Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!-Chapter 192: Abyssal Shadow in the Light

Unaware of the trainwreck Ava had turned into—yeah, that sounded about right—Parker was already leading Tessa back upstairs, their fingers intertwined. Unlike him, though, Tessa was a woman. And women just knew shit.

She didn’t say anything, didn’t even glance back toward the door Ava had walked out of, but Parker knew she had read the situation. Probably better than Ava had. But Tessa wasn’t about to play therapist. Not her problem. Ava will handle herself and she knew what she had to do of she wanted to be in any sort of relationship with Parker—her teenager billionaire boss.

****

After a while, they came back downstairs.

Parker pulled her in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against her lips. She tasted like spearmint and something richer, something warmer—something that made him want to stay just a little longer. But he pulled back, letting his forehead rest against hers for a second before stepping away.

Tessa smiled, her golden eyes glinting with amusement. "Try not to cause any stirs."

"No promises."

She laughed softly as he grabbed his keys. Ere was sprawled on the couch like a queen, flicking her tail with that smug, all-knowing look that made Parker think she was five steps ahead of everyone in the room. Which, honestly? Probably true.

He hesitated.

Something wasn’t right. He could feel it.

That nagging sensation at the back of his mind, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. Like déjà vu for something that hadn’t even happened yet. It was the kind of feeling that made his skin prickle, made his instincts tighten up like they were ready for a fight.

It was the kind of shit that got people killed. But there was also a lingering sensation as if he’d be recovering something he’d lost. Two distinctive—completely different feelings; one of dread and another of something warm and sweet.

So, for once, he played it safe.

"You stay here," he told Ere. "Watch the house. But most importantly Tessa!"

Ere didn’t argue. Just let out a lazy hum and stretched her paws like yeah, {I already planned on it, dumbass.} Which meant she also knew something was off. But she too didn’t know if this dreadful feeling was directed to something happening to Parker or to the house when he’s away.

"Great. Love that."

Parker rolled his shoulders and stepped into the garage. The second he slid into the driver’s seat, the Lamborghini rumbled to life, the deep growl of the engine vibrating through his bones. He peeled out of the driveway, tires screeching against the pavement, and merged onto the main road.

He was going to figure out what the fuck was going on. Not just with Naomi as his earlier goal but what these feelings meant.

The Lamborghini slid out of the driveway like a shadow breaking free from the house, the black paint swallowing the midday sun. It wasn’t just black—it was the kind of black that turned everything into a reflection.

The glassy sheen caught glimpses of the world around it—trees, rooftops, passing birds—warping them against its curves before they disappeared, like they’d never existed in the first place. It didn’t belong here, not in this quiet neighborhood, not parked on suburban pavement.

It looked like something that should only exist at night. Like a phantom made of metal and speed.

The second Parker hit the road, the growl of the engine bled into the hum of the city. Traffic was picking up, waves of cars flooding the streets, their glossy exteriors flashing under the sun. Pedestrians moved like background noise, a blur of faces and bodies crossing intersections, standing at bus stops, walking dogs.

It was one of those too-bright days where everything looked too sharp—too crisp—like the world had turned its resolution up to an uncomfortable level.

And yet, somehow, his mind kept pulling away from it.

He had already been looking into the cyber kids’ client while he was upstairs. Ran through every possible lead, every database, even the shady back channels no one should’ve had access to.

Nothing.

Not like someone had hidden the information. Not like some computer genius had put up firewalls or encrypted their shit.

No. It was worse than that.

It was like the client didn’t even exist.

Like they were never there in the first place.

Like Parker had been chasing a shadow in the light, only for it to slip into the abyss the second he got too close—

A shadow?

Parker’s foot slammed on the brake.

A shadow?

Something clicked.

A shadow in the light? The thought gnawed at the back of his skull, an itch buried so deep he couldn’t scratch it. His fingers flexed on the wheel.

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It made no sense.

That meant it wasn’t just hiding.

It was erasing itself? That’s dumbass to think but not with the way supernatural mysteries had found their way into his life. Everything was possible and amongst those possibilities a singular one was onto Naomi.

Parker’s jaw tightened. His pulse picked up.

His brain latched onto a thought—something big, something important. His pulse spiked, his thoughts racing too fast to grab onto—

HOOOOONNNNKKKK!

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Loud as hell.

Someone laid on their horn behind him, and Parker barely registered it before another driver joined in.

HOOOOOOONK!

"Fucking hell," he muttered.

A car swerved around him, the driver flipping him off as they passed. Someone else rolled their window down to yell, "MOVE YOUR ASS, DICKHEAD!"

Parker blinked.

He was in the middle of the fucking road.

Traffic was piling up behind him. A whole line of cars, some drivers throwing up their hands in that classic bro, what the fuck are you doing?! motion. Others just held their horns down like they were personally offended.

A part of him wanted to snap, to yell back, to remind these assholes that he could literally buy the road they were driving on—but the smarter part of him knew it wasn’t worth it.

Besides, whatever his brain had just put together—whatever that click had been—

It was gone.

Drowned out by honks and chaos and the general, loud-as-fuck energy of pissed-off drivers. Parker sucked his teeth and ran a hand down his face, irritation curling in his chest. Then he forced a lazy, uncaring grin, shifted back into gear, and slammed his foot on the gas, ignoring the assholes still honking behind him.

But his fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter.

And his foot pressed a little harder on the gas.

Because whatever was happening—whoever was behind all of this—

Naomi was still at Silverbrook.

And so was they.