Prologue

After seeing the guests out, Mr. Van Hoven walked back to his office to celebrate. The heir was delivered safely; the will was read successfully. Much work still lay ahead, but that was no point souring a pleasant afternoon with tomorrow’s troubles.

For a moment he simply stood before the bar, deciding what kind of treatment he deserved. Settling on a single malt, he placed three ice cubes into a glass and poured the amber liquid over them. A rich, warming aroma rose to his nose, and he closed his eyes in quiet appreciation.

Mr. Van Hoven had lifted the glass and cheered the view – perfectly groomed garden outside the window that provided exceptional serenity.

He was about to take a sip when the office door burst open. A junior clerk, pale and disheveled, stood on the threshold.

“…Murder,” the young man whispered—and slid helplessly down the wall.

Mr. Van Hoven set the glass on the table with deliberate care. His movements were slow and measured as if controlling his hands might help him control the world unraveling around him. His first thought was selfish but entirely human: Why am I not a thousand kilometers away right now?

The moment passed. Training snapped into place. He crossed to the clerk.

“Stand up. Come. Tell me what happened.”

The clerk clearly had no desire to move, and Mr. Van Hoven had to apply both a stern look and a firm grip to get him on his feet.

As they descended the stairs, the young man stammered out what he knew: he’d heard shouting, looked out the window, and saw morning visitors lying on the mansion steps.

“And why did you assume it was murder?”

“They were just… lying there. Not moving. I ran straight to you.”

Mr. Van Hoven pushed open the front door.

The sight that met him was horrifying, but he had no time to absorb it or feel. His mind produced only a cold, efficient summary:

Mr. Lee — alive, possibly injured.

Mr. Doe — injured, possibly dead.

Call the police. Call the ambulance.

Mr. Van Hoven turned to the clerk.

“Bring everyone you can find.”

The clerk nodded and ran off.

Then he called ambulance. Then he called the police and reported the incident.

After that he dialed Mr. Sanford number and briefly explained what had happened. The senior partners would have to step in; an attack on the Douglas Group heir right after the reading of the will was a direct blow to the firm’s reputation.

Mr. Sanford said he would contact the capital’s Chief of Police immediately and hand the press matters over to the PR department. Van Hoven exhaled in relief—at least that part wouldn’t be his problem. He already had more than enough to handle.

As employees began filing out of the mansion, Mr. Van Hoven instructed them to keep people as far as possible from the scene.

If he was honest, performing all of these, he simply tried to stay occupied. He was extremely terrified. He even tried to avoid Mr. Lee gaze because he could not find a strength to come closer to the victims and check their conditions.

But it was something he must do, so he gathered the will and came down. The only good news in this catastrophe was that the heir was alive. There was still hope that Mr. Doe had survived as well.

Mr. Van Hoven squatted down nearby Mr. Lee and asked him if he is Ok. Receiving a nod, he placed his fingers on Mr. Doe neck to check the pulse. It was there, weak but still. The sight of relief came out of his chest. He also answered the Mr. Lee silent question:

“Mr. Doe is alive. I called the police and the ambulance. We need to wait their arrival; they know better how to help you.”

Mr. Van Hoven stand out and overlooked the area. The crowd filled the street in front of the mansion, but employees managed to keep it from getting closer. Of course, people were using their phones to capture the moment, but he couldn’t do anything with it…

When the sound of sirens finally reached the estate, he let out a slow breath – it is always good when you can hand things over to professionals.

Chapter 1

Lion

It happened impossibly fast: one moment I was standing there, face lifted to the sun, grateful for its warmth—and the next, the world flipped upside down.

Time slowed. I felt as if I’d been dropped into a mute 3D film—everything around me unfolding at a distance; my mind observing but not absorbing. My brain still worked, sluggishly but steadily, while my senses had simply… shut off. Even the burning pain in my back, the flash of white fire right after I hit the ground, had vanished.

I couldn’t move; a weight pinned me down. I’d been staring at my own blood-covered hand for several minutes. My mind supplied the facts: someone fired at us, Dolphin shielded me—he’s hurt.

I conferred with myself—hurt or dead? How do I find out?

