Chapter 45: A Dance with Shadows

The tension in the Black Lotus lingered like a thick cloud. Jackim had felt it the moment he opened the envelope. Damian Rothschild. A name that carried weight, power, and an unsettling sense of inevitability. He had barely processed what it meant before he noticed the man in the black suit—watching, waiting.

Now, as Jackim stood from his seat, the air around him felt different. Every step he took, every glance thrown his way, felt like another piece of an invisible game being set in motion.

He weaved through the club, keeping his pace natural, his expression unreadable. The man in the suit had disappeared into the back hallway, a place Jackim was sure wasn't open to just anyone. He could ignore it, pretend he hadn't seen anything—but that wasn't who he was.

Jackim followed.

The hallway was dimly lit, the music from the club fading into a dull hum. Jackim moved cautiously, his senses heightened. His time surviving on the streets had taught him one thing—never walk into the unknown without a plan.

Ahead, a door creaked open slightly. He pressed himself against the wall, listening.

"...His movements are being tracked. It's only a matter of time before Damian makes his move."

Jackim's heart pounded.

"He won't see it coming," another voice responded. "Let the boss decide how to handle him. We just follow orders."

Jackim's grip tightened into a fist. He had expected something like this, but hearing it confirmed sent a wave of cold realization through him. Damian Rothschild wasn't just watching him—he was planning something.

But what?

A shadow moved behind the door. The conversation was ending. Jackim took a step back, slipping into a dark alcove just as two men stepped out. Both were dressed in dark suits, their expressions unreadable as they walked past.

They didn't see him.

Once they were gone, Jackim exhaled slowly. He could walk away now, pretend he never heard anything.

Or he could do what he always did—walk straight into the fire.

A Dangerous Discovery

Jackim pushed the door open quietly and stepped inside. The room was dim, lined with shelves of old books and expensive whiskey bottles. But what caught his attention was the desk in the center.

On it, a single file lay open.

Jackim's name was printed on the top page.

He moved forward, flipping through the documents.

—Images of him at the banquet.

—Surveillance shots from the hotel.

—Bank records, including the lottery winnings.

—A report on his mysterious inheritance.

His entire life was laid out on paper.

His pulse quickened as he reached the last page.

A single line stood out.

"Subject is to be handled before he realizes his true worth."

Jackim's stomach turned.

This wasn't just surveillance. This was a hit order.

Before he could react, a cold voice cut through the silence.

"I was hoping you'd find that."

Jackim turned sharply.

The man in the suit stood in the doorway, watching him with an amused smirk.

"You've made things interesting, Jackim Jackson," the man continued, stepping forward. "But you've also stepped into a world where curiosity gets people killed."

Jackim clenched his fists, his mind racing.

He had two options—fight or run.

And he had never been the type to run.

...A single line stood out.

"Subject is to be handled before the end of the quarter. Possible asset or threat—pending Damian's decision."

Jackim stared at the sentence, each word hitting harder than the last. Asset or threat. They weren't sure what to make of him. He was being watched, analyzed, and possibly... prepared. But for what? His mind raced through the possibilities. Was Damian Rothschild the true benefactor behind the sudden inheritance? Or was it a cover-up, a test to see how he would react under pressure?

A faint sound outside the door broke his focus.

Footsteps. Approaching fast.

Jackim gathered the documents, flipping through them as quickly as possible. Names. Faces. There—an image of the same man he had seen in the club earlier, labeled Isaac Vane, marked as "Handler." Another name, highlighted beneath: Elara Myles—Status: "Former Fiancée. Keep under passive watch."

He didn't have time to process it all. He snapped a quick photo of the final page using the old burner phone he carried—one of the few habits from his street days he hadn't let go of. Then, he silently replaced the file and backed out of the room.

But just as he turned to exit—

"Looking for something, Mr. Jackson?"

The voice was calm. Cold. Right behind him.

Jackim didn't freeze. He spun around smoothly to face the man—Isaac Vane. The same handler from the photos. He stood with his hands behind his back, perfectly composed. There was something clinical in his eyes, like a surgeon about to perform a delicate operation.

"I was just... lost," Jackim replied coolly, slipping the phone into his back pocket.

Isaac tilted his head slightly. "You've always been good at playing the lost boy, haven't you?"

Jackim didn't answer.

Isaac stepped closer. "You have no idea what you're part of, Jackim. But you should know this—nothing that's happening to you is accidental. Everything has a purpose. Including you."

The words struck like thunder.

Isaac leaned in. "You think you're just a poor boy who got lucky? A street kid with a strong will and a handful of charm? Wake up. You're a pawn in a game that's been moving for decades. A game that's almost at its end."

Jackim's jaw tightened. "I'm nobody's pawn."

Isaac smirked, then suddenly turned and walked away, leaving Jackim standing in the center of the shadowed room, heart pounding like a war drum.

--

Later that night, Jackim sat in his tiny apartment, the burner phone's screen glowing dimly. He flipped through the photos he had taken. Each image burned into his mind: his own face, surrounded by lines of text, charts, arrows, connections to people he'd never even met.

Someone was constructing his life like a project. Watching him like he was a lab rat.

A knock at the door startled him. He froze.

Another knock, firmer.

He reached under his bed where he kept a steel rod—one of the few weapons he trusted. Then, cautiously, he approached the door and opened it a crack.

It was Yuna.

She looked shaken, her eyes wide, her clothes damp from the drizzle outside. "Jackim," she whispered. "I need your help... They're following me."

---

Inside, Yuna explained everything. She'd been approached by a man in a gray car. He asked her strange questions about Jackim—what she knew about his past, his habits, even his DNA.

"I didn't say anything," she said, trembling. "But I think they're watching me now."

Jackim paced the room, his mind spinning. They weren't just watching him anymore. They were tightening the circle. Testing loyalty. Probing weaknesses.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have come here."

"No," Jackim said firmly. "You did the right thing. You're part of this now, whether you like it or not."

She looked at him, scared but determined. "Then what do we do?"

He looked out the window into the rain-soaked city. Lights shimmered in the puddles like a thousand watching eyes.

"We find out who Damian really is," Jackim said. "We expose everything. And then… we burn it all down."

---