CHAPTER 116: THE BASE!!

Flashlights snapped on, thin beams slicing through the dust and shadows. The men whipped their lights across the half-built room, steel scaffolding and hanging tarps throwing warped shapes on the walls.

"Who’s there?" the bald man barked, his voice sharper than he intended.

No answer. Only the creak of metal above, the soft whistle of the wind through broken windows.

Then—

Thud.

The men spun toward the sound. One of their own lay sprawled on the concrete floor, his flashlight rolling away, the beam flickering across his limp hand.

"Get up," another hissed, panic leaking into his tone. But the man didn’t move.

From the far side of the room, a voice drifted out of the dark—calm, deliberate."One mistake... one by one."

The bald man gritted his teeth. "Show yourself!"

Another sound—crash! A scaffold rattled, and another thug was gone, dragged into the shadows with a strangled grunt. His flashlight clattered to the ground, spinning wildly before going dark.

"Boss! He’s—he’s picking us off!" one of the remaining men stammered, swinging his light in frantic arcs.

Thump. A third man dropped, face-first into the dust. No blood. Just silence.

The air thickened with dread. The stench of gasoline was overpowered by fear, sharp and suffocating.

"Stick together! Don’t—" the bald man tried to command, but his words cut short as another of his crew was pulled off his feet, his flashlight beam vanishing into the black above. A hollow clang echoed as his body landed out of sight.

The survivors’ breaths came ragged, loud against the hush of the half-built restaurant.

Bang. Another fell.

And another.

Until only one figure remained standing, the bald man, his flashlight trembling in his fist. He spun wildly, shadows dancing, sweat glistening on his scalp despite the night air.

All around him—silence.

Every man was gone.

The bald man’s voice cracked as he shouted into the void, "Wh-who are you?! Come out!"

From the darkness, the same calm voice answered—closer now, a whisper in his ear:

"Your mistake... was thinking you could burn this place while I was watching."

From the shadows, a figure emerged. Boots steady, posture straight, the dim light catching the sharp cut of his jaw and the cold fire in his eyes.

Miles.

The bald man staggered back, breath catching in his throat. His trembling hand barely kept hold of the flashlight."Y–you..." his voice cracked, "...you’re the one... from the gas station..."

Miles’s gaze was unflinching. His words rolled low and steady, almost like a threat carried on the night air."Tell me... have you seen the Ghost?"

The bald man’s knees weakened. Around him, his crew lay scattered, unconscious and broken without a drop of blood spilled. He knew—there was no fighting this man. He remembered the gas station that afternoon, how even then he would’ve left with shattered bones if luck hadn’t spared him.

Miles took a step closer, the gravel crunching beneath his boots."See, bald man... I don’t like my property getting messed up. So before I make this place bloody, I want a name."

The bald man squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them with tears glistening in the corner. His voice shook as he begged,"I’m sorry. I made a huge mistake. Please... spare me."

Miles tilted his head, expression icy."Did I ask you to apologize?"

The words cut deeper than a blade. The bald man stammered instantly, desperate."His name is—Angelo. He’s a local... gang leader. Runs an underground fight club. He told us to make this place haunted, burn it down, so he could buy it cheap later. He—he even gave us money up front to do it!"

Miles’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a bitter half-smile."Angelo... That’s a peaceful name."

The bald man swallowed hard, his body trembling."I told you everything I know. Please... just let me go."

Miles shrugged slightly, stepping back."Did I tie you here? You can run if you want."

For a second, hope flickered in the bald man’s eyes. He dropped his flashlight, turned, and bolted toward the exit. Boots pounded against the concrete. Freedom was just a breath away—

Until a dark figure blocked his path.

Miles was already there, standing tall in front of him, as if the shadows themselves had carried him forward.

The bald man froze, face drained of all color.

Miles’s voice dropped, calm yet merciless."Did you really think I’d let you walk away unscathed? After all... you disrupted my renovation."

Before the bald man could speak, Miles’s fist slammed into his jaw. The man’s body crumpled instantly, collapsing into silence on the floor.

For a moment, the unfinished restaurant echoed only with the soft whistle of the sea breeze. Then—sirens.

Red and blue lights washed over the walls as Star Harbor PD rolled in. Officers stormed the site, finding the unconscious men lined like discarded pawns. They didn’t question. They didn’t doubt.

Because they knew who stood before them.

Miles Sterling.Honorary General.

And in Star Harbor, his word was the highest order.

The night passed quietly.

At dawn, pale light spilled across Pearl Villa, painting the walls in gold.

Miles descended the stairs, his steps steady, his expression softened by the fragrance wafting from the kitchen—warm bread, fried spices, and the familiar comfort of home. Without hesitation, he walked straight in.

