Later
The air in the room was thick with tension—so heavy it could be cut with a blade.
Jonathan sat on the sofa in the living room, surrounded by Alisha, Zachariah, Patricia, and Nicole.
Their gazes spoke volumes. They weren't here for games. One wrong word, one careless mistake, could land him in trouble. But Jonathan needed help—and the only people who could give it were them.
"So… Jonathan," Patricia began. "You wanted to talk. So now let's talk. Why are you here? Who is that girl? And what do you want from us?"
Jonathan swallowed under their stern gazes, then steadied himself before speaking.
"First of all, I want to say that I am sorry. For everything I did to you. And I hope you can forgive me. If I could turn back time and make things right, I swear I would. But I can't. All I can do is hope you'll forgive me."
Alisha snorted. "Oh, please. Cut the sentimental crap and get to the point. Why are you here? What do you want from us?"
"Alisha!" Patricia snapped, glaring at her intently. "Don't make me regret including you in this conversation. One more word out of line, and you're out. Got that?"
Alisha glared back, growled, and slumped in her seat with a scowl.
Patricia sighed. "It's okay, Jonathan. But you should know forgiveness is earned, not given freely. What you did to me goes beyond repair with just mere words. So I hope your explanation is worth more than just talk. Otherwise, things won't end well for you. Now tell us—why are you here? What do you want from us?"
Jonathan nodded, then sank to his knees once more. Without a word, he began to unbutton his shirt.
"Jonathan, what are you doing?" Patricia asked, bewildered.
"To show you the reason I need your help," Jonathan replied.
He pulled off his shirt, revealing a body marred with scars, bruises, and burns.
Everyone's breath caught as they stared at the heartbreaking sight.
"Jonathan… wha… who…?" Patricia asked, bewildered.
"Mr. X," came his firm answer.
"Huh…" Patricia gasped, her eyes darting around the room to meet the others' equally shocked faces. "Unbelievable…"
"Unbelievable indeed," Jonathan echoed. "And there's more beneath these trousers, but I think this is more than enough."
He picked up his shirt, slipped it back on, and sat down on the sofa once more.
"I was only fourteen years old when X took me in," he began. "I admit it—I was an unruly child. Wild and spoiled. Always involved in mischievous activities. And it cost me dearly. Because of that recklessness, X decided to take me in. He said he wanted me to run errands for him, and in return he'd give me an allowance. Some petty cash to do whatever I wanted.
"I almost refused him. Even though I was mischievous, I knew there was something wrong about his request, and I didn't want to get involved. But I had just fought with my father, and he stopped giving me money. I was angry at him. So, out of petty anger, I got myself involved in something I deeply regret now."
He paused, his voice heavy with remorse.
"It started off with running cash to some shady people in the streets. Then delivering drugs—unknowingly. Until one day… one day… he asked me to accompany him to one of his businesses. His illegal clubs. I was already thinking of telling him I didn't want in anymore. That I was done. But… little did I know what he had in store for me."
Jonathan paused, wiping away tears. "I'm sorry… but the memory is too brutal for me to recall. My mind is already too traumatized to remember it all. The only thing I still remember is being injected with some blue, glowing liquid… and waking up naked, in pain curled inside some bloody sheets. My body was violated. And that beast… that monster… was lying beside me. That was the moment I knew my life was over."
He sobbed, his voice breaking under the weight of the confession.
"If I wasn't being passed from one rich client to the next, I was screaming in torment as that monster fucked me, beat me, or burned me to his heart's content. It was even worse when a client was dissatisfied with me. I would scream, I would cry, until my body gave out.
And the worst part is… I tried to end my life many times, desperate to escape the torment. I cut my wrists, I stabbed myself many times but every time, I woke up on the bed or the floor. Fine. No wounds. Nothing except the scars left behind by that monster's cruelty. I wished for death countless times, but it never came. I had already given up on life.
