Chapter Two.
David Kock sat alone in his penthouse office—the crown of a twenty-story skyscraper that pierced the heart of New York City.
From here, he could see it all. The rhythm of life. The tempo of power. The city that never sleeps, bowing at the feet of titans like him. Most days, he would walk to the glass wall and study the mood of the skyline, a ritual as sacred as morning coffee.
But not today.
Today, he walked straight to his desk.
No wine. No pause. No flourish.
Just silence.
The oakwood desk gleamed, polished to mirror the shifting colors of the room—an impressive display of status, now buried beneath the weight of his thoughts.
Steven.
His only son. His entire legacy. Lying in an hospital bed, tethered to machines, dancing on the line between life and death.
He didn't hear the door open.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Kock," came the soft but certain voice of his secretary, Mrs. Fischer. "I tried reaching you earlier, but you didn't respond. Are you all right, sir? You came in late today."
He turned slowly toward her. His face was blank, but his eyes—those battle-hardened eyes—betrayed the storm within.
"I'll be okay," he said.
"Anything requiring my attention before I leave?" he asked gently.
She nodded once, then hesitated. "Just one thing sir".
" The Managing Director of Kock Bank is here. Mr. Anderson from Congress is also waiting. And the liaison chief for the Venezuela oil project is downstairs."
"Cancel the first two," he said. "I'll only see our Venezuela friend."
"Understood, sir."
He barely noticed her departure. His mind had already begun processing the conversation he was about to have.
The Venezuela project was his latest and boldest move—a multi billion-dollar refinery initiative that required presidential-level clearance. Their local agent had warned him: without strategic intervention at the top, the project could stall indefinitely.
David knew what needed to be done.
And he knew who could make it happen.
His old friend. A man of significant influence. A man who had recently reminded him of their long-standing agreement to intertwine their legacies.
Cherry, his friend's daughter, had shown interest in Steven. And though Steven had not exactly reciprocated, David remembered the veiled warning: "I've done my part. Now it's your turn."
Should he tell him Steven was fighting for his life?
He shook his head in disagreement.
Not yet.
Hope was fragile. And timing, everything.
Instead, he dialed.
"Let's arrange a private get-together for both families," he said casually when the call connected. "A small house party. Friends. Food. Familiar faces."
His friend laughed on the other end, already intrigued.
"Also," David added carefully, "I'd appreciate you speaking with the President of Venezuela. It's time we move things forward."
He hung up with a smile—but it didn't last long.
His phone rang. Again.
Dr. Adams.
His heart stopped for a beat.
"Doctor," he answered quickly. His voice was cold—not from rudeness, but fear. "Is something wrong?"
"Something… unexpected," the doctor replied, excitement cracking through his usual composure. "Mr. Kock, something unusual just happened. I don't even know how to explain it."
David gripped the phone tighter. "Tell me."
"An African American woman," Adams began. "Tall. Stunning. Like a model out of a runway show. She walked into the ward unannounced."
David sat forward. A knot forming in his stomach.
"She touched Steven," the doctor continued. "That's all. Just touched him. And… he woke up."
"What did you say?"
"He woke up, sir. Blinked. Looked right at her. Spoke. He said—'Thank you for coming.' Then she vanished. No ID. No name. Just… gone."
Silence.
"We need you at the hospital. We're continuing to monitor him, but…"
The line went dead.
David stared at the screen.
A black angel…
He didn't need to guess.
He already knew.
There was only one person that could have done this. Only one woman who held that kind of power over the impossible.
Rebecca Freeman.
It had to be her.
This… had happened before.
And if history was repeating itself, then hope wasn't the only thing he had to worry about.
David rose slowly from his chair.
If the world thought it was witnessing a miracle—they were only seeing the surface.
Because if Rebecca was back… then everything he had built was now at risk.
David Kock stood up abruptly, his hand already reaching for his suit jacket. He had to get to the hospital—now. But just as his fingers grazed the fabric, he froze.
A wave of dizziness swept over him, not from fatigue, but from the pull of memory.
He reached for the armchair beside him, steadying himself as the past dragged him backward like a riptide.
It had begun fourteen years ago.
Steven had only about six when the first signs appeared—strange fatigue, listlessness, unexplained pains. Yet the doctors could find nothing. No virus. No injury. No disease.
Only deterioration.
Every test came back normal. Every scan, clean. And yet, Steven was withering. The hospital could no longer justify keeping him; their machines said he was healthy, even as he slipped away before their eyes.
So they sent him home—with a plan for round-the-clock monitoring.
That was when things changed.
They'd brought in new domestic staff to manage the added medical load. Among them: a quiet African-American woman named Mrs. Freeman, accompanied by her a little above four-year-old daughter.
Rebecca.
David remembered the day she arrived. She'd seemed ordinary—polite, calm, reserved.
But the girl…
The girl was not ordinary.
He hadn't even been able to meet her gaze. Her eyes—fiery, alive, otherworldly—burned through him. There was something ancient in that child. Something vast. Something frightening. Maybe I should add, something intimidating.
He had planned to speak with his wife about letting them go, but then… the impossible happened.
Steven had been outside for the first time in months, guided gently into the estate's sprawling children's play area. I had stood at the window, watching. Hoping. Praying.
Then I saw her.
Rebecca.
She appeared like a whisper of wind, crossing the vast lawn as if she belonged here before now.
Before the nurse beside Steven could stop her, she reached out and touched his hand.
And just like that—life returned to his son.
It was like watching a flat tire burst back to form. Steven stood up. Smiled. Not a weak smile. A radiant one. A boy reborn.
But that was only the beginning.
From that moment on, Steven and Rebecca were tied in a way David couldn't understand—and couldn't accept.
If Rebecca was joyful, Steven thrived.
If she was upset, Steven would spiral into sadness and sickness.
They were bound—not by affection or teenage infatuation—but by something deeper.
Something dangerous. By David estimation.
By the time Steven turned eighteen, and Rebecca sixteen plus, they moved through the world like soulmates joined in flesh and spirit. They were inseparable—acting like a married couple, finishing each other's sentences, laughing at things no one else could see.
That was when David's eyes opened to the truth, reality.
This was no love story. David strongly believes.
This was a bond that could break him.
His empire. His legacy. His control.
Angela had begged him to leave them alone.To trust love. To allow whatever strange force tied them to run its course.
But David had lived too long in the world of politics, power, and hidden costs.
He knew better.
And so, he acted.
Not violently—though the thought crossed his mind.
He considered calling in the kind of people whose favors came at a high price. But in the end, he struck a deal.
He offered Rebecca a generous scholarship overseas. Offered her mother, Mrs. Freeman, financial freedom and permanent relocation. The terms were clear: leave quietly. No goodbyes. No contact.
In return, David parted with an amount able to make a saint since repeatedly. Steven was told she and her mum had moved on. Left him to his world.
And for a year, the illusion held.
Steven survived—barely.
But now… she was back.
David blinked rapidly, realizing his hand still gripped the back of the chair.
He had drifted too far. Too long.
And the past had returned to collect its debt.
Without another moment wasted, he grabbed his jacket and moved with purpose. Out to the door. Into the elevator. Down the hall of marble and glass.
His car was already waiting outside.
"Take me to the hospital," he ordered, his voice steady, but his heart a thunderstorm.
As the car peeled into the New York night, one thought echoed in his mind:
Rebecca Freeman has returned… then everything I've built is in danger.