Chapter 4

Seven years had passed.

Time never truly erased wounds — but it taught a person how to survive.

In a quiet city in Indonesia, Tasya lived a life worlds apart from her past in Berlin. She lived with her grandfather, the only family who had ever accepted her without condition.

The house was simple. Not large. Not luxurious — but warm. And inside that house, two small lives had grown.

Twin boys. Kenzo and Kenzi. They were Tasya's greatest secret — a secret she had guarded with everything she had for the past seven years.

Kenzo had been born first by a few minutes, screaming loud enough to challenge the world. Kenzi arrived quieter, more subdued, but his eyes were wide open, as though he'd been observing everything from his very first breath.

Now, at six years old, both boys had outgrown children their age by a staggering margin.

Kenzo possessed an extraordinary gift for speech. He could construct sentences with precision, every word calculated. The way he held eye contact, the way he built arguments, even the thin smile he offered when he'd successfully persuaded someone — all of it was far too mature for a boy his age. Most adults lost when they tried to debate him.

Kenzi was different.

He was quieter, more inclined to observe than to speak. But behind that calm exterior, his mind never stopped working.

At six years old, he could already breach simple security systems using nothing but his grandfather's old laptop. Not for anything malicious — just curiosity. He studied patterns, systems, lines of code.

Tasya often found herself staring at her sons while they slept. Their faces bore too strong a resemblance to someone she'd been trying to forget — even though, on that night, she hadn't been able to see the man's face clearly.

The sharp jawline on Kenzo. The piercing focus in Kenzi's eyes when he was concentrating. Every day, the same question surfaced.

"Mommy..."

"Where's Daddy?"

Kenzo usually asked it bluntly. Kenzi only stared, but the question was unmistakable in his eyes.

Tasya never knew what to say. How could she explain that their father was a stranger whose name she didn't even know? That one dark night had been the beginning of their existence? But amid that pain, there was one thing she had never regretted.

Her children were not a mistake. They were the reason she'd survived.

One afternoon, Kenzo stood in front of Tasya with his hands on his hips.

"If Daddy's someone great," he said, dead serious, "then I definitely inherited something from him."

Kenzi, sitting on the floor without looking up from his laptop screen, added quietly, "And he's probably looking for us right now."

Tasya's heart slammed against her ribs.

She managed a thin smile, steadying herself. "Your Daddy..." Her voice was gentle. "He isn't part of our lives, sweetheart."

"If that man ever discovered the existence of two genius children with his blood running through their veins, the world she had fought so hard to build would collapse in an instant."

The next morning.

Sunlight streamed through the windows of the modest living room, illuminating Tasya's face as she stood before her sons.

"Mommy has a job interview today," she said softly, smoothing Kenzo's hair. "Wish me luck, okay?"

Kenzo nodded with absolute confidence. "If the interviewer's smart, they'll hire you for sure."

Kenzi, sitting quietly on the sofa, glanced up for just a moment. "I checked the company's profile last night. Their security systems are weak. They need you, Mommy."

Tasya let out a quiet laugh, though somewhere beneath it, an old ache still lingered. She had been the top graduate of the IT program in Berlin. Her mind was sharp, her logic ironclad, her skills far above those of her peers. But all of her credentials had been stolen by Merlin — her uncle and aunt's daughter. They had used connections and money to claim Tasya's work as their own. The name on that diploma was no longer hers.

In Indonesia, she'd had to start from zero. No original degree, no verifiable academic record. She'd scraped by with odd jobs — patching small systems, writing simple programs, freelancing as a technician for next to nothing.

Until her grandfather made a desperate decision. With the help of an old contact, he arranged a replacement diploma. But Tasya's abilities were no forgery. She could back up every grade, every project, every line of code she'd ever written. Her mind had always been extraordinary — even as a child.

Now a new opportunity had arrived.

A local tech company had posted an opening for a security systems analyst, and Tasya knew she was more than capable.

She turned toward the wooden chair in the corner of the room. Her grandfather sat there, his frame thinner than it had been in years past. His hair had gone entirely white, his breathing often came in labored wheezes, and his steps had lost their strength. But the warmth in his eyes remained.

"You'll do fine, Tasya," the seventy-year-old man said quietly.

Tasya knelt before him for a moment, clasping his wrinkled hands in hers.

"Wish me luck, Grandpa."

"As long as you're honest about what you can do, the world will open a path."

Tasya smiled, even though she knew the world had never been particularly fair to her.

In the kitchen, Mirna — the loyal housekeeper who had helped the family for years — emerged carrying a glass of warm water for the old man.

"Don't worry, Miss. I'll watch the children."

Tasya nodded, grateful.

On the other side of the city, the roar of a private jet's engines split the clear midday sky. Its wheels kissed the tarmac in a smooth landing.

A sleek black jet rolled to a stop in the restricted section of the international airport. Within moments, a row of men in black suits stood in formation at the base of the aircraft stairs. Rigid posture. Blank faces. Watchful eyes.

The cabin door opened, and a single figure appeared in the doorway.

Dark sunglasses concealed his gaze. His jaw was hard, his expression nearly nonexistent. He was tall and powerfully built, wrapped in an expensive black suit that hung perfectly from his shoulders.

Seven years had passed. But time hadn't eroded this man's power — it had sharpened it.

Alex Roman Vasillo. Sole heir to the most feared mafia family in Germany. He paused at the top of the stairs, surveying the city that stretched out before him. The country that was now the target of his business expansion. And without anyone knowing — the country that held the greatest secret of his life.

For the past seven years, that one night had never fully left his memory. A face he couldn't quite see. Eyes blurred by whatever drug had been in his system.

A faint cry. He hadn't let another woman touch him since that night. Not out of love. Not out of regret. But because of something he couldn't explain.

Alex descended the stairs one step at a time. His black leather shoes struck each step with a calm, commanding rhythm. When he reached the bottom, the men in suits bowed in unison.

Mario stepped forward immediately. "The car is ready, Sir."

Alex gave a short nod. "Is the hospital prepared?" His tone was cold.

"Yes, Sir. The senior directors are waiting for your arrival."

"We'll go to the office first."

"Understood, Sir. We can postpone the hospital meeting and start with the company briefing."

Alex nodded once more and said nothing else.

The Vasillo family's expansion into Asia had begun with the medical sector — a clean front for money that wasn't always clean. Alex walked toward the long black car that waited at the curb. The door was opened for him. Before climbing in, he removed his sunglasses for a moment and scanned his surroundings with a gaze full of vigilance.

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