The door to Kiara's private chambers creaked open as she stepped out, her face as calm as ever. Dressed in a sleek, black tactical uniform that matched her dark, sharp gaze, she moved with an air of silent authority. Her long braid hung down her back, swaying slightly with each step as she glided through the corridor. Kiara was not a woman who needed to raise her voice to command attention—her mere presence did the job. As she entered the grand hall, the men stationed there straightened instantly, standing in neat lines and offering her a sharp salute. They knew what Kiara expected, and she wasn’t one for pleasantries. Her reputation was one of ruthless efficiency and decisive action, and she had earned her position as second in command to the Tree Heir with both cunning and strength.“Let’s get right into the reports,” she said, her voice steady but carrying an edge that promised she would tolerate no delays or mistakes.The men nodded and immediately began to speak, each team eag

The rhythmic thud of fists against the heavy bag echoed through Gerald’s private training room. Sweat dripped from his brow as he delivered a swift combination of punches, each one faster and more forceful than the last. His body moved with precision—each jab, hook, and uppercut calculated, much like the thoughts swirling in his mind. The air in the room felt thick with the tension he carried, his every movement sharp, aggressive, yet graceful. His breaths were even, his muscles toned from hours of sparring. But this was more than physical exercise for Gerald. It was a way to focus, to channel the internal storm that raged beneath his calm exterior.As he pivoted to deliver a powerful kick to the bag, Gerald’s thoughts drifted to Denera. They had both been working toward the same goal: to bring Ethan down and take the monument project that was once out of their reach. Together, they had orchestrated intricate plots, carefully weaving lies and manipulating events to erode Ethan’s c

The night was calm as Rhys strolled through the compound of the mini-house, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and the distant hum of city life, but Rhys was hardly in the mood to appreciate any of it. His mind was weighed down by thoughts of Denera. Lately, their once-solid bond had been fractured, and the secrecy surrounding her had only deepened the rift. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was more going on than she was letting him see. The weight of uncertainty pressed on his chest, making his breath feel shallow.He walked aimlessly, his footsteps barely making a sound on the gravel path as he mulled over every conversation, every distant glance, and every sleepless night they’d shared recently. Then, the sound of a door creaking open behind him made him stop in his tracks.Rhys turned around to see a man walking out of the house. The man was tall, well over six feet, and moved with the kind of eff

In the dimly lit room of the hidden facility, a subtle tension filled the air. Screens lined the walls, flickering with footage from every corner of the compound. Men in black uniforms sat silently, their eyes glued to the surveillance monitors, the rhythmic sound of clicking keys occasionally breaking the stillness. The door creaked open, and all heads turned as Kiara entered, her presence commanding attention without a word. Behind her, a tall, stern-faced man followed, nodding to the guards."Bring up the feed of Laurel's room," the man ordered sharply, his voice echoing slightly in the cold, sterile room.The operatives quickly tapped on the keyboards, and one of the central screens lit up with the live feed of a small, dimly lit room. Laurel lay on the bed, curled up on her side, motionless but alert. Her hair was disheveled, and her body spoke of exhaustion, though her eyes were wide open, staring at the walls, clearly far from sleep."How's she been?" Kiara asked, stepping c

The room was dimly lit, casting shadows that danced with every movement Jackson made. Sweat dripped from his brow as he jabbed at the air, the sound of his fists cutting through the silence. His breathing was steady, each punch more forceful than the last. He moved with precision, years of training evident in the way his body moved—a symphony of discipline and focus. The walls were bare except for a single mirror that reflected his intense expression, a man driven by secrets and ambition.Next, Jackson moved to the knife rack on the wall. He grabbed three blades, testing their weight in his hands. With a quick, practiced flick, he hurled them one by one at the target across the room. Each knife buried itself deep into the bullseye, the thud of steel hitting wood echoing through the space. He smiled grimly, satisfaction flickering briefly in his eyes before it was replaced by the familiar gnaw of doubt and anger.The memory crept in uninvited. Ethan. The crime. Ten years ago.He pa