Until her…"
Jonathan paused, wiping away his tears as his gaze drifted to the closed door where Tulip lay asleep.
"When I got the news about my pregnancy with Tulip, I felt like a freak. I wanted to die even more than before—rather than live as something broken in this world. But whenever I tried… I couldn't. I felt her life inside me. Whenever I tried to give up, she would move, or kick, reminding me she was alive. And I would lose all the strength I had to go through with it.
That gave me a new resolve. A desire to live. Not for myself—but for her. And I swore I would protect her with my life. No matter what."
Jonathan turned to Patricia.
"But I won't do it alone. Patricia… I knew about your involvement with Mr. X when I found out you were seeing his brother, Jethro Morales. I also discovered that you knew about my lies and shady activities when Mr. X ordered one of his dogs, Viper, to investigate the person blackmailing me with those pictures. I saw Alisha's name and photos in an envelope that Viper's man was about to deliver to him.
Since I owed you a lot, I intercepted him and replaced the name and the pictures with one of the clients who used to bed me. And it worked. Mr. X never suspected you.
I also discovered you were hunting him. One night, I came to your new house and overheard you talking with that stablehand in your office—the one I think is a secret agent. It was the night I escaped with Tulip. I came to ask you for money, but after hearing your conversation, I decided against it. I left and went back to my house to flee with Tulip.
But I didn't know Mr. X was careful enough to track me if I ran. Since then, I've been on the run. Mr. X is hunting me. That's why I'm here—asking for your help. Help me get away from him and protect Tulip. You're the only one I have left.
Please… and I promise to help you with your revenge as well. But promise me one thing—that you'll let me kill the monster with my own hands. That bloody pig took everything from me, and I want him to pay. I need him to pay. So… will you help me? Please."
Patricia exhaled sharply. "Oh God. I can't… I can't do this." She rubbed her temples, sighed, and began pacing. "I can't do this. It's just too much. Too much."
Jonathan sighed, his gaze dropping to the floor in disappointment.
"It's okay, Patricia. I'll take them with me," Nicole said quietly.
Patricia turned to her, startled. "What? Nicole, no. You're not taking them anywhere. You're in deep hiding. Remember—what if you're discovered? I can't allow you to take that chance. Absolutely not!"
"That's the point, Patricia. I am in deep hiding. I live in a very secure safehouse where no one will ever find me—or them," Nicole said as she stood and faced Patricia. "Patricia… trust me."
She leaned closer, whispering just loud enough for Patricia to hear. "We've got the Black Tulip—the one thing Montenegra is obsessed with, along with his gang of wolves. We finally have leverage against them. And we need to protect it. We need this… for our plans."
Patricia sighed and whispered back, "Okay."
Nicole smiled and nodded.
Patricia managed a faint smile too, then turned to Jonathan.
"Okay, Jonathan. We'll help you."
"Really? Oh, thank you, Patricia. Thank you," Jonathan said, his voice breaking with relief.
"Yes. But under one condition," Patricia replied firmly.
"Yes. Anything. Whatever you want," Jonathan said quickly.
"You cooperate with us—and with the WFAB."
At the mention of the WFAB, Isaac walked into the room casually, making his presence known. The badge glistened on his belt, catching the light like a silent declaration of authority.
Jonathan looked at Isaac, swallowed hard, and spoke. "But… Mr. X has connections everywhere—even within governments. Are you sure about this?"
"Don't worry. The WFAB runs directly under the Supreme President of the world. And by 'President of the world,' you know who I mean," Isaac said, leaning casually against a pillar.
Jonathan nodded softly. "The President of Aphilis. I know. But… it's just good to be careful."
"It's okay, Jonathan. Isaac and the WFAB will protect you—and your daughter. Right now, all we want to know is that you're not a traitor who will turn against us in the future. Because if you are… then I promise you, you'll pay dearly for it," Patricia said firmly.