Possibly, I could check for a pulse, or listen for breathing…

Holding my own breath, I waited, straining to feel something—anything. I thought I sensed a faint warmth against my neck, the shallow rise and fall of his chest. Or maybe I just needed to believe it. I just couldn’t accept … the death…

From where I lay, I could see only the sky, the mansion wall, and a narrow slice of doorway. It opened, and Mr. Van Hoven stepped out with someone behind him. They stared at us. Van Hoven said something to the man, who immediately darted back inside. Then Van Hoven lifted his phone to his ear.

I should probably tell him Dolphin needs help… but he likely already knew.

More people appeared. Van Hoven spoke to them, issuing instructions. I watched, distantly. I had the odd impression he was avoiding looking in our direction. That seemed… bad. I should call out to him, but I’d forgotten how to do that…

I was still trying to process that thought when he came closer, squatted in front of me and ask if I’m Ok if I read his lips correctly. The most stupid question of all the time, but I nodded. He finally did what supposed to be done first – checked Dolphin’s pulse.

Van Hoven said something. I was deaf but by his relieved face expression I could assume that Dolphin was alive. That calmed down my nerves a bit. He stood up and then disappeared from my line of sight. Hopefully he went to meet police or doctors.

A few long minutes after, I saw a man in medical scrubs. He squatted beside us, leaned in, slid his hands under Dolphin’s chest and stomach, and carefully lifted him. From the way he moved, I understood he wasn’t doing it alone — someone else must have helped him transfer Dolphin onto the stretcher…

Then suddenly I could breathe. Time snapped back into motion. The world crashed over me—sirens, gasps, clipped commands.

A doctor bent over me.

“Can you hear me?”

I nodded.

“How many fingers do you see?”

I tried to say three, but nothing coherent came out.

He turned and called someone over. A bottle of water was handed to him. But he didn’t allow me to drink, he just wet the pad and wiped my lips. And asked again. I wheezed the answer.

“Good. For now, don’t move. You’re not wounded, but you may have injured your spine when you fell. We’re going to place you on a stretcher. Nod if you understand.”

I nodded.

He began to stand, but I grabbed his wrist.

“How’s Dolphin?”

He stared at me, puzzled—clearly not understanding why I was asking about a sea creature. Then realization dawned.

“He’s hurt, but alive. Critical condition. The ambulance with him is already on its way to the hospital. We’ll send you right after.”

 

Bodyguard

I was transferred onto a stretcher. A police officer approached, and almost instantly Mr. Van Hoven appeared beside him.

“Excuse me, but could you postpone all questioning until Mr. Lee receives proper medical care? In the meantime, I’m at your disposal.”

He pressed firmly on the officer’s elbow, steering him away. I was grateful. I had nothing to tell the police. All I wanted was to know about Dolphin’s condition. For that, I needed to get to the hospital as fast as possible—but the doctors kept talking to the officers, and it was infuriating…

A figure suddenly appeared near my stretcher. Actually—a Figure. A massive man dressed in black. I winced and was about to call for Mr. Van Hoven to rescue me when I heard:

“Mr. Lee, my name is Boris Young. I’m with a private security agency—Philip hired us a few days ago. I’m not sure if you’ve been informed.”

“You didn’t do your job very well,” I snapped, unable to hold back the anger and helplessness boiling inside me.

Boris stayed calm.

“I accept that criticism. We weren’t prepared for a sniper. Philip asked us to stay out of your line of sight.”

“That’s supposed to be an excuse?”

“No—an explanation. We failed to prevent the attack, but we did identify the shooter’s position. He escaped. For now, you’re not in immediate danger. I promise we’ll take every necessary action from this point forward. We’ll be around you 24/7. I just wanted to inform you personally.”

“As if that matters right now…”

“Philip wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

I wanted to lash out, to say something cruel, to make him feel my panic and frustration—but I knew it wasn’t his fault. It was just my fear looking for a target. So, instead I asked:

“Can you find out how he’s doing? I don’t know anyone here…”

“Of course. One of ours is already at the hospital. I’ll call.”

He dialed. “How’s Phil?” A muffled answer followed. Boris listened, then hung up and relayed calmly:

“Phil… Philip is in surgery. No details yet. We need to wait.”

Just then a doctor approached us and said they were ready to transport me. Boris nodded.

“I’ll be right behind you,” he said.

They loaded me into the ambulance.

 

Hospital

At the hospital I was examined, sent for X-rays—nothing turned out to be broken or seriously damaged. Just a massive bruise across my back, some scraped skin, and a bump on my head.

