Victor sat forward in his armchair, elbows resting on his knees, fingers lightly steepled. His gaze was firm yet concerned, the posture of a man who had seen too much and was trying to piece together a puzzle that spanned decades.
"So… what exactly happened at the Paradise Club last night?" Victor asked slowly. "Celina told me bits of it—how you saved her and the others. For that, Miles, I'm truly grateful. But I get the feeling… there's more to it."
Miles leaned back, arms resting on the sides of the seat, his eyes darkening with the weight of truth. "There is, Uncle."
He paused briefly, gathering his thoughts before speaking again.
"Paradise Club isn't just some night venue with neon lights and bad music. They targeted my family. They sent men after me. One of them was connected to the incident that nearly took Daniel's life. My stepfather's health condition—whatever triggered it—was no accident."
Victor's expression hardened, his knuckles going white.
Miles continued, "I went there last night for answers. And when I found out how deep the corruption ran, I made a decision. That place is poison for this city. Drugs, trafficking, exploitation. I burned it down… not just for revenge, but to protect the next Celina, the next Becky, the next Rose who might've walked through those doors and never come out the same."
Victor let out a heavy sigh, sitting back with the weight of understanding. "I always suspected something off about that place. I warned Celina about clubs like that, but you know how stubborn she is. She's a little spoiled sometimes."
A voice cut in from the hallway.
"That's not fair, Dad," Celina huffed as she stepped into the room, arms folded. Her brows were arched, clearly having overheard enough.
Victor raised a brow. "You were listening?"
"You're talking about me like I'm not even here," she said with a scoff. "Besides, I was always a good child, remember? That doesn't exactly scream 'spoiled' to me."
Miles chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. "He's not entirely wrong, though."
Celina turned to him, lips parted in mock betrayal. "You too?!"
"You are spoiled," Miles teased gently, "but you're also brave. Smart. You held out in that nightmare of a place long enough for me to find you. That's not nothing."
She narrowed her eyes, but her lips twitched—threatening a smile. "Still mean."
Victor watched the banter, his stern demeanor relaxing slightly. Then, he turned his attention back to Miles.
"So… what are your plans now?" he asked. "You said you're retired from Graveyard. Are you looking for work? If you are, I have contacts. I can make a few calls, arrange something fitting."
Miles exhaled slowly, his eyes drifting to the chandelier above.
"I haven't decided yet. I didn't come here for a new mission or title. I came back for peace. For my family. But…" He looked Victor in the eye, the calm fading into something colder. "Something's stirring in this city, uncle. Something old. Someone called the Old Master. I don't know what he's planning, but it's tied to that drug… to the past. To my father."
Victor's expression faltered.
"You know something," Miles said, almost accusingly.
There was silence for a moment. The ticking of a nearby grandfather clock filled the room.
Then Victor spoke—quietly. "I was afraid of this day… The day old ghosts would come knocking again."
Miles leaned forward slightly, attentive.
Victor stood up, walked to the window, and stared out at the estate gardens as the sky turned a darker shade of gold.
"I'll tell you everything I know. But once I do, Miles, there's no going back."
"I never did," Miles replied.
Victor's voice lowered, almost as if speaking too loud might awaken something dormant in the room.
"What do you know about Crimson Island, Miles?"
Miles's eyes narrowed slightly. The name wasn't foreign to him—but hearing it in this context stirred something uneasy. "I've come across them a few times… Their name pops up in discreet chatter. What about them?"
Victor took a breath, eyes fixated on the shadows dancing across the polished floor.
"You must know how much power that island carries. It's technically part of our nation, but… in truth, it runs like an independent country. The government doesn't control it—they never did."
Miles nodded slowly. "I've heard whispers. Arms deals. Private militias. Some operations went silent there."
Victor looked him in the eye. "The island is run by one group—The Seventeen Moon. Every major player in the underworld knows them. But no one touches them. You know why?"
Miles stayed silent.
Victor continued, "Because their real power isn't violence. It's money. Old money. Deep money. They own nearly ten percent of Star Harbor real estate and ports. You know what that means? Cargo. Imports. Secrets."
Miles's jaw clenched, but he nodded again, already mentally drawing lines from things he had seen—operations that seemed too well-funded, too untouchable.
Victor's voice turned grim. "And the old man you're talking about—the one you call 'Old Master'… He's not a myth. He's real. But very few know his name. Even fewer survive long after knowing it. People who do know… they never tell another soul."
He moved to his desk, pulling out a small photo—aged and curled at the corners.
"There was a sixth member in our friend circle. A boy we never talked about much. His name was Charlie Watkins."
Miles took the photo. Six boys, young and careless, with one looking slightly out of place—disheveled hair, distracted eyes.
"Charlie was a classmate of your parents. He used to hang around us, mostly because of Elena. He admired her. A little too much."
Victor sat back down, sighing. "But he had… problems. Alcohol. Gambling. Eventually drugs. His family tried to get him help. Then one day, they disowned him. Said he was beyond saving."
Miles was listening carefully now. His fingers gripped the edge of the photo.
"He showed up one night—completely drunk—at your mother's door. Yelling. Crying. Blaming everyone for his failures. Elena called us in a panic. We rushed there."
Victor's voice grew colder.
"There was a fight. A big one. Especially between Edward and Charlie. Edward told him to stay away from Elena. To get clean, or never show his face again."
Miles stayed silent, his expression unreadable.
