It was 2:30 in the midnight.
Lucas was buried deep in sleep when his phone suddenly began to buzz on the nightstand. Half-awake, half-dreaming, he groaned and picked it up.
"Lucas," a middle-aged voice came through the line, calm yet urgent. "I just sent you an address. Come quickly."
Lucas rubbed his eyes, annoyed. His voice was still thick with sleep.
"Seriously? At this hour? Your job is honestly a curse, Marcus."
On the other side of the call, the man snorted.
"And what a genius? You want me to quit? Will you feed me then?"
Lucas smirked faintly. "What's the big deal? We grew up together. I can feed you if that's what it takes."
"Shut up, idiot," Marcus shot back, clearly irritated. "Just get your ass here. Help me with the investigation."
Lucas stretched, still reluctant. "At least tell me what happened."
"You'll know when you reach. Just move." Marcus cut the call.
Lucas sat up, eyes half-closed, muttering to himself as he left the bed.
Hi, my name is Lucas Vane. I'm 35 years old, a divorce lawyer by profession. But I carry a superpower… a strange gift. By scent alone, I can tell if a husband or wife is cheating. If there's a murder, I can sense the motive. I can even track down suspects. And when things go too far, I help my oldest friend—Marcus Steele, age 34, a CID officer and a man of principle.
Marcus is the brother I never had. We've known each other since childhood. While I was born into wealth and a powerful family, he was born into honesty and warmth.
My childhood? It was nothing like his.
My parents fought every single day. My mother never cared to even look at me properly. My father—an influential politician—forced me to carry the weight of his ambitions. He was rough, strict, and always cold. Their fights ended in divorce. Mother disappeared without a word, never to return.
A few months later, my father remarried a woman much younger than him. In front of him, she played the perfect stepmother. Behind his back, I was nothing to her. My father beat me for even the smallest slip, even a single mark less on my exams.
I grew up isolated, friendless, afraid of everyone because of him. My father paid my school's donation fees, so no one dared cross me, but that only made me lonelier.
Then, in fourth grade, a transfer student arrived—Marcus Steele. At first, I avoided him. He was loud, mischievous, the complete opposite of me. But Marcus had a stubborn way of breaking walls.
Every day, during recess, he'd corner me with a grin and say, "Come eat with me."
At that time, my stepmother had already stopped giving me pocket money. I often came to school hungry, stomach empty.
Marcus noticed. Without asking, he'd push half his meal into my hands. "Eat. Or I'll force you."
That's how our friendship began—through stolen bites of food and an unexpected kindness.
I slowly started visiting his home after school. His parents welcomed me as if I was their own son. His house wasn't as grand as my mansion, but there was love in its walls. Real love. Something I had never felt.
My father had always told me:
"No one in this world is truly yours. To survive, you fight. Love is a trap. Only money matters. Remember that."
To the world, my father was a saint—donating to orphans, feeding the poor, investing in charity. But behind closed doors, I knew the monster he truly was.
And now… let me tell you how I got this so-called "power."
When I was in ninth grade, I failed to score what my father demanded. That day, his punishment broke me. Beaten, humiliated, drowning in depression, I didn't return home after school. I wandered, lost.
While crossing a road, my head clouded, my heart numb, I didn't notice the car speeding toward me.
It hit.
And everything went black.
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