CHAPTER 147: CHANGE OF PLANS!!

A few minutes before

Miles leaned against the edge of the table, folder open before him. His fingers tapped once against the woman’s blurred photograph.

"Anything about who’s leading them?"

Monica hesitated. "The prisoner mentioned a woman. He wasn’t sure if she’s the real leader, but... they called her ’Princess.’" She slid a printout across the table. "Look at this image. Her face isn’t visible. That’s pretty much all we’ve got."

Miles stared at the photo, his eyes narrowing as he tried to piece together fragments of features—jawline, posture, the angle of her neck.

"So you’re saying," he murmured, "if there’s a Princess... there might be a King or Queen as well."

Monica gave a small shrug. "Just a guess."

Miles stayed quiet, his thumb pressing against the blurred photo, mind already spinning through possibilities.

---

Present

When Monica returned from the call, Miles was still standing by the window, shoulders rigid, the storm already visible on his face.

Monica’s voice was low, urgent. "It was from Sterling Security. The city cameras picked up armed activity in the Forest Park moments ago. They... they—"

"They were Graveyard operatives," Miles finished for her, his tone flat.

Monica swallowed. "Right. What did you get?"

Miles turned, his eyes colder now. "Me, Ray, and a few senior Graveyard operatives have a private chat group—secured, used only for missions appointed directly by the President. The President just sent a message warning to stay away from the Ambassador of Norway. She’s here in Star Harbor for the diamond auction. She was the target of the operatives just now."

Monica blinked. "The ambassador? What does that have to do with the graveyard?"

Miles lifted his phone, thumb flicking across the screen, and handed it to her. "He sent her picture as well. And a name."

Monica peered at the photo, pronouncing slowly, "Thea Vik. Norwegian national..." Then her eyes widened. "Wait—this tattoo on her neck..."

She flipped open the folder on the table, scanning quickly through the pages until she found it—the same mark. "It’s the same spider web tattoo the Princess has..."

Miles’s jaw clenched. "She’s here in Star Harbor... what for? Is she really here for the diamond?"

He dialed again. The line clicked.

"Ray."

"I can explain—listen to me for a while—"

"It doesn’t matter," Miles cut him off. "The WEB are just people for hire. There’s a real enemy out there—or maybe there isn’t. We don’t really know. Dig into the old Commander’s tracks from years back. Find out what he was really hiding. Until then, stay away from the WEB. I’ll handle them my way."

"Ghost—"

"I’m sorry, Commander Ray. I don’t follow your orders this time. You broke the deal first. Maybe you had your reasons, but this doesn’t follow the principles Graveyard taught me."

For a moment, only silence came through the line. Then Ray’s voice, quieter, resigned. "All right, Ghost. We’ll stick to your plan this time..."

The call ended.

Miles lowered the phone, his reflection ghosted faintly in the window glass. The blurred photo of the Princess lay on the table beside the spider card, a reminder of the line he’d just crossed.

Miles returned to his seat, dropping into it with that same unshakable calm. The folder still lay on the table, edges sharp under the lamplight.

Monica leaned forward. "What next now?"

Miles rested his elbows on the armrest. "We just watch. We don’t lay a finger on her on this land. That would turn into a national issue." He exhaled slowly, almost amused. "Things just got more interesting. Let’s see what time unfolds."

Monica tapped the folder once. "Boss, one more thing. Kyle is back. He’s changed residence, updated his security detail... and he caught the cameras we were using to monitor him. His new team is tight—too tight. From the looks of it, he’s serious about the family business now."

Miles gave a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "He’s just preparing for the family meeting. How’s our plan looking?"

Monica hesitated. "Right now... we have all the advantages, boss."

Before Miles could reply, the low hum of a car rolled up outside the villa. Tires on gravel, then silence.

Monica straightened. "Uncle and Aunt are here."

She quietly gathered the folder and the small box, sliding both back into her bag as footsteps approached the door.

Elena and Daniel entered, the familiar warmth of home following with them.

Elena’s eyes found Miles first. "You’re back, son..."

Miles stood and met her halfway, his voice softer. "Welcome home, Mom."

Daniel laughed lightly at the exchange. Elena chuckled too, then her gaze shifted to Monica. "Thank you for taking care of Hope and Asher, dear."

Monica smiled politely. "They took care of me instead."

Elena’s expression softened. "That’s even better to hear."

The weight of the day finally eased into something ordinary. They all sat together, small talk filling the spaces between, until the night drew its curtain. One by one, the villa grew quiet, lights dimmed, and the household slipped into rest.

