3

To keep the family scandal from leaking to the staff, Sterling ordered Harrison and Jordan to follow him upstairs to the soundproof study.

The heavy oak door slammed shut, completely cutting off the sound of Serafina's fake, dramatic sobbing from the floor below.

Sterling walked behind the massive mahogany desk and sat down. He rested both hands on the head of his cane, his sharp eyes scanning his granddaughter.

Harrison paced back and forth across the room. He angrily accused Jordan of picking up street-thug habits during her years abroad.

Jordan dropped carelessly onto the leather sofa. She crossed her long legs and let out a cold, dismissive scoff at her father's rant.

Sterling cleared his throat loudly. He dropped a massive bomb into the room, announcing that Serafina was ten weeks pregnant.

Harrison stopped pacing. A flash of awkwardness crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by a smug pride at the thought of a new heir.

Jordan raised an eyebrow. A mocking glint flashed in her eyes as she silently judged her father's ability to still reproduce.

Sterling's tone turned deadly serious. He stated that the family trust fund would have to be completely restructured to accommodate the unborn child.

Harrison seized the opportunity to press his advantage. He demanded Jordan apologize to Serafina immediately, or he would drastically cut her share of the inheritance.

Dead silence filled the study. Jordan looked down at her boots, seemingly digesting this massive financial threat.

Just as Harrison thought his daughter was finally breaking, Jordan threw her head back and let out a loud, oppressive laugh.

She stood up. Her combat boots hit the floor hard as she walked slowly toward Harrison's desk. Every step radiated a freezing, suffocating pressure.

Jordan planted both hands flat on the polished wood. She leaned over, looking down at her father, and told him she didn't give a damn about his blood-soaked money.

She delivered her final ultimatum, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. She warned them that no one in this family was allowed to touch her mother's belongings ever again.

Real, unfiltered killing intent bled into Jordan's eyes. She stated clearly that if Serafina touched her mother's things again, she wouldn't mind making that unborn fetus disappear early.

Harrison saw the raw bloodlust in his daughter's eyes. His stomach dropped. He stumbled backward in fear, knocking over a heavy floor lamp behind him.

Sterling stared at Jordan in absolute shock. He finally realized that this granddaughter had completely broken free from the family's control.

Jordan stood up straight. She casually adjusted the collar of her leather jacket and turned toward the study door.

She grabbed the brass handle and looked over her shoulder. She left them with one last mocking wish, hoping their little family of three would rot happily in this hypocritical grave.

Jordan pulled the door open and strode down the hallway. She completely ignored Serafina, who was hiding and eavesdropping at the corner of the stairs.

Serafina felt the freezing aura rolling off Jordan. She shivered violently and wrapped both arms protectively around her stomach.

Jordan walked out the front doors of the manor. She grabbed her helmet from the handlebars and slid it over her head.

She threw her long leg over the heavy motorcycle and kicked the stand up in one fluid, practiced motion.

Jordan twisted the throttle. The engine let out a deafening roar, tearing through the quiet, wealthy atmosphere of the Upper East Side.

The tires burned white smoke against the cobblestones as the bike shot out into the street like a bullet. Before she completely peeled out of the neighborhood, her razor-sharp survival instincts suddenly flared. She instinctively glanced up through her visor at the dark windows of a pre-war high-rise down the block. A tall, imposing silhouette stood perfectly still behind the glass, looking down at her. The sheer, suffocating weight of that unseen gaze burned itself into her memory in a fraction of a second.

Harrison stood on the second-floor balcony. He watched his daughter's taillights disappear, his hands shaking with rage and absolute helplessness.

As Jordan sped through the cold night wind, the encrypted communicator built into her helmet suddenly beeped.

She pressed the button on the side of her helmet. Her hacker friend, Miles, yelled frantically into her earpiece.

Miles told her that her beloved younger brother, Julian, had gotten involved in a gang fight in Brooklyn and was currently sitting in an NYPD holding cell.

---

4

Jordan's black motorcycle tore through the dark streets, blowing past two red lights. The tires shrieked as she took a sharp corner.

She aggressively parked the heavy bike sideways, right in the middle of the red no-parking zone outside the NYPD's 75th Precinct in Brooklyn.

Jordan yanked the keys out of the ignition. She pulled off her helmet and spoke into the built-in mic, demanding Miles give her the exact details.

Through the encrypted channel, Miles spoke fast. Julian had been arrested because he tried to cover for a local street punk named Cody during a brawl.

Hearing that her brother stuck his neck out for a gangbanger, Jordan cursed him for being an absolute idiot under her breath.

She locked her helmet to the bike and pushed open the heavy glass doors of the precinct. The stale smell of cheap coffee and harsh bleach hit her nose immediately.

The lobby was pure chaos. Prostitutes, drug dealers, and angry victims packed the waiting area, screaming over each other.

Jordan ignored the noise. She walked straight past the crowd and stopped in front of the bulletproof glass of the duty desk.

A fat, exhausted white cop was staring down at a stack of paperwork. He didn't even bother to look up.

Jordan curled her knuckles and knocked hard on the marble counter. Three sharp, echoing cracks.

The fat cop snapped his head up, his face red with annoyance. He opened his mouth to yell, but the dead, freezing look in Jordan's eyes forced the words back down his throat.

Her voice was like ice. She gave him Julian Whitley's name and demanded the bail paperwork immediately.

The cop typed lazily on his keyboard. A mocking smirk spread across his face as he told her this was an aggravated assault with a deadly weapon.

He turned the monitor around. He pointed a thick finger at the bright red "BAIL DENIED" stamp on the screen, stating the case had already been transferred to Major Crimes.

Jordan's eyes narrowed dangerously. Her tactical brain spun. A basic street fight didn't get kicked up to Major Crimes this fast.

