The Unpredictable Fate Of Love

The evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the cemetery. The sky burned in shades of deep orange and fading purple, painting the world in quiet melancholy. A gentle breeze stirred the fallen leaves, carrying the scent of freshly turned earth.

A small group of mourners stood around a single grave, their heads bowed as the priest whispered a solemn prayer. Their presence felt personal—family, perhaps the only ones left to say goodbye. Their expressions were a mix of sorrow and detachment, but among them, two young women stifled quiet laughter, their hushed whispers barely concealed.

Standing just behind them, a man noticed. His head was slightly lowered, his gaze hidden beneath dark lashes, but he heard them. A flicker of annoyance passed through him, his fingers curling into his coat, yet he said nothing. Instead, he exhaled slowly, suppressing the irritation that threatened to surface.

The priest's final words fell upon the gathering, signaling the end of the ceremony. The mourners turned one by one, some wiping their eyes, others merely lowering their heads in respect. They walked in solemn steps toward the parking lot, where a row of sleek black G-Wagons waited. As the engines roared to life, the vehicles slipped through the cemetery gates and disappeared into the evening mist.

Time passed.

The cemetery had emptied, leaving only silence. The sky darkened, the last traces of sunlight swallowed by the creeping night. The stillness was broken by the soft hum of an approaching engine.

A black Mercedes slowed near the entrance, its polished surface reflecting the dim glow of the streetlights. The car door opened, and a young man stepped out. Tall, around 5'9, he was dressed in a sharply tailored high-end suit, exuding a quiet confidence. In his hand, he carried a bouquet of flowers.

Samson Walters moved with steady steps, his polished shoes pressing against the damp earth. He walked past the rows of tombstones, his gaze unwavering as he reached the one he sought.

Denis Walters

1965 – 2025

A framed photograph of an older man rested against the tombstone, his gaze frozen in time. His uncle. The only man who had ever stood by him when no one else did.

Samson let out a breath, a small, dry chuckle escaping his lips. "Uncle Denis," he murmured, shaking his head slightly. "You left too soon."

He knelt, placing the flowers gently before the grave. Alongside them, he left a neatly folded note.

"Samson sends his super thanks to Uncle Denis Walters. Thanks for everything. Your memories will always be kept in my heart."

For a moment, he remained still, staring at the grave, lost in thought. His fingers hovered over the note, his jaw tightening slightly before he exhaled and finally stood.

Then, as if something shifted in him, his expression changed. A faint smirk played on his lips, yet his eyes darkened. He took a single step back, lifting his head toward the cold sky.

"Uncle, I will complete this unresolved for you as my final farewell."

He bowed his head once more. But just before turning away, his gaze flickered toward the cemetery gate, where a security camera mounted on a tall pole blinked red, tracking his every movement. The policeman, stationed by the gate, stood watching silently, his eyes trained on Samson's figure.

Samson's smirk deepened, knowing full well he was being watched. But he said nothing and turned, walking back to his car, which was parked just a few steps away.

The Mercedes pulled back onto the road, its sleek form disappearing into the city. Inside, Samson drove in silence, his fingers tapping lightly against the wheel. His gaze flickered toward the rearview mirror, watching the cemetery shrink into the distance.

Then, without hesitation, he reached for his phone.

The line rang once.

Twice.

A voice picked up immediately. "Yes, young boss."

Samson didn't waste time. His voice was calm but held a firm edge.

"Meet me at the old mansion of the Walters family. Bring the flash drive I gave you... and hire some men to carry a projector with them."

A brief pause.

The person on the other end hesitated—not out of defiance, but as if calculating something. Then, his response came with precision. "Understood, young boss."

Samson ended the call without another word. His grip on the wheel tightened slightly before he released it, his expression unreadable as he continued down the road.

The G-Wagons that had left the cemetery now arrived at a highly secured estate. The massive gates, adorned with intricate ironwork, loomed tall and imposing, their surface polished to a flawless sheen. Atop the gates, hidden cameras scanned every approaching vehicle with cold efficiency.

A pair of armed policemen, standing at attention near the entrance, watched as the convoy approached. As the vehicles neared, their expressions shifted, recognizing the cars and the figures inside. Without hesitation, they stepped forward, bowing slightly in respect before opening the gates.

Beyond the gates, the estate seemed to stretch endlessly, the darkened sky casting a haunting glow over the sprawling grounds. The tall iron street lamps lining the driveway cast a soft amber hue over the stone pathway, their warm light barely cutting through the shadows.

The air was thick with the scent of freshly mown grass and expensive perfumes, while distant sounds of running water echoed from a fountain nestled between rows of perfectly manicured hedges.

At the center of the estate stood a grand villa—almost palatial in size, with towering pillars and gleaming white marble columns that reached toward the sky. The architecture combined classic elegance with modern luxury, with floor-to-ceiling windows that reflected the soft glow of the surrounding lights.

Cameras dotted every corner of the estate, their lenses hidden but ever-watchful. Security guards, dressed in sharp uniforms, kept their gaze steady, their hands subtly brushing against concealed weapons as they maintained their vigilant watch.

The convoy of G-Wagons rolled into the courtyard, the tires crunching against the gravel as the vehicles came to a smooth stop. The garage door opened, and the cars slid inside, their engines falling silent in the high-tech garage.

Inside those walls, secrets remained buried.

For now.