The doctor said there’s no strong medical reason for me to be in a hospital, but overnight stay is recommended to make sure everything is fine. Which was good because I didn’t have a place here to go to.

I remembered I could stay at any Douglas Group hotel, but I had no idea how to arrange that.

It felt as if someone had unplugged me from one reality—where I was competent, functional, able to take care of myself—and forcibly connected me to another, where I apparently couldn’t take a single step without outside assistance. It was maddening.

Speaking of assistance, I did have Boris, trailing me like a shadow. I wanted to snap at him—what the matter now? But he was my only source of information, so I shoved my irritation down.

“Tell me—are there any updates about… Philip?”

I was terrified to ask, afraid of hearing the worst, but not knowing anything was its own kind of torment.

“The main danger is behind. The bullet was lodged near the heart. The surgeons needed to work carefully. He’s in intensive care now. The doctors are hopeful.”

A wave of relief washed over me.

“Can I see him?”

“We can try. But I’d advise you to change and freshen up first.”

Yeah. It would be nice to change into normal clothes. I was still walking around dressed as a “girl,” minus the wig I’d lost somewhere along the way. It must have looked ridiculous from the outside… Whatever. I couldn’t bring myself to care.

The nurse came in the exam room and said that I can proceed to my room where I can take a shower. She provided me with hospital gown and informed she would come shortly to treat my wounds.

On the way to the room, I asked Boris:

“Can you help me with my things? My backpack and phone should be somewhere…”

“I will check with the police.”

He lifted his hand to his ear and issued a command. Only then did I notice the device—of course, straight out of a high-budget series.

My room turned out to be a private one with a bed, table and armchair. It was bright and clean and could be considered as a hotel room if not for medical equipment and lack of typical decor.

It came with a personal bathroom, what was good. I took a hospital gown they provided me and stepped in.

When I turned toward the mirror, I nearly burst out laughing—pure nerves.

The creature staring back at me was… something else. Hair sticking out in every direction. Makeup smeared across half my face. And that sweater—that once-white sweater with the giant pink flower—good grief.

I was amazed anyone had spoken to me with a straight face. Neither Boris nor the doctors had flinched.

 

Assistant

When I came out fresh and clean, I saw Boris’s seating in the chair. And the nurse waiting for me. She already had everything prepared for a treatment.

I was commanded to lay on the bed. I cast a questioning glance at Boris – was he planning to stay?

He simply ignored it. Fine – let him see – I have nothing to hide.

When the nurse finished her job and left, he began:

“Mr. Lee, Mr. Van Hoven sends his apologies for not being able to accompany you personally. He’s dealing with the police and witness statements. But he’s sent an assistant who can help you with any immediate needs. May she come in?”

Eh. Another person to take care about me. Did I need one? The harsh truth was I did. I didn’t know anyone and anything here. I needed someone till the time I could come back to my normal life; Boris couldn’t babysit me forever. I sighed “Let her in.”

Boris walked to the door, opened it, and returned with a young woman—around twenty-five, by the look of her. Dark-red-haired with a stylish short haircut. Glasses in an expensive frame. A fitted grey business suit, a crisp white blouse, heels to match the suit.

In one hand she held a tablet. In the other—my backpack. Boris took my things from her and handed them to me.

She took a step forward.

“Allow me to introduce myself. Alisha Graham. Your personal assistant. I’m here to help with anything you may need.”

Short, crisp, and professional introduction.

A thought flashed through my mind—she was like a female version of Mr. Van Hoven… Maybe all assistants at Douglas Group came pre-programmed and perfectly trained.

“Onyx Lee…” I said—and then stopped.

What else was I supposed to add? Courier? Junior clerk? Grandson? Heir?

Damn. She outclassed me in both wardrobe and status.

Very funny.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lee.”

It felt strange hearing Mr. Lee, as well as having a personal assistant. But I’d sort out these later.

 Right now, all I wanted was to see Dolphin.

 

Intensive Care

Together with Boris and Alisha, we stepped out of my room and took the hospital elevator up to the tenth floor. Then we walked—long, winding hallways. I didn’t even try to memorize the route; I just followed Boris like a shadow.

Eventually we reached a small alcove before a set of locked double doors with the sign above “Intensive Care. Personal Only”.

Chairs lined both sides of the narrow corridor.

And now what? I almost asked but didn’t have time.