She instantly realized someone was using this case to set a trap, or Julian had stumbled into something much darker.

Without changing her expression, Jordan slipped her hand into her jacket pocket. She blind-typed an SOS command to Miles, ordering him to hack the precinct's intranet.

On the surface, she played the part of the arrogant rich girl. She leaned closer to the glass and coldly asked the cop if he was just looking for a bribe.

The fat cop slammed his hands on the desk and stood up. He pointed at her, warning her that this was a police precinct, not her daddy's country club.

Their argument drew the attention of the room. Several officers stopped what they were doing and started walking toward the duty desk.

Jordan's mind went to work. She calculated exactly how many seconds it would take to physically drop these cops and break her brother out of the holding cells.

Just as her muscles tensed for violence, the heavy electronic lock on the precinct's inner security door buzzed loudly.

A tall man wearing a dark grey trench coat walked out. He was flanked by two senior detectives who looked terrified of him.

The man's footsteps were slow, steady, and heavy. His leather shoes clicked against the terrazzo floor with a rhythm that commanded absolute submission.

Jordan's survival instincts screamed at her. She instantly abandoned her plan to attack the cops and turned her head toward the new arrival.

She recognized the imposing build and the overwhelming, predatory aura immediately. It was the exact same mysterious silhouette she had spotted watching her from the high-rise window near the manor earlier that night.

Blake Berry's deep, dark eyes cut through the crowded room. His gaze landed perfectly on Jordan's aggressive, tense face.

A brief flash of surprise crossed his eyes, but it was quickly swallowed by a bottomless, unreadable calm.

The fat cop saw Blake and instantly paled. His arrogant face morphed into pure submission as he stood at attention and nervously greeted, "Commander Berry."

Blake walked up to the duty desk. He didn't look at the cop. His eyes stayed locked on Jordan as his deep, low voice cut through the noise. "Are you having some trouble here?"

---

5

Facing Blake's sudden question, Jordan instantly pulled back her killing intent. She smoothed out her features, replacing her hostility with a cold, polite mask.

She looked straight into Blake's eyes. Her voice was perfectly steady as she stated she was just here to post bail for her younger brother, Julian Whitley.

Hearing the last name "Whitley," the corner of Blake's mouth twitched upward by a millimeter. It confirmed the intel Drew had just gathered.

Blake slowly turned his head to look at the fat cop. His eyes turned razor-sharp as he demanded to see Julian's case file.

Sweat dripped down the cop's forehead. His fingers shook over the keyboard as he stuttered out an excuse, explaining that Major Crimes had locked the file.

Blake let out a low, dismissive scoff. He reached right around the bulletproof glass and pulled the keyboard toward himself.

His long fingers flew across the keys, inputting a high-level security override code. The red "DENIED" on the screen instantly flashed to a green "APPROVED." The fat cop's jaw dropped.

Jordan watched Blake's hands closely. She memorized the complex rhythm of his keystrokes, silently calculating his security clearance level in her head.

Blake turned his back to the desk. He ordered the detectives behind him to bring Julian and the street punk named Cody out of holding immediately.

Jordan's eyes narrowed slightly. She was surprised that Blake was bailing out the gangbanger too. She studied the tall man with renewed suspicion.

Blake felt her gaze. He took a slow step forward, his massive frame casting a dark shadow over Jordan's body.

He leaned down. His breath brushed her ear as he whispered that Cody was his useless cousin, and bailing Julian out was just a convenient favor.

Alarm bells rang violently in Jordan's head. A high-ranking AEGIS Commander having a street thug cousin in Brooklyn? It was a blatant lie.

She kept her face completely blank. She took a small step back and offered a dry, emotionless, "Thank you for your generosity, Commander Berry."

Blake's eyes darkened when she used his exact title. He tilted his head slightly and asked how she knew his name.

Jordan pointed a slender finger at the body camera on the fat cop's chest. She lied smoothly, saying she heard the officer say it earlier.

Blake didn't expose her terrible lie. He just nodded slowly, a dark, knowing look swimming in his eyes.

The heavy iron door to the holding area buzzed open again. A bruised and battered Julian was shoved out, alongside a terrified-looking Cody.

Julian saw Jordan standing there. His shoulders slumped, and he looked down at his shoes like a guilty child. "Hey, Jordan," he mumbled.

Jordan closed the distance in three strides. She grabbed Julian's chin roughly, tilting his face to the light to inspect the purple bruises on his cheek. Her eyes turned freezing cold.

She slowly turned her head and shot a lethal glare at Cody. The street thug physically shrank back, terrified of the aura radiating from her.

Blake walked up to Cody. Without a word, he kicked the thug hard in the shin, harshly scolding him for causing trouble again.

Cody winced in pain but didn't dare fight back. He just kept his head down and mumbled, "Sorry, cousin."

Jordan watched this bizarre family dynamic play out. The knot of suspicion in her chest pulled tighter.

Blake turned back to Jordan. He reached into his dark trench coat and pulled out a thick, black cardstock business card. He held it out to her.

The card was completely blank except for his name, Blake Berry, and a private phone number. No agency logo. No rank.

Blake's voice was smooth as velvet. He told her that if Julian ran into any more trouble, she could call him directly.

Jordan hesitated for a fraction of a second. But refusing would draw more suspicion. She reached out and took the card.

As she pulled it from his grip, her fingertips brushed against his knuckles. A sharp jolt of static electricity snapped between their skin.

Both of them froze. They looked up at the exact same time, their eyes locking in a heavy, suffocating clash of tension.

Jordan quickly pulled her hand back. She shoved the card into her pocket, grabbed Julian by the arm, and walked out of the precinct without looking back.

---