Isaac cracked his knuckles, a silent gesture that he would gladly deal with Jonathan himself if betrayal ever came.
"And I won't let you escape my wrath either," Alisha added with a cold smirk.
Jonathan swallowed again, his eyes flicking nervously between their stern faces. He knew they meant business—no games, no second chances.
"It's okay… I'm not a traitor. I promise," he stammered.
"Good," Isaac replied. "I'm heading out. I need to run some errands and arrange extra protection. I'll be back later."
Patricia hummed softly. "Okay. Please keep in touch."
"I will," Isaac said, blowing her a kiss before leaving.
Patricia turned to the others, sighing as she shook her head.
'This is just getting more complicated', she murmured inwardly.
...
Meanwhile
Somewhere…
Soft music echoed through a lavish study, its over-the-top gold and dark green furniture gleaming in the dim light.
Cigar smoke curled lazily in the air, mingling with the rich scent of brandy.
A man in a dark green suit sat reading through a stack of papers. His long golden-blonde hair cascaded over his shoulders, and his sapphire-blue eyes studied the pages intently, as though they held secrets worth savoring.
The papers showed images of battle—armored men with shields and flags, each emblazoned with the crest of a golden horse mid-gallop on a white field, framed by a golden-edged shield.
Just then, his phone buzzed.
He tore his gaze from the papers and picked it up. A message flashed across the screen:
"We have the Black Tulip."
The man's plush pink lips curved into a smile.
"Well, well… that's good news. Looks like the fun is about to begin after all," he whispered.
He turned back to the book in front of him, "And I can't wait for the show," he whispered closing it with deliberate care. Its black cover, ridged with gold, gleamed faintly. Bold golden letters spelled out the title:
THE DARK KNIGHT AND HIS TULIP
The book glistened in the dim light, radiating an ominous presence—a mystery in itself.
Will it be uncovered?
.....
Later That Night
The door to Patricia's presidential suite opened softly.
A figure tiptoed inside.
He stopped, glanced at the clock.
2 a.m.
The room was silent. Empty. He closed the door gently, locked it, and moved toward the master bedroom.
But then he froze.
His eyes darted around the room. Something felt.....wrong.
Clank!
He spun around as the sound echoed from the kitchen. His hand tightened around the gun, and he crept forward, step by step.
He entered the kitchen, scanning every corner, surveying the shadows.
Nothing.
Then—a gust of wind brushed across his face.
He turned. The kitchen window was slightly open, curtains swaying in the draft.
He approached cautiously, peered at the frame. Too small for an intruder to crawl through. He shut it, surveyed the room once more, then turned to leave.
As he passed through the living room, a cold chill ran down his spine. His grip on the gun tightened.
A whisper slithered through the air:
"Vey'thaal, mor'ruun kael… (Hello, my beholder)."
An eerie voice in a strange language echoed from the living room.
Isaac spun around, gun raised, ready to face the intruder.
No… not an intruder.
His eyes widened in disbelief. There, on the sofa, sat a little girl. With brown wavy hair, a small delicate nose and rosy lips. Wearing a black and white night dress. Calm. Harmless in appearance—but Isaac knew better. Those cold, glowing blue eyes meant only one thing. The invisible threat was back. The haunting mystery of his life.
But this time, he didn't feel fear. He walked forward steadily, gun still aimed, and muttered, "Chronalis… isn't it?"
The girl didn't reply at first. She only smiled brightly.
"Thyrr'ash ven'kaar… (You finally know…)," she whispered in the eerie tongue.
"Call it just a hunch," Isaac replied. "What do you want?"
The little girl's smile widened, turning sinister. Slowly and deliberately she pulled out a kitchen knife from behind her and started swirling it in her hands. Before turning her gaze back to Isaac.
"Zha'ruun vel… (My blood…)," she said softly. Her smile growing wider. Sinister.
Isaac froze.
He felt it.
The storm was beginning.
And it was bringing chaos with it.