The Retired Young Mercenary Is Secretly a Billionaire

Chapter 258 258: Blood value??

Flashback continues…

Rain poured endlessly over Paris, turning the streets into mirrors of blurred lights and restless movement. Water streamed down rooftops, gathered along the pavements, and tapped rhythmically against every surface it could find.

Inside the safehouse, the sound of rain blended with the quiet hum of the monitors.

Ghost stood still, eyes locked onto the live feed.

The blue car.

Gone.

His gaze sharpened instantly.

A subtle shift in his posture revealed the change in his mind. He replayed the last few seconds in his head, every movement, every turn.

That turn.

It was not part of the usual pattern.

Without hesitation, he dialed.

"What happened?"

The voice on the other end responded quickly.

"We lost him, Lead. I got stuck at a red light. He entered a crowded area and disappeared. I could not track him further."

Ghost's eyes narrowed slightly.

"I did not see any external interference. Was anyone following him?"

"I do not think so, Lead. I was the only one on him."

Ghost exhaled slowly, thinking.

"Either he was forced to deviate… or he chose to."

A brief silence.

"Pick me up. We will analyze the location."

"I am on my way, Lead."

The call ended.

Ghost placed the phone down.

He finished the last of his breakfast without rushing, his movements calm despite the sudden disruption. His mind, however, had already shifted entirely into analysis mode.

Minutes later, he changed his outfit, adjusting into something more suited for moving through public spaces unnoticed. He picked up an umbrella and stepped outside.

The rain hit harder now.

Cold.

Relentless.

A car pulled up beside him.

Ghost opened the door and got into the passenger seat.

"Good morning, Lead."

Ghost glanced ahead.

"Morning, Marcel."

Marcel was in his late twenties, his demeanor steady, his presence grounded. Unlike Ghost, who had been shaped inside the Graveyard, Marcel belonged to a different network. A field agent. Embedded. Observing. Supporting operations from within foreign soil.

"Take me to the square where he turned."

"Understood."

The car moved.

The streets passed quickly beneath them, rain distorting the view outside. Within minutes, they arrived.

The car slowed to a stop.

Ghost stepped out, his umbrella opening instantly as rain continued to fall.

"He took the left turn here, right?"

Marcel nodded from inside the car.

"Yes. This road connects to multiple locations."

Ghost stood still, observing the surroundings carefully.

Then he pulled out his phone, bringing up a detailed map.

His eyes scanned.

"Metro Line 2… Marché Barbès Market… École Internationale School…"

His mind worked through each possibility.

Why here?

Why break pattern in such an exposed location?

Then suddenly…

His eyes lifted.

"There."

He spotted the blue car again, moving along the road.

"It took him twenty five minutes to return."

Ghost stepped back slightly.

"I will stay here. You follow him."

Without waiting for a response, he closed the car door.

Marcel nodded.

"Understood."

The car moved immediately, blending into traffic as it began tracking the target again.

Ghost remained.

Alone.

Under the rain.

His gaze shifted slowly across the area before he began walking toward the market.

Marché Barbès.

Even in the rain, the place carried life. Vendors were setting up. A few early customers moved between stalls. The smell of fresh bread and coffee lingered in the air.

But Ghost did not see any of that.

He saw patterns.

Distances.

Angles.

Possibilities.

He walked slowly, his mind reconstructing the timeline.

Was Gabriel here to drop someone at the metro?

Did he come for breakfast?

The school…

His eyes flicked toward its direction.

Why would he approach a school?

None of it aligned.

"Why come to a place like this…"

His thoughts sharpened.

"…when exposure is highest?"

He stopped briefly.

"He came alone."

No escort.

No convoy.

No backup.

That alone broke the pattern.

His phone rang.

Marcel.

Ghost answered immediately.

"Report."

"Lead, he switched cars in a private parking facility."

Ghost's eyes narrowed.

"So he knew."

Marcel continued.

"It looks like he assumed he was exposed in that area."

Ghost's voice turned sharper.

"Where is he heading now?"

"Back to the plant. Same route."

Ghost exhaled slowly.

"Keep tracking him. Inform me if anything changes."

A brief pause.

"And send someone to install a CCTV unit in this lane."

"Consider it done, Lead."

The call ended.

Ghost lowered his phone.

He turned.

Started walking back.

Then…

Something made him stop.

A presence.

A detail.

A shift in the environment.

He turned again.

His eyes locked onto a man walking into a restaurant nearby.

Recognition struck instantly.

That face.

That posture.

That presence.

"That is…"

His expression hardened.

"The Mordecai operative."

The man from Haven.

The one who was supposed to be gone.

Ghost moved quickly, stepping into a corner, blending into the shadows beneath a shop canopy.

His hand reached into his pocket, activating his communicator.

"Base, come in."

Static crackled briefly.

"This is Base. What is the matter, Ghost?"

Ghost's eyes did not leave the restaurant entrance.

"Three days ago, the Mordecai operative was scheduled to return to Haven."

"Confirmed. He boarded the flight. We verified the passenger list."

Ghost's voice dropped slightly.

"Then something is wrong with that list."

A brief silence.

"What do you mean?"

Ghost spoke clearly.

"He just walked into a restaurant in front of me."

Silence.

Then

"What?"

Ghost did not blink.

"Check again. Either he came back… or he never left."

The tone on the other end shifted.

"We will verify immediately."

Ghost nodded slightly.

