I shut the door of the Bugatti and stepped out. Towering in front of me was a massive skyscraper, gleaming and dominant—exactly what you'd expect from the Storms. Nothing less would do.
"Massive" didn't even begin to cut it. The glass-walled giant shimmered like emeralds under the sun, almost too perfect, too pristine. From a short distance away, the sound of waves splashing reached my ears, courtesy of the man-made lake that wrapped around the property. It gave off the illusion that the building sat on an island, cut off from the rest of the world.
Scientists in lab coats scurried across the pavement, but the moment I stepped out, my presence—our presence—stole the show. Curious eyes followed, murmurs began. Subtle, but irritating.
Adjusting my dark shades, I turned to Mr. Bryan.
"You guys stay here," I said flatly. He gave a silent nod and walked off, probably to pass the message along to the rest of my entourage.
With a sigh, I tuned out the murmuring and strutting and headed toward the entrance. Behind me, I could still hear the scientists arguing about nerd stuff, and my name—Ada Storm—floating in the air like smoke.
Ada Storm. Heiress to the Storm clan.
The title carried weight, sure. But my name? That was the real drama. I wasn't exactly a fan favorite. More like the bratty, reckless teenager who'd probably lead the Storms to their doom. If the clan was a ticking clock, then I was the time bomb.
I snorted at the thought. Let them talk. Their loyalty—or lack thereof—wasn't my business. This was just one of many Storm facilities around the globe. The only reason I bothered showing up today was because Granny was here, and what I needed to tell her couldn't be said over the phone.
And yeah, I knew why my rep had nosedived. A bunch of crusty, old snofabitches had been grinding non-stop to destroy it.
Still, I couldn't be bothered. Trying to defend my "calm and beautiful personality" felt like a full-time job—and I was way too lazy for that. Charity events? Forced smiles? Playing nice like some royal princess? Please. I'd rather choke.
So, like always, I shoved the whole mess to the back of my mental drawer—the one labeled "Forget This Exists." Problem solved.
With brisk steps, I strutted through the vast hall, surrounded by clear glass walls. Lining the hallway were rooms filled with things that could only be described as… weird science fiction dreams.
In one room, a man floated on what I guessed were hoverboards while a scientist scribbled notes. Across from them, a woman dressed in sleek black stood surrounded by floating knives. At her command, the blades struck dummies dead center, then returned to her like loyal pets. A blinking bracelet on her wrist flashed green when she waved, red when she clenched.
Okay. Interesting.
I took a wild guess: electromagnetic manipulation? Some kind of repulsion-attraction tech? I wasn't one of those freakishly smart friends of mine, but I wasn't an idiot either. I remembered something about electric currents and magnetic fields. Electromagnetic induction or whatever.
Still, just thinking about it gave me a headache.
I kept moving, passing by another display: a mechanical turret firing red-hot slugs into a steel bar, leaving neat little smoke-puffed holes. Another room featured a mannequin clad in a deep purple bodysuit. Bullets hit it nonstop, increasing in velocity, but the suit absorbed and deflected them effortlessly. It shimmered from black to purple as if alive, then reset.
The sight boosted my confidence.
So what if some warlord thought he was hot stuff for making weird toys? That was nothing compared to a legacy that had stood for over two centuries. Time doesn't lie. No genius tech beats endurance. Unless, of course, the guy behind it was a monster.
And that's what made me pause.
Because if someone could build that, then they were capable of a whole lot worse.
I turned a corner, the hallway curving gently. The glass walls gave way to thick, darkened steel. The noise faded behind me. This area was off-limits to most—a sanctuary from the outside chaos.
Two guards stood by the private elevator. When they saw me, they bowed and stepped aside. I didn't bother acknowledging them. I was too drained for that. I stepped in, punched in the code for the 57th floor, and waited.
The elevator dinged open after what felt like seconds.
The 57th was silent. Deserted. Just like it was meant to be. Granny's personal quarters. Her sanctuary. The place where Sarah Storm—yes, that Sarah Storm, the most powerful woman in the world—decided to cozy up. She had a weird fondness for this place, which probably had something to do with Grandpa. I didn't ask. Didn't want to know. Ever.
Walking left, I stopped in front of her doors, rang the bell, and waved at the camera.
Moments later, it clicked open. Mason—Granny's right-hand pain in the ass—grinned at me.
"Brat, you never have a smile on your damn face. How does someone live such a depressing life?"
I hissed. That stung. "I'm not— I don't—" I stomped my foot like a frustrated five-year-old. "Where's Granny?"
"Tch. Someone's in a mood," he said, stepping aside with a dramatic sigh.
"Her favorite place, you should know," he continued, leaving me in the empty living area and walking towards the games room a few meters away, probably to continue playing PS 6 with Charles, the other bastard.
"Asshole," I muttered under my breath. I walked towards the library, ignoring the dizzying number of books stacked up on shelves that touched the ceiling. Seriously, who even reads all of this? Standing in front of a glossy, green-colored door hidden discreetly between cabinets, I took a deep breath and opened it.
It felt like stepping into another world. Sunlight poured through the glass roof, nurturing the garden ahead. Sunflowers, roses, strawberries, pomegranates, and all sorts of plants thrived, their vibrant green leaves glimmering in the sunlight.
I inhaled deeply, the fresh air hitting my lungs. It was calming, like a soft massage, but without the actual massage.
Granny was in the middle of a raspberry patch, humming to herself, watering the plants with a can, her hands covered in thick leather gloves. She spoke without looking up, focused entirely on her task.
