CHAPTER 191: EASY??

Sunday evening, the Pearl Villa felt warmer than usual, alive, buzzing, gently chaotic.

The Atelier had closed early for security checks.

Secret Service vans moved around the city.

Roads had barricades.

Helicopters hummed somewhere far above.

Inside the villa, the atmosphere was a mix of excitement and pride.

Hope was twirling in her new dress again and again, admiring every shimmer.

Asher was standing on a small stool, wearing his tailor-made suit while Elena knelt in front of him, adjusting the sleeves with delicate fingers.

Elena stepped back, hands on her waist, eyes soft but bright.

"You look good."

Asher blinked, unsure.

"Really??"

Hope gasped dramatically.

"YES! You look like a little president!"

Miles and Daniel watched the news from the living room as the twins prepared.

The TV anchor’s voice filled the room:

"The President will be visiting our Port City Star Harbor tomorrow...

He will be discussing the collaboration project with Sterling Enterprises...

After evaluating the defence research facility, he will address the city in a public conference..."

Daniel shook his head with faint amusement.

"Everyone’s charged up in the news studio."

Miles chuckled.

"Yes. Especially this anchor. She’s our star. Her face value boosts our social media engagement."

Daniel nodded.

"You do have some good people, son."

Miles smiled lightly.

"They’re all good. My job is to make sure they enjoy their work. If they love it, productivity comes naturally."

Daniel hummed with approval.

"You’re right. Even the Atelier staff, they adore their work. And honestly, what’s the point of earning money if the people who work hardest don’t benefit from it?"

Before Miles could reply, Elena’s voice rang out.

"You two! Look at this handsome boy, will you?"

Miles and Daniel turned.

And froze.

Asher stood at the end of the hall wearing a tiny tailored navy suit, the fabric smooth and crisp, the tie slightly crooked in the cutest possible way. His hair was combed neatly, well, mostly. His little polished shoes peeked from the hem of his trousers.

He looked like a miniature gentleman...

or a small diplomat ready to sign peace treaties.

Daniel’s jaw dropped.

"Look at him... he’s a whole young man!"

Miles’ expression softened instantly warm, proud, touched.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Well... if the President sees him like this, he might get insecure."

Asher’s face lit up like sunrise.

"Big brooo! Really???"

Miles walked over and fixed the small tie properly.

"Really. Handsome level... dangerous."

Hope puffed her cheeks.

"Hmph! He looks okay... BUT I AM MORE BEAUTIFUL!"

Miles ruffled her hair.

"Yes, Hope. You are the queen of the villa."

Elena watched all three of them with gentle eyes.

....

The night settled heavy over Star Harbor, quiet, still, the kind of silence that made even the air feel tense.

Miles had barely fallen asleep when his phone vibrated violently on the bedside table.

He picked it up, voice low, sharp, instantly awake.

"Hello?"

A whisper came through the line, urgent, tense, unmistakably his field agent.

Miles’ eyes hardened.

"I’m coming. Standby. Don’t make a move."

The call ended.

Miles glanced at the time past midnight.

He exhaled once, long and steady. Then he stood up, pulling on a black shirt, boots, and a leather jacket that looked like it had seen more missions than mornings.

His movements were fast, fluid, practiced.

He stepped out of the room.

Out at the villa gate, a guard straightened immediately, sensing danger from Miles’ aura alone.

"Sir?"

Miles turned the key in his car and stopped just long enough to speak.

"Deploy the secondary security protocol. Call me if needed."

The guard stiffened.

"Copy that, sir."

As Miles’ car rolled out, the guard grabbed his radio, voice steady but urgent.

"Base, come in. Initiate secondary security protocols."

A sharp reply came instantly.

"En route."

Inside the villa, hidden alarms activated.

Motion detectors lit up.

Patrol drones blinked awake.

Every agent in the vicinity received a silent notification.

Star Harbor had no idea its safest house had just become a fortress.

Miles cut through the city, tyres skimming the asphalt under empty streetlights.

The farther he drove, the darker the streets became quiet residential blocks where even street dogs slept.

He stopped at the address his team provided.

In a dim alleyway on the left, shadows moved.

Three Sterling Security operatives stepped out tactical gear, silenced rifles, night-goggles flipped up.

Charles, the unit lead, raised his chin.

"Boss."

Miles approached them calmly, scanning the neighborhood , it was peaceful, modern homes, polished cars, trimmed hedges. No one would expect trouble here.

"This looks like a good neighborhood," Miles said quietly. "Are you sure they’re that suspicious?"

Charles nodded grimly.

"Boss, we’ve checked. These men have criminal records across multiple agencies. They don’t even belong in this country."

Miles narrowed his eyes.

"Sounds dangerous. What do we know?"

Charles unlocked his tablet and swiped through a series of photos.

The faces that appeared were rugged, tattooed, cold-eyed.

Miles’ expression tightened instantly.

"El Puño Cartel."

Charles exhaled, relieved Miles recognized them.

"Yes, boss."

Miles looked at the dark house ahead, curtains drawn, no lights, no movement.

