling her close. "You can ask me anything about myself," he murmured. "But not about the organization."
Then, without hesitation, he kissed her.
Tabby gasped, her face turning red as she lowered her gaze.
When they finally parted, Deathstalker's expression softened. "Do you have any more questions?"
Mila shook her head. "I have all the information I need." She smirked. "Congratulations on your engagement to the Andrew girl. I knew you two would end up together."
Deathstalker's eyes darkened. "I wouldn't have… if you had stayed."
A beat of silence. Then—
"I have to go," he muttered.
Mila nodded. "Keep me updated on Mom."
"Let me know if you find out who did it. I'll take care of it."
She nodded.
Deathstalker pressed a final kiss to her forehead.
"It was good seeing you again, sis."
-
Deathstalker strode into the living room of the North Wing Tower, his movements unhurried, as if he were oblivious to the six pairs of eyes watching him. Their stares were heavy with unspoken questions, tension thick in the air.
"Did you do it?"
Black was the first to break the silence.
"Did what?" Deathstalker asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Kill Mila," King answered flatly.
"No," Deathstalker replied, his tone devoid of emotion.
"But why?!" Viper burst out, her eyes wide with disbelief. "She tried to kill—"
"She didn't do it," Deathstalker cut her off, his voice sharp.
"How can you be so sure?" Viper pressed, her frustration mounting.
"I know her," Deathstalker said simply.
Viper clicked her tongue, unsatisfied. Deathstalker exhaled, then turned to Fire. "How many missions has she thwarted?"
Fire glanced at his laptop, fingers moving across the keyboard. "A hundred and eleven," he said, brows furrowing. "All over the world."
"And how many casualties resulted from those missions?" Deathstalker asked.
Fire scanned the data. "One. And she was one of her own people."
Deathstalker turned his gaze back to Viper. "She doesn't even kill strangers. Her operations are meticulously planned to avoid casualties. Do you really think she'd have the heart to harm her own mother?"
Silence.
Viper had no answer. No one did.
Deathstalker smirked faintly. "I'm taking a shower." He turned toward the hallway, but just before entering the bathroom, he glanced over his shoulder. "Fire, if you have time, can you look into Madam's accident?"
Fire gave a curt nod. "Sure."
"Thanks." With that, Deathstalker disappeared into the bathroom.
-
Later that night, Deathstalker sat on the edge of his bed, poring over high-resolution satellite images of the accident site. The trailer truck that had hit his mother's car had been traveling southbound. He zoomed in, tripling the image size.
A logo.
A company owned by one of Mila's most trusted allies.
His eyes narrowed.
Something didn't add up. From the impact trajectory, the truck had dragged the car forward several meters. That meant it had to be moving at significant speed. But previous images showed the truck parked—stationary—only fifty meters from the intersection.
A rig that size couldn't accelerate fast enough in that short distance. It wasn't just an accident.
A voice shattered his concentration.
"Did you have sex with her?"
Viper's words hung in the air, cutting through the silence like a blade.
Deathstalker shifted his gaze toward her. She lay beside him, her back facing him, but her tension was palpable.
"Why do you need to ask?" he responded.
Viper turned her head slightly, enough for their eyes to meet. "Just tell me."
"If I answer, will you let me go?" Deathstalker countered.
"I won't let you go."
A sigh left his lips. "Why? You know I don't love you. Did you forget the promise I made? I told you I'd take responsibility only if no man wanted you."
"Stop it," Viper hissed, turning her head away.
"Bruno loves you."
"I don't love him. I love you."
Deathstalker exhaled heavily. "It's better for a woman to be with someone who loves her than with someone she loves."
"I decide who I want to be with."
"I did decide," Deathstalker interrupted. His voice was steady. Cold. "I slept with Mila."
Viper stiffened.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
"I knew it," she whispered. Her voice was barely audible. Another tear followed, then another. "Thanks for answering."
She pulled the blanket over her head, hiding her face.
Deathstalker ran a hand through his hair, exhaling as he stood up. He needed to talk to Fire about his findings. But before he could take a step, his phone vibrated on the nightstand.