Breaking News:

"ACE Finances has officially acquired the country’s biggest insurance firm—Redheart Insurance. This sudden development has already shaken the markets. After last month’s slight decline, ACE Finances stock is soaring back into the green. Analysts predict..."

The morning news echoed across the Pearl Villa’s living room.

Miles sat back on the couch, one hand on the armrest, eyes fixed on the TV. Daniel leaned forward, thoughtful, while Monica stood with her arms crossed, listening carefully.

Miles let out a dry chuckle. "Looks like he’s making big moves already."

Monica narrowed her eyes at the scrolling stock graphs. "Which means I need to go back to work now. The office will be a mess."

Miles turned his head slightly. "You can take a leave. Or just work from here, use the drawing room."

Monica smiled faintly. "You know me, Boss. I can’t sit still. There are too many things I need to take care of. I’ve already been away from the office for days."

Elena’s soft voice came from behind them. She stood near the archway, watching. "You’re going back, dear?"

Monica turned with a respectful nod. "I wish I could stay longer, but duty calls. Don’t worry—I’ll come here often."

Elena’s smile carried both warmth and a trace of reluctance. "Alright. Work is important too."

Miles pushed off from the couch. "Okay then. I’ll drop you at the airport after I take Hope and Asher to school."

Monica gave a small nod. "Deal."

After breakfast, Monica packed her things. Before leaving, she handed Elena a slim, old album wrapped in cloth.

"My grandfather said to give you this," she said gently.

Elena blinked, surprised, then accepted it with both hands. "Thank you, dear." Her eyes lingered on the cover as though she already knew it carried old memories.

The car ride out of Pearl Villa was lively thanks to the twins. Hope chattered about her homework, while Asher kept asking Miles to play music. They were dropped at school with quick hugs and waves, leaving the car suddenly quieter.

The city roads rolled past, Monica’s face half-lit by the glow of her phone. She was already buried in work emails, her brows knitting with focus.

The airport gates soon came into view. Miles slowed the car to the drop-off lane.

Monica slipped her phone into her bag and glanced at him. "Take care of yourself. And don’t do anything reckless."

Miles smirked. "You sound like my mom."

"Good. Someone has to."

She stepped out, her heels clicking against the pavement. Miles got out too, handing her the suitcase from the trunk.

Before walking in, Monica looked back once more. "I’ll call as soon as I land."

Miles gave a short nod. "Safe travels, sis."

She disappeared into the glass doors, leaving Miles leaning against his car for a moment, watching the planes taxi in the distance. Then he slid back into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and pulled away.

The road ahead stretched back into the city. His thoughts quiet, his eyes sharp.

On the main road leading toward the office district, Miles slowed down. His sharp eyes caught something unusual—up ahead, a crowd had gathered. People were pressed around the curb, watching.

As he pulled closer, the scene came into focus: a black car with tinted windows was surrounded. At least a dozen local goons circled it, brandishing sticks, rods, and a few glinting knives. Their voices were loud, jeering, and vulgar.

"Get out!" one of them shouted, slamming a rod against the hood.

The driver inside didn’t move. The glass windows stayed shut, but Miles could sense the tension even from a distance.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel. He pulled his car to the side of the road and killed the engine.

He stepped out of the car, jacket falling neatly into place, and began walking toward the crowd.

Miles stepped forward, the weight of his presence pressing down on the air. The murmurs in the crowd dulled as his boots tapped against the pavement.

The goons froze for a second, their weapons trembling just slightly.

One of them, braver than the rest, barked out—trying to keep his voice steady—"Y-You better tell us where our brother is, or we’ll break this car and drag you out ourselves!"

Another slammed his stick against the hood of the black car. "Come out! I know you’re in there!"

Miles didn’t even look at the car. His cold eyes locked with the man holding the stick. The man’s chest heaved, sweat beading at his temple.

And then, from the corner of his vision, Miles spotted a familiar face—one of the same goons from before, the one who had felt his wrath already. Their eyes met.

The man went still. His knuckles went pale as he gripped his knife. His mind flashed back to the sound of his own bones cracking, the helplessness, the humiliation.

Miles’s steps never slowed. His voice came low, sharp, carrying across the crowd:

"Didn’t I warn you last time?"

The man’s lips trembled. His weapon slipped just a little in his grip.

And then, with a stammer—"Y... you... are..."

He couldn’t finish. The fear had already stolen the words from his throat.