"What are they doing in Star Harbor?"

Charles swallowed.

"We found them wandering around your office earlier today."

Miles’ gaze sharpened even more.

"Does it have anything to do with the president’s visit?"

"It’s a possibility," Charles admitted. "Should we alert the Secret Service?"

Miles shook his head.

"No. We don’t know why they’re here yet. If they’re not here for the President and we alert the Secret Service... we lose the intel."

Charles nodded, understanding the restraint required.

"You’re right, sir."

Miles studied the house again.

"So which building?"

Charles pointed.

"That one. The owner lives abroad , the house stays on rent for tourists."

Miles clicked his tongue.

"Not good tourists every time."

Charles tried once more, worried.

"Boss, let us clear it."

"I will go in," Miles said, voice steady, cutting through. "Wait for my signal."

Charles hesitated.

"But boss, You don’t need to go in alone"

Miles looked at him, calm, certain.

"Don’t worry.

I’m familiar with their tactics."

Charles straightened, suppressing the instinct to argue.

"...Copy that, boss."

Miles began walking toward the dark house alone, silent, lethal.

Shadow swallowing him whole.

....

The air inside the rented house felt thick with gun oil, sweat, and the heavy energy of men who lived on the edge of violence.

Metallic clinks echoed as weapons were assembled piece by piece. Laptops flickered with maps, locations, encrypted chats, and images. Cigarette smoke curled into the stale air, mixing with low, guttural laughter that had no warmth in it.

Santiago stood proudly in the middle of the room, chest puffed up like a rooster. His hoodie hood was half-up, the chain around his neck glinting faintly under the dim light. He was young, eager to prove himself, and riding high on adrenaline.

Across from him, Javier Mendoza watched with amused approval. The infamous leader of El Puño Cartel reclined on a stripped leather sofa, boots planted on the table, cigar burning between his fingers. His face was a map of old scars. His presence filled the room like a storm.

Javier spoke with a gravelly voice.

"Santiago, you really are a genius. Your plan of coming here directly is a great move. You will be well rewarded."

Santiago grinned widely.

"Thank you, boss. Those fools will never find out that we claimed the victory alone."

Laughter erupted from the men around them.

Cruel. Confident. Certain of success.

This was El Puño Cartel, violent infiltrators, local murderers for hire, ghosts who slipped into territories unseen. Agencies around had lost men trying to track them.

And now they were here. In Star Harbor.

A threat Miles could not ignore.

Santiago lifted the remote and clicked.

Darkness swallowed the room.

Only the hum of a projector filled the silence.

A single image appeared on the wall.

Miles Sterling, stepping out of a car earlier that day.

Captured from a distance.

Grainy but clear enough to recognize the calm authority in his posture.

Santiago spread his arms dramatically.

"My brothers, as you all know, this is the man who is our target. He may have something our people have been searching for, for decades. Tomorrow, we get him. After their president leaves. Until then, we stay here."

He smirked, looking around at the crowd of deadly men.

The laughter faded.

Then a voice rose from within the group.

Calm. Collected.

But it did not belong to any of them.

"Why don’t we stay here forever?"

All movement froze.

Heads snapped around.

Brows tightened.

A ripple of unease washed through the room.

"Who said that?" someone whispered.

Javier stood abruptly. His chair screeched against the floor.

His hand reached for the gun in his waistband.

His eyes scanned the dim, crowded space.

"Who spoke?" he demanded.

Silence answered him.

Then a faint thud came from the side of the room.

And another.

Followed by something rolling lightly across the floor.

The lights flickered once.

Twice.

Then burst back on.

Gasps erupted.

Half the men who had been assembling weapons were now unconscious, sprawled across the floor.

Two others were slumped over the table.

One lay twitching near the door, his arm twisted at an angle that no longer looked natural.

The cartel members stood stunned.

Javier’s eyes widened in raw disbelief.

He turned in a slow circle.

His voice shook with anger and shock.

"Who did this? How did you get in?"

A calm voice answered from the deepest shadow in the hallway.

"You really think it is that easy to get me?"

They spun around.

Miles stepped out.

Leather jacket.

Relaxed shoulders.

Eyes sharp as a blade.

A presence that filled the room more heavily than all of them combined.

He looked at them like they were children trying to play in a league far above their reach.

Santiago stumbled backward.

"You. You are..."

Miles walked forward with unhurried steps.

"Me."

A heavy-built man lunged at him with a roar, knife raised high.

It was pure instinct driven by rage.

And a mistake that would cost him dearly.

Miles did not even need speed.

He shifted just enough, letting the blade slice nothing but air.

His hand snapped to the attacker’s wrist, twisting it behind the man’s back.

A low, sickening crack echoed.

The man dropped instantly, air bursting from his lungs.

He did not rise again.

Miles straightened and looked around as if asking who wanted to be next.

No one dared to move.

Their shock was almost louder than their gunfire would have been.

Miles took one step forward, and every man in the room felt it ripple through their bones.

This was not the businessman they had seen in photos.

This was not the young CEO they thought they could hunt.

To be continued...