Part 4

Snowflakes gently descended from the darkened sky, as if these delicate, beautiful ice crystals wanted to soften the melancholic atmosphere that hung over the office of the younger Dokovic. Silence battled with the sound of the wind, which blew the snow against the windows of the study. Days like these troubled Patrick’s anguished heart—days when he hid away from the world in his favorite corner.

With large windows and a lower bench that allowed him to observe the majestic garden landscape of the Dokovic mansion, Patrick would delve deep into the most disturbing parts of his soul, reliving memories he never wanted to forget. Especially after that night—the night when, for the first time, he didn’t know if his deepest desire to see her again had deceived him, turning his most intense yearning into an imaginary delusion.

And thus began an internal battle between what was real and sensible, and what was utopian and fictional. Patrick replayed the scene over and over, analyzing every detail.

Her eye and hair color were entirely different, but her physique, especially her face—that sweet, beautiful face—was identical to hers. And her scent, that intoxicating floral fragrance, transported him to unimagined places, stirring every inch of his static heart back to life—it was so remarkably similar to hers...

However, he knew the reality, that lethal and bitter truth he had always carried. Patrick was aware that everything he had seen that night was just illusions caused by his broken heart. No one escapes death once it comes for them.

“Patrick!!” A loud voice snapped him out of his daze.

He turned to see Vincent standing in front of him, holding an unconscious and rain-soaked Yuna in his arms.

Seeing them, Patrick quickly—but with his characteristic elegance—stepped down from the bench. As he moved away from his favorite spot, he informed his brother that he would call Ronnie to prepare a room for them.

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Hours later, outside Sainte-Coline, in one of the most elite neighborhoods in France, stood "Le X," one of the most prestigious and clandestine pubs in the north of the country. Few people could gain access to this place. And it wasn’t surprising, since the members allowed in possessed abilities that any ordinary human could only dream of.

Ambient music filled the vast space. Singular characters carried on their conversations, sipping from elegant glass cups filled with a coppery, slightly thick nectar. Among the many polished black tables dressed with crimson cloths, on a leather sofa, Ben enjoyed the company of three beautiful women.

Suddenly, a figure began to appear before him, followed by a cloud of black smoke. As it took human form, it became clear that it was a slender woman with fine but stern features. She wore a matching jacket suit, a ribbon choker, and a veiled headpiece covering her pale face—all in black.

Her long, jet-black hair was tied in a low ponytail, and her heterochromatic eyes—one green and the other purple—made even the bravest of souls step back. She was the kind of person whose very presence commanded respect at first glance.

“You failed again,” the woman rasped to Ben.

“That bastard Vincent...!” Ben began to snap irritably at the sight of Virus.

“Spare me your cheap excuses,” Virus cut him off coldly.

“Devon is quite disappointed with you,” she continued as her purple eye glowed faintly.

“I don’t need you lecturing me,” Ben retorted in a childish tone of defiance.

“Don’t get it twisted. I’m here to warn you,” Virus corrected him without blinking, staring directly into his eyes. “Your chances are running out. If you keep failing, I’ll take your place,” she stated firmly, lifting a hand to cover her green eye, leaving only the violet one exposed.

As she uttered those last words, her left eye seemed to take on a life of its own, shifting constantly between black and purple. Finally, she began to vanish into a thick black smoke, leaving Ben gritting his teeth in frustration and seething with anger. He hurled the glass he held to the floor, shattering it.