"I will wait."

The transmission ended.

For a moment, the rain seemed louder.

The world moved around him, unaware.

Ghost stepped forward.

His umbrella lowered slightly.

And without hesitation…

He walked into the restaurant.

Present

The rain had grown heavier over Pearl Villa, drumming steadily against the glass panes as if the sky itself refused to hold back. The garden outside blurred under the downpour, trees swaying gently as the wind carried the scent of wet earth into the air.

Inside, warmth wrapped the living room.

Miles sat by the large window, a mug of hot chocolate in his hand. Hope and Asher sat close to him, their small hands wrapped around their own cups, their faces glowing with quiet happiness.

For a moment, everything felt… normal.

Miles stared out at the rain, his thoughts drifting far beyond the walls of the villa. His eyes were calm, but somewhere deep inside, memories never stopped.

"Big bro… it is yummy."

Asher's voice broke through.

Miles blinked, returning to the present.

Hope nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, I love cocoa."

Miles looked at them, the faintest smile forming.

"Yes… it is very yummy."

Monica came down the stairs, already dressed for work, her presence sharp and composed as always. She paused when she saw them, the scene softening her expression instantly.

Without a word, she pulled out her phone and took a picture.

Daniel stood nearby, car keys in his hand, watching the moment unfold.

"Do they not look perfect together?"

Monica smiled.

"Exactly. Boss looks like a kid today."

Elena stood a little behind them, her eyes fixed on the three figures by the window. Her gaze held something deeper than simple happiness.

"All of them are my children."

Her voice was soft, almost like a prayer.

"God… keep them away from evil."

She watched them for a moment longer, then her eyes shifted to the clock.

"Do you two not want to go to school?"

Asher quickly took a last sip.

"Yes, mama. We are finishing."

Hope nodded as well.

In the next second, both of them rushed off, their footsteps echoing as they went to grab their bags.

Daniel followed them out, guiding them toward the car.

Elena returned to the kitchen, preparing their lunch boxes with care, every movement filled with quiet affection.

The room grew quieter.

Miles turned slightly.

Monica stepped closer.

"I just spoke to Silvey. Luna is stable now. She just needs time to recover."

Miles exhaled slowly, some of the tension easing from his shoulders.

"Good."

His gaze lowered for a moment.

"That is good."

Then his expression changed again, returning to focus.

"I also received a call from Thea."

Monica listened carefully.

Miles continued.

"She has been assigned to track Kyle Sterling."

A brief pause.

"If she fails this time… she will lose her standing in the Web."

Monica's brows furrowed slightly.

"And the Grandmaster?"

Miles shook his head faintly.

"I do not know what he has planned for her."

His voice lowered.

"But I am not going to risk her."

Monica crossed her arms, thinking.

"What do we do then?"

Miles's lips curved into a faint smirk.

"Simple."

His eyes darkened slightly.

"We reveal where Kyle is."

Monica understood instantly.

"So we use him as bait."

Miles nodded.

"Yes."

His gaze shifted toward the rain outside.

"Rowan Mordecai is already down."

A quiet pause.

"Now it is Jax's turn."

...

Vespera.

Private Hospital.

The sterile white lights of the ICU floor cast a cold glow across the corridor. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, machines humming quietly behind closed doors.

Jax sat outside the ICU, his posture tense, his fingers interlocked tightly. His eyes remained fixed on the door, waiting.

Waiting for control.

Waiting for answers.

The door opened.

A doctor stepped out, removing his gloves, his expression serious but composed.

"Mr. Mordecai."

Jax stood immediately.

"Doctor."

The doctor nodded.

"He is out of immediate danger."

Jax's shoulders relaxed slightly.

"There are multiple fractures. His ribs and leg are broken. Those will heal over time."

Jax nodded once.

"But?"

The doctor hesitated for a fraction of a second.

"The paramedics were correct."

Jax's expression hardened again.

"He suffered a stroke."

Silence filled the space.

The words hit harder than expected.

Jax's fist clenched slowly.

"A stroke…"

The doctor continued.

"The neurological damage is significant. He will likely be paralyzed on one side of his body."

Jax's breathing grew heavier.

"He may also have difficulty speaking. His motor functions are compromised."

Jax turned slightly, running a hand through his hair.

"Damn it…"

His voice carried frustration, not grief.

"Could someone have done this to him?"

The doctor shook his head calmly.

"That is highly unlikely."

"We ran toxicology screenings. There is no indication of any foreign substance or induced cause."

Jax's jaw tightened.

"He was acting strange for a few days…"

He looked down.

"I ignored it."

His voice carried irritation, directed at himself more than anyone else.

"I should have had him checked earlier."

The doctor remained steady.

"There is nothing you could have done."

He spoke with certainty.

"Strokes are unpredictable. They can occur without warning."

A brief pause.

"He is alive. That is what matters."

Jax let out a long breath.

"He will need to stay here for observation."

"At least a few weeks."

"We will monitor his condition closely."

Jax nodded slowly.

"Alright."

The doctor gave a final nod and walked away.

The corridor fell silent again.

Jax stood there for a moment.

Then his expression shifted.

The frustration remained.

But something colder replaced everything else.

"Damn this old man…"

His voice dropped, devoid of emotion.

"Just do not die… before signing the remaining papers."

There was no hesitation.

No guilt.

Only calculation.

Because in the world Jax lived in…

Even blood had value more that just a relationship.