His heart skipped a beat.
Mila.
He unlocked the screen, scanning the message. Several images—ones he had already analyzed—accompanied the text.
"It was impossible for the truck to reach the speed needed to drag her car."
Deathstalker's fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard.
"I know. I had the same thought."
"There was a satellite from Country R over that location at the time. Ken is working to retrieve images from it."
Deathstalker hesitated. "I'll have my team look into it too."
"No. Too many intrusions will raise suspicion." Mila shot down the idea immediately. She followed up with another message.
"There was a red sports car parked near where the truck was. It likely had surveillance cameras. Can your man track down that footage?"
Deathstalker's fingers hovered over the keyboard. He already knew whose truck it was. But instead of revealing that, he typed:
"I'm sure he can."
He pocketed his phone and left the room.
-
Knocking once, Deathstalker stepped into Fire's workspace—a room cluttered with monitors, computers, and wires humming with activity. The glow from the screens bathed the room in a cold, artificial light.
Fire didn't look up from his screen. "Took you long enough."
Deathstalker smirked. "You busy?"
Fire rolled his eyes. "Am I ever not busy?" He finally turned to face him. "What do you need?"
Deathstalker tossed his phone onto the desk. "Mila found a possible lead. A red sports car was near the truck before the crash. If it has surveillance cameras, I need you to get the footage."
Fire picked up the phone, scrolling through the message thread. He let out a low whistle. "Damn. She's sharp."
Deathstalker said nothing.
Fire glanced at him. "And you trust her now?"
Deathstalker's jaw tightened. "I trust her enough."
Fire stared at him for a moment before nodding. "I'll take care of it."
"Good." Deathstalker grabbed his phone and turned toward the door.
As he reached for the handle, Fire called after him.
"One last thing."
Deathstalker paused. "What?"
Fire smirked. "You did sleep with her, didn't you?"
Deathstalker turned slightly, his expression unreadable.
And then—he walked out without another word.
-
"That doesn't make sense," Deathstalker muttered to himself, his brows deeply furrowed as his eyes remained fixed on the video Fire had just sent.
In the footage, the trailer truck left its parking spot at 5:01 AM—far earlier than the time of the accident.
Deathstalker stood abruptly. Something wasn't right. He had to visit his mother and tell her what he had found. He could have called, but he wanted to see her with his own eyes, to make sure she was truly recovering.
As he reached for his jacket, a long vibration buzzed against his leg. His phone.
Mila.
"Hi, Sis," he answered in a low voice.
Across the room, Viper shot him a glare, knowing exactly who was on the other end of the call.
"I sent you an email. Look at it. Now."
There was something off in her tone—tension, maybe even anger, restrained just beneath the surface.
Deathstalker sat back down and opened his laptop. His inbox refreshed. The email had no subject, no text, just a video attachment from an anonymous sender.
Click.
The footage loaded.
It was an intersection. The intersection. The same one where his mother's accident had happened.
His gaze flicked to the timestamp in the corner. 5:28 AM.
The same date as the accident.
Just minutes before impact.
5:31 AM.
A white SUV entered the frame.
His mother's car.
It approached the intersection, ready to cross. But suddenly—
A blinding flash of light erupted inside the vehicle.
The car swerved erratically, then jerked to a stop in the middle of the intersection.
A few seconds passed. Then—
The right back's side door opened.
His mother stepped out.
"What the hell—?!" Deathstalker's voice rose in shock.
In the footage, his mother retrieved her phone, dialing someone as she stood just off the road.
A minute later, the dimly lit street was flooded with sudden brightness—not from streetlights, but from headlights.
A vehicle.
A massive one.
A truck.
It barreled into view, hurtling at high speed from behind the camera's vantage point.
No hesitation. No attempt to slow down.
It plowed straight into the car.
Metal crunched. Glass shattered.
The SUV was lifted, dragged, consumed by the force.
But his mother—
She wasn't inside.
She was standing in the middle of the street, watching.
Watching as her own car was demolished.