Security guards lay strewn across the staircase like charred husks. Scorch marks covered the walls, faint arcs of electricity crackled along the banisters, and the air was thick with the acrid stench of burnt ozone.
Helena Bertinelli could barely feel the pain anymore. She stared blankly as Jack Kadere descended the stairs like it was just another stroll through the park. Her mind spun.
Dodging bullets was already beyond comprehension… but that electric storm? That was something else entirely. It wasn't just superhuman. It was terrifying.
Gunfire echoed from downstairs—shouts, screams—and then silence. A silence that meant only one thing: every last guard in the house was likely dead. These were men who had done her father's dirty work for years, men with blood on their hands. In truth, they deserved to face justice.
Still, regret surged through her.
Not regret for setting Jack up. That part was necessary, painful as it was. If sacrificing him meant getting justice for her mother and tearing down the Bertinelli empire, then so be it. No… her regret was realizing—too late—that Jack Kadere was far more dangerous than she ever imagined. And now, her carefully crafted plan was unraveling right in front of her.
He wouldn't let her go. Even if he did, he'd never keep her secret.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Jack's footsteps echoed from the stairwell. Calm. Leisurely. He reached down, grabbed Helena by the hair, and dragged her limp form through the ruined hallway like a discarded doll. She didn't resist. There was no point.
By the time they reached the fountain at the front of the estate, Jack finally let go. Helena collapsed in a heap on the pavement.
Jack squatted beside her, cocking his head. "So, do you regret it?"
Regret? Her mind flashed to her mother—beaten day after day by the man who claimed to love her. She remembered the families destroyed by her father's greed and cruelty. Her breathing steadied. Her eyes focused.
"I only regret not making him pay," she said through gritted teeth. "I know I betrayed you. I'm sorry. So… do it."
She shut her eyes, ready for death.
But it didn't come.
After a few long moments, she opened her eyes in confusion. "You… why aren't you doing it?"
Jack chuckled. "I'm not going to kill you."
Helena blinked. "You're… not?"
"You thought I'd forgive you?" Jack raised an eyebrow, then casually sat on her stomach, watching her grimace in pain. "No. I just don't need to kill you. See, death would be a release. A mercy. And frankly, I don't think you deserve one."
She looked up at him, dreading where this was going.
"You put your mission above everything," Jack continued, his voice soft, calm. "Even above the one person who could've helped you succeed. You assumed sleeping with me twice would win me over. You expected I'd care so much I'd protect your secret. That's the thing, Helena. Expectations are the root of suffering. I don't hold it against you—I'd probably do the same in your shoes. But that doesn't mean I'm letting you off the hook."
He leaned in slightly, his expression unreadable. "No… I won't kill you. And I won't expose you. I want you to live. I want you to wake up every day hoping your father gets what he deserves—and knowing he won't. I want you to live in that torment."
A shiver ran down Helena's spine. His smile wasn't evil—it was worse. It was free. Untethered. She realized then that Jack Kadere wasn't a monster. Monsters had rules. Jack had none.
Suddenly, the iron gate creaked open.
A black luxury car rolled into the courtyard—and slammed to a halt.
Frank Bertinelli had arrived.
From inside the car, he surveyed the scene: guards scorched, others unconscious or dead, and his daughter lying on the ground under a stranger. His face twisted with fury, but he held it together. Years of running Starling City's underworld had taught him how to stay composed under pressure.
The car door opened.
Flanking him on either side, two bodyguards and the driver all raised their weapons, alert and ready.
"Do you know who I am?" Frank asked after a moment's pause, sizing up the young man standing atop his disgraced daughter.
"Frank Bertinelli. Crime boss. One of the major players in Star City," said Jack Kadere (still mistakenly referred to as Su Sheng), his tone casual, like he was reading off a business card.
Jack was impressed—he'd half expected Frank to fly into a rage and start shooting or flee at the first sign of trouble. But the man had presence. A calm, boss-like demeanor, even in the face of a massacre.
"Do I have a grudge against you?" Frank asked, voice cool but edged with suspicion.
Jack shook his head.
"Then... did someone pay you to do this? Are you a hitman?" Frank continued.
Again, Jack shook his head.
Frank's brow twitched. "Then you must be insane."
He gave a slight tilt of his head. His men stepped forward, guns at the ready. Jack made no move to resist as they approached—arms raised, cooperative. But the moment their hands clamped down on his shoulders—
Crack!
Electricity burst from Jack's body. The guards and driver dropped instantly, convulsing as the charge knocked them unconscious.
Frank recoiled, startled, his hand instinctively reaching for a weapon.
"I want your daughter," Jack said casually, as if placing an order.
Frank froze. "What... what did you say?"
"Exactly what it sounded like." Jack's voice was calm, even amused. "I want her."
Frank hesitated. His mind raced behind narrowed eyes. "And what are you offering in return?"
Jack smiled faintly. "As long as I'm interested in her, I'll guarantee you stay alive."
There was silence—then Frank grinned.
"Deal."
He didn't care if it was a trap or a vague promise. A man who could fry a dozen bodyguards without flinching wasn't someone he wanted as an enemy. If keeping Helena under his roof could buy him protection, it was a bargain. Besides, she had been defiant lately. Letting someone else deal with her was no great loss.
He stepped forward, extending his hand.
Bang!
A single gunshot echoed from the treeline.
The bullet struck Frank Bertinelli dead-center in the chest. He collapsed instantly.
Jack's smile vanished. He glanced at the direction of the shot, face darkening.
"This... is literally a slap in my face."