Counterattack

Chapter 7

The rain drummed against the towering Xander Estate, its golden lights casting a hollow glow over the sprawling mansion. Inside, the atmosphere was tense, thick with the bitter taste of defeat and fury.

Victor Xander sat in his private study, his injured leg propped up on a leather ottoman. His hands gripped the edge of his chair, knuckles white with barely restrained rage. The pain from the gunshot wound in his knee was nothing compared to the humiliation burning inside him.

Across from him, Lena Torres stood with arms crossed, her sharp eyes assessing the situation with the cold calculation she was known for. Her dark hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail, and her fitted black suit made her look like a shadow against the dim lighting.

Victor's phone buzzed, dragging his attention away from his thoughts. He glanced at the screen. Another anonymous message.

[One step ahead. Always.]

Victor's teeth clenched as he slammed the phone onto his desk. "That little bastard…"

Lena raised an eyebrow. "I take it Damien's already making his next move?"

Victor exhaled slowly, his rage barely contained. "He's toying with me. This is a message—he wants me to know he's watching, waiting for me to strike so he can tear me apart."

Lena remained unfazed. "Then let's not give him the satisfaction of waiting."

Lucas Vance, still bandaged from the warehouse disaster, cleared his throat. "We've already started pulling together resources. Our best men, our most loyal connections. But Damien isn't just some rogue fighter—we need more than muscle."

Victor narrowed his eyes. "What do you suggest?"

Lucas hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Damien doesn't just have combat skills—he has connections. He's been in the shadows for years, building something bigger than we anticipated."

Lena nodded. "Then we cut off his lifelines. We isolate him. No money, no allies, no safe havens." She stepped closer to the desk, leaning forward slightly. "I know Damien. I trained with him once, remember? He's a tactician, not just a warrior. If we want to beat him, we don't fight him head-on. We starve him out."

Victor's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Then let's begin."

---

Orion - Damien's Safehouse

The rain poured down in thick sheets, beating against the windows of a safehouse tucked away in the heart of Orion's abandoned industrial district. The dim glow of streetlights barely penetrated the darkness, making the entire area feel like a ghost town.

Inside, Damien Xander sat at a steel table, his fingers drumming lightly against its surface. Around him, the air smelled of metal, gunpowder, and rain-soaked leather.

Across from him, Reed Donovan leaned back in his chair, scanning a tablet. "Intel confirms what we suspected. Victor's already moving pieces. Calls to offshore accounts, bribes to key officials, and most importantly? They're tracking our allies."

Damien's jaw tightened. "They're trying to cut me off."

Reed nodded. "Standard corporate warfare play. They know brute force isn't enough, so they're going after your resources instead." He set the tablet down and gave Damien a sharp look. "They're scared of you, boss. That's why they're playing it smart."

Damien let out a slow breath, his fingers curling into a fist. "Good. Let them think they're gaining ground."

Reed smirked. "You're planning something, aren't you?"

Damien leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with calculated intent. "Victor thinks money and power are his greatest weapons. But I know his weakness."

Reed's grin widened. "His ego."

Damien nodded. "And I'm going to make sure it destroys him."

---

Xander Conglomerate - Financial Division

Three Hours Later.

The Xander Conglomerate's financial headquarters was a fortress in its own right—steel-reinforced doors, biometric security measures, and private guards stationed at every entrance. The underground vaults held billions in assets, stocks, and hidden funds that kept the empire running.

Tonight, that fortress was about to be breached.

A single figure moved through the shadows, weaving effortlessly past security cameras, bypassing infrared lasers with inhuman precision. Dressed in a sleek black combat suit, the operative's movements were silent, precise, surgical.

A ghost in the night.

The first guard didn't even get a chance to scream before a blade slit across his throat. Blood spattered the ground as his body slumped silently into the darkness.

The second and third guards barely had time to react before two quick suppressed gunshots ended their lives.

The figure pressed forward, reaching the heart of the facility—the main server room.

With swift, practiced movements, the intruder plugged in a small device, tapping into the mainframe. Within seconds, the software did its job. Redirecting transactions, freezing offshore accounts, rerouting funds into classified ghost accounts.

A full-scale financial blackout.

And then, just as silently as they had arrived, the operative vanished into the night.

---

Xander Estate - The Aftermath

Victor Xander was mid-drink when his phone began ringing violently. He frowned, setting his glass down, and answered.

A frantic voice exploded from the other end.

"Sir, we have a major problem!"

Victor's blood ran cold. "What is it?"

"The financial division was just compromised! We don't know how, but—all offshore accounts have been frozen! Stocks are fluctuating, and some of our biggest assets have been locked!"

Victor's vision blurred with rage. "What do you mean locked?"

The voice on the other end was practically trembling now. "I mean, sir, that we can't access our money. At all."

Victor's grip on the phone tightened.

Damien.

That bastard had moved faster than expected.

Lena, standing nearby, noticed the shift in Victor's expression. "What's wrong?"

Victor ended the call and turned to her, his eyes filled with fury. "Damien just attacked the one thing I thought untouchable."

Lena's brow furrowed. "You mean—?"

Victor slammed his fist onto his desk. "Our damn financial backbone! He's cutting us off at the knees!"

Silence filled the room for a brief moment before Lena let out a slow breath.

"He's not just attacking you, Victor," she said, her voice eerily calm. "He's dismantling you. Piece by piece."

Victor's rage threatened to explode, but he forced himself to breathe.

Fine.

If Damien wanted war, then war is what he'd get.

"Contact every mercenary, every underground asset we have left," Victor ordered, his voice deadly calm. "I don't care what it costs—I want him found, and I want him dead."

Lena watched him for a moment before nodding. "Understood."

As she turned to leave, Victor picked up his phone once more, dialing a private number—one he hadn't used in years.

When the line connected, a voice answered. "This better be worth my time, Victor."

Victor's voice was a deadly whisper.

"I need The Widowmaker."

The line went silent for a moment before the voice chuckled darkly. "Now you're speaking my language."

Victor's lips curled into a cruel smile.

Damien had made the first move.

But now, it was Victor's turn.