"What are you doing standing there, child? Go sit, come on."
I looked around at the table in the middle of the garden, devoid of plants. A cloth was spread over its surface, with two chairs waiting beside it. A mug and two cups were on the table, clearly prepared for me. It seemed my visit hadn't been much of a surprise after all.
I sank into one of the brown mahogany chairs, poured myself some steaming coffee, and stared at the beauty around me. Honestly, it was hard to take in. Everything was so stunning, so perfect, that I half wondered who had designed this. I was more curious about the mind behind it than anything. Who thought of making something like this? What was going on in their head? I couldn't help but wish I could understand it better.
Granny's voice broke through my thoughts, pulling me back to reality. With the cup hovering at my lips, I watched her gracefully sit in the chair across from mine, crossing her legs. Honestly, Granny looked way too young for her age. If I joked and told people she was my mom, they'd probably believe it. The only hint to her age was her white, shiny hair, but even that looked so immaculate you'd think it was natural.
But hey, that worked for me. If Granny had it, I'd probably have it too—no need to worry about aging like most old folks. The genes were on my side, and that's what gave me my confidence.
She caught me zoning out again and raised an eyebrow, silently telling me to stop thinking about whatever nonsense was running through my head. Embarrassed, I shifted my focus to the coffee in my hand. Funny how it suddenly tasted a little better.
Granny took a sip from her own cup, leaning her head on her hand, looking at me with that same knowing look. "I'm happy you came to visit, but I know that's not like you. So, let's skip the pleasantries, shall we? What's got you here?"
Her words only made me feel more embarrassed. Seriously, can't I ever have a normal conversation with this woman? I frowned and tried to clear things up. "Oi, Granny, how can you be so wrong about me? Just to set the record straight, this is a double visit. First, I came to check if you're well, and then, uh…" I coughed lightly, "…to discuss some issues. Of course, after I make sure you're doing fine."
Her amusement was obvious, and I could tell my attempt to defend myself had backfired.
"And what issues would those be?" she asked, leaning forward.
I sighed. I really wanted to make it clear that I cared more about her than my problems, but I knew I'd just make it worse. Expressing myself wasn't exactly my strength, so I gave up and just got to the point. These weren't just my problems—they were hers too.
I started from the beginning. Told her about the video of Dad that surfaced in class, Mr. Cyprian's involvement, and how that led to others connected to the clip. I told her about the Obsidian Pact and their so-called Warlord, and the strange weapons they were crafting, weapons that could rival our technology. I even described that ridiculous bulky gun they were using.
I also shared my suspicions: that the Obsidian Pact was actually a global alliance of nations pressuring us to hand over Dad, with an even more dangerous force behind it all. By the time I finished talking, I felt drained, though I'd tried to take my time and explain everything. But also, I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders, like I could finally breathe easier.
"You and your friends aren't investigating anymore?" Granny asked, her voice still calm, as though everything I'd just said didn't faze her.
"Well, about that…" I rubbed my forehead. "They told me to stay out of it. They don't want me getting involved, especially now that the other side might come at me with everything they've got. Honestly, it's not like I've been directly involved, so it's not that big of a deal."
"True," Granny replied, sipping her coffee.
I narrowed my eyes at her. Something felt off. "You don't seem surprised," I said, prodding her. "You seem to know a lot."
Granny chuckled softly, her voice smooth as ever. "Aren't you underestimating me too much, darling? It would be madness if I didn't know this much. The world would be in chaos otherwise. But I do owe your friends some thanks. They've made everything easier, and they've led us to more clues."
A bad feeling settled in my stomach. "Were you spying on them all this time?"
"Hmm, let's say 'stalking' is a bit of a strong word," Granny mused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "I'd say it's better described as… observing."
"That's just as bad," I nearly snapped but forced myself to calm down when I remembered who I was talking to.
"True," she grinned, "but there's a difference, don't you think? Let's leave that behind for now, though."
I had never met someone so frustrating. But I kept my mouth shut, gritting my teeth. If she already knew what I was going to say, why didn't she stop me before I wasted all this energy?
But something else was bothering me, and I needed answers. Guilt gnawed at me for even asking, but I couldn't ignore that nagging feeling in my gut. "Granny, since you've been 'observing' them, did you see anything that didn't match up with my story?"
Granny looked at me with a serious expression, her playful demeanor gone. "You don't believe what your friends told you?"
I hesitated, struggling to find the right words. "No. Not all of it."
"Then what do you believe?"
I took a deep breath before I answered. "That something doesn't add up."
"What things?"
I stayed silent, not daring to voice the thought that had haunted me. The one possibility that I couldn't even bring myself to fully consider. I wasn't ready to accept it, and I didn't want to entertain it. Because if I did, I might just lose everything I thought I knew.
Granny noticed my unease and set her cup down. She looked at me with soft eyes. "Listen, sweetie, I won't sugarcoat things for you. Your friends, your father, even me—we're all keeping things from you. But if you really want to know the truth, you need to face it. You need to be ready for what you might find, because once you do, there's no going back. Some truths can break you, and I'm not sure if you're ready for that yet."
Her words were like a slap to the face. I wanted to scream, ask her what the hell she meant. But she wasn't finished.
"As for this Obsidian Pact," Granny said, her eyes cold, "I have something for them. It should keep them busy for a while. After that, I'll decide what to do next. But I'll tell you this," she grinned, her excitement barely contained, "it'll blow their minds."