Victor looked away, lost in the memory. "That night… was the last time we saw Charlie. Weeks later, rumors began. People said he went to Crimson Island. They say he found something there—something that changed him."
Miles's eyes narrowed. "You think… he is the Old Master?"
Victor didn't answer immediately. But the silence spoke volumes.
"All I know is… the timing fits. His rage. His fall. His disappearance. And the beginning of everything that followed—your father's death, the collapse of Sterling Empire, the disappearance of your grandfather. Everything traces back to that moment."
Miles stared at the photo again. At the lost boy in the background—forgotten, broken, and angry.
"I'll find him," Miles said quietly. "And if he really is behind what happened to my family…"
Victor met his gaze, and for a moment—there was no warmth, no mentorship. Just shared history. And a dangerous truth.
"Then this time… you finish what your father couldn't."
Celina had been quiet for a while, but now her voice cut through the air—gentle, concerned.
She looked directly into Miles's eyes, reading the storm behind his calm expression."What are you talking about, Dad...? Isn't that too dangerous?"
Victor blinked, surprised. In the intensity of the moment, he had forgotten Celina was still in the room.
Miles turned to her with a small, reassuring smile."It's fine," he said with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Crimson Island doesn't bother me at all."
Victor's eyes narrowed, searching his face."What do you mean by that?"
Miles stood up slowly, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket."We already have a history, Uncle," he said cryptically. "You'll find out later…"
The air hung still for a moment before Miles softened."Anyway, Uncle—thank you for today."
Victor frowned. "You're leaving already? Stay for dinner at least."
Miles chuckled. "Can't, Uncle. I skipped dinner at home yesterday too. Mom's gonna be furious."
That made both Victor and Celina laugh."Sister Elena must be so happy… finally, her son is back," Victor said warmly, voice rough with emotion. "And I'm happy too, son. Thank you—for coming back to us."
Miles gave him a soft, genuine smile. A rare one.
"Oh, and by the way," Miles added, glancing at Celina with a half-smirk, "I'm still playing her bodyguard until graduation."
"You really don't have to…" Victor started.
"It's fine, Uncle. I told my mom I would. Besides…" Miles looked out the window, then back. "I need to start building real connections. People my age. The Sterling name has to rise again." He raised a clenched fist with quiet determination.
Victor nodded slowly. "Okay, Miles. I trust you. Take care of yourself."
"Exams are around the corner," Miles added, turning to Celina with mock sternness. "So… no more clubbing."
Celina rolled her eyes with a smile. "Yes, Mr. Sterling."
Miles walked toward the door. Outside, his car was already waiting, engine purring quietly.
Victor and Celina watched from behind as the young man—once lost, now returning as both protector and heir—stepped out into the night, cloaked in secrets and responsibility.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
And the shadows whispered…The past was no longer sleeping.
The Keller residence was filled with the soft warmth of evening light, the clatter of dishes, and the laughter of children. Miles had just returned, the weight of past revelations still lingering behind his calm eyes.
Daniel was doing better. He could now walk with a cane, slowly but steadily, his rehabilitation progressing each day. Watching him crack jokes with Hope and Asher at the dinner table brought a smile to Miles's face.
Over dinner, Elena looked at her son curiously. "Where were you, son?"
Miles set down his spoon. "I went to see Uncle Victor. He invited me over."
Elena paused, eyes softening at the mention. "So… how is brother Victor doing these days?"
"He's doing great," Miles replied with a gentle nod.
"That's good to hear." Elena smiled faintly. "You should keep in touch with him. He's a good person, even if we've all taken different paths."
Miles nodded quietly, the weight of her words resonating deeper than she knew.
Later that night, as the household quieted and the twins drifted off to sleep, Miles lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. He pulled out his phone and called Monica.
The call connected.
"Yes, boss?" came Monica's voice, slightly groggy but alert.
"I found something… about the Old Master," Miles said without preamble.
There was a pause. "What do you mean? We couldn't even find a single trace of him."
Miles chuckled softly. "That's because you were looking in the wrong generation. He isn't as old as his title makes him sound. Turns out—he was friends with my father. Back in high school."
"…What? Are you serious?" Monica's voice was stunned.
"Yeah. And that's where things got complicated," Miles said, his voice lower now. "But now I know why no one calls him by name. Why even his real identity is a shadow."
"Why?" Monica asked.
Miles's tone darkened. "The Seventeen Moon."
The name hit Monica like a slap. Her breath caught.
"…Them?"
Miles nodded to himself. "Yes. But I don't think he was ever really one of them. My guess? He used the name. Claimed ties to the Seventeen Moon to shield himself. To build his reputation."
Monica muttered, "Using the Seventeen Moon's name… that's practically suicide. If they ever find out—"
"I know," Miles cut in. "But it's been over seventeen years. The real Seventeen Moon likely has no clue. Or maybe they don't care anymore."
There was a beat of silence.
"I'll look into it deeper. Thanks for the insight, boss," Monica finally said.
"You okay?" Miles asked. "Talking about Crimson Island doesn't bother you anymore?"
A moment passed before she replied, voice quiet but firm. "I'm fine, boss. The memories don't haunt me like they used to."
"Alright then. Stay sharp, and keep me updated."
"Always."
The call ended, but Miles remained still, eyes staring out into the quiet night.
The past was unraveling.
And Seventeen Moon… was no longer just a name in the dark.