Two people appeared around the corner—a doctor and a young man in jeans and a light blue sweater. They were in the conversation but wrapped it up the moment they saw us.

The doctor glanced over our picturesque trio—me, Alisha, and Boris—with no visible surprise. I suppose he’d seen stranger things. Then he said goodbye to the young man and disappeared behind the doors.

“Hey, Max,” Boris greeted.

“Hey. Or rather—hello to all of you,” came the answer.

Boris introduced us to him and then him to us:

“Maximilian Lung—Philip’s friend.”

While he spoke, Max looked at Alisha with noticeable interest and then gave me a frosty once-over. I returned the favor.

He was about my age and height, not skinny but athletic. Light brown hair, short cut. Sharp, penetrating eyes.

And yes—he didn’t seem thrilled to see me. Which was understandable. His friend was lying in intensive care because of me.

“Any updates?” Boris asked, while Max and I continued silently sizing each other up.

“Same as before. They say to wait.”

“You called his parents?”

“I did. They’re on their way.”

It was obvious now that we weren’t getting in to see Dolphin. I intended to wait here anyway, but Alisha had no obligation to spend the night in a hospital corridor. So, I looked at her and tilted my head—shall we step aside?

She understood instantly, and we headed toward the exit, but Max’s voice stopped us:

“Where exactly are you going?”

“I need to speak with my assistant,” I said, keeping my tone as cold as possible as I turned back.

“Talk. Then get back here,” Max ordered, completely unfazed by my attitude. Then he turned to Boris and muttered something low.

Alisha and I turned the corner. My thoughts refused to line up into anything coherent at first, but she stood there patiently, waiting for instructions.

I sighed; I had no idea how to talk to personal assistants.

“Alisha… I’m not used to any of this yet. I’d handle things myself, but I need to stay here for a night… Could you please help me to buy a new phone? I don’t even know where my old one ended up… And a SIM card. I’ll also need a place to stay, but that can wait until tomorrow.”

“Of course, Mr. Lee. I understand. I’ll return tomorrow morning with the phone. Anything else?”

“No, that’s all for now. Only thing, I don’t have money with me.”

“No worries. I have some. If you need anything urgently, or have questions, just ask Boris—he has my number.”

“Alright. Goodbye.”

“See you tomorrow, Mr. Lee.”

 

Max

Alisha left, and I kept standing there, wishing that Max would magically disappear – if only, when I went back, it would be just Boris waiting in the corridor. But life doesn’t work that way. No miracles. I sighed and headed back.

As I rounded the corner, I heard:

“You’re back? Good. Come closer. We need to talk before Phil’s parents arrive.”

My mood sank. As Max himself was not enough.

But feelings had to be switched off—again. Too much was happening around me that I didn’t understand – I needed clarity. If Max had information that could offer it, I could endure him.

I came closer, “I’m listening.”

“He’s listening,” Max snorted.

“Max, get to the point. Not everyone is willing to put up with your terrible character,” Boris cut in, cool and steady.

Max looked like he was about to snap back but caught himself. His expression sharpened, and he said:

“There’s something you both need to know—for everyone’s safety. Let’s get the whole picture”.

He glanced at me, exhaled, and continued:

“Mr. Lee, Phil came to me for help when he was looking for you. And… I happened to learn quite a lot about your life in the process.”

The ground simply slipped out from under me.

Somehow, still on my feet, I managed to stagger to a chair and collapse into it. I leaned back and closed my eyes.

Can I die now? I can’t do this anymore…

Boris’s voice filled the alcove:

“Max, you’re an idiot. You can’t just drop it like that.”

“And how should I do it?” Max snapped back, “no matter where I start, it still comes out like crap.”

On that, he wasn’t wrong. Strangely, Max’s bluntness pulled me back to reality.

I already knew Philip had dug into my past and uncovered plenty and I hadn’t been angry at him for it.

So, why was I falling apart now? Because someone else did?

“Hey, Onyx,” Max said quietly. “I’m sorry. Phil should’ve told you himself. And he would have—if not for all this… You should know when he gathered that information for your grandfather—he was doing his job. He never meant you harm. The opposite, actually.”

I opened my eyes. Max was sitting on the floor in front of me.
Boris stood leaning against the wall. Both men looked at me worrying. Yesterday, I even didn’t know them. Right now, my life literary was in their hands.