"Good morning, Mom," he greeted, his tone gentler than usual. "How are you feeling now?"

Elena turned, her smile radiant in the glow of the stove. "Good morning, son. I’m feeling the best. What about you? Did you sleep well? You were out last night..."

Miles’s lips curved faintly, his reply composed."I just went for some fresh air. I slept fine. Anyway—what’s the occasion? Today’s special breakfast, or something more?"

Elena chuckled softly. "I thought you knew... Dion and Flora are coming for breakfast."

Miles nodded as the memory clicked. "Ah, right. Dion mentioned it yesterday. Do you need any help?"

Before Elena could answer, a voice came from behind."I will help her."

Daniel entered, rolling his sleeves.

Miles gave him a small, respectful smile. "Good morning, Father."

"Good morning, son," Daniel replied warmly. "You follow your routine—I’ll help her. Consider it practice for when we open the restaurant."

Elena shook her head with a laugh. "You two..."

Miles allowed himself a rare smile. "Then I’ll be going."

He stepped out into the crisp morning air.

At Maple Forest, the newly set-up open gym gleamed under the rising sun. Bars, ropes, weights—all in order. Miles moved through the space, testing his rhythm, letting the quiet discipline of training wash over him.

When he returned to the villa, voices and laughter met him at the door.

Flora and Dion were already there, their arms full of neatly wrapped gifts, passing them to Hope and Asher. The house was alive with warmth.

"You two are here," Miles greeted, stepping inside.

"Big bro!" Asher darted over, holding a box with shining eyes. "Brother Dion and Sister Flora brought us presents!"

Hope, still half-asleep, clutched hers against her chest, murmuring, "Thhhank youuu..."

Flora’s eyes softened, lit with amusement at the twins’ innocence.

Miles smirked faintly. "You two talk with them. I’ll be back after a shower."

"Alright," Dion said with a nod, his arm draped casually around Flora.

The morning in Pearl Villa brimmed with joy. Over breakfast, laughter and chatter filled the table as Dion and Flora revealed their wedding date.

Elena’s eyes welled, Daniel’s face lit with pride, and even Miles, though silent, inclined his head with quiet approval.

They asked for the family’s blessing—and received it with open hearts.

After Flora and Dion departed, laughter still lingering in the villa, Miles took the wheel and drove toward the outskirts of Star Harbor.

The city gradually thinned into open roads and quiet stretches of land, until a vast compound appeared ahead—his newly built security company’s base.

The steel gates slid open with precision as his car approached. Guards in sharp black uniforms stood tall on either side, their movements disciplined. They bowed as Miles entered, their respect silent yet absolute.

Beyond the gate, the compound unfolded like a fortress of order.

To the left stretched wide training grounds—rows of men and women already in motion, their forms sharp and powerful. Some sparred hand-to-hand, fists colliding in controlled strikes; others ran obstacle courses, bodies leaping walls and vaulting over barriers with clean precision. Their breaths and shouts carried the raw energy of discipline, a rhythm of strength that echoed across the grounds.

On the right lay a sprawling car park, sleek black vehicles lined in perfect formation, polished to a gleam. Each one looked ready to deploy at a moment’s notice, their engines silent, their presence imposing.

Miles eased his car into its place, the vehicle blending seamlessly among the fleet. He stepped out, his black coat catching the morning breeze, eyes scanning the base with the calm confidence of a man who owned every stone and every soul within these walls.

Ahead stood the core of the facility: a two-story operations building of steel and glass, sharp-edged and commanding.

Inside, the first floor opened into the armory—walls lined with rifles, sidearms, tactical gear, and crates of ammunition, every piece catalogued with flawless precision. A separate section held rows of reinforced lockers, each bearing the insignia of Sterling Enterprises.

Through a soundproofed doorway lay the indoor shooting range. Even now, muffled cracks of gunfire rang out, disciplined shooters lining up their sights, brass casings clinking onto the floor. The air smelled faintly of gunpowder, a testament to constant training.

Above, the second floor housed the operations command center. Large screens displayed city maps, digital feeds, and live surveillance from various points. A long table occupied the center, already surrounded by analysts and coordinators in dark attire, their eyes glued to data streams. Orders were given and logged, every movement efficient, no wasted breath.

This wasn’t just a company.

It was the nerve center of a private army—legal, polished, but undeniably formidable.

And at the heart of it all was Miles Sterling.

Owner of Sterling Enterprises.

As he entered, every pair of eyes straightened, every posture sharpened. Not a word of rank or title was spoken—he didn’t need it.

Everyone here knew exactly who their boss was.