Mark stood beside his father's hospital bed, trying to hide the worry etched on his face. He hadn't mentioned the explosion, hoping to spare his father the stress. But Gabriel's knowing gaze told him otherwise. "I heard about the fire on the news, already," Gabriel said, his voice weak but firm. Mark's jaw clenched, his anger towards the media simmering. "Apparently, they like to lick up after sad news," he bit out. No one seemed to carry his charity projects on the wings of the wind like they did whenever he ran into stumbling blocks like this. Gabriel's expression turned reassuring. "Don't worry about it, son. Everything will be sorted out in due time." Gabriel sat up with an effort, wincing in pain as he moved, and then he cleared his throat and turned to look past Mark. "Sergei, Karen, could you give us some room, please?" He said, his voice weak but authoritative. Sergei and Karen nodded in understanding. "Of course, sir," Sergei replied, his deep baritone voice ironically

Mark drove Karen to a guesthouse in the heart of town, the soft hum of the engine and the gentle rustle of the wind outside a stark contrast to the turmoil that churned within him. His father was a co-owner of the business, so it wasn't difficult checking him into a suite, complete with plush carpets and a breathtaking view of the city skyline. Gabriel had advised him to stay low and away from the mansion temporarily, at least, until their enemies got tired of attacking them. As they entered the suite, Karen's hand instinctively reached for Mark's, her touch became a comforting reminder that he wasn't alone in this fight. The tension in his body eased slightly, his grip on her hand tightening as he pulled her close. The events of the past few days replayed in his mind like a haunting melody, the memories of death and destruction still fresh and raw. Karen's gentle voice broke the silence, her words a soft caress on his battered soul. "Mark, you need to rest. You've been through so m

Bennet sat in his car, still shaken from his recent encounter with Number One. He couldn’t shake off the feeling of being mere inches from death. He thought about how close he had come to being inside the building when the bomb went off. If he had known he was carrying a bomb inside the box he would have never agreed to do the job. But then he always knew there was something inside it. And that thing nearly cost him his life. The mere thought sent chills down his spine. He cursed under his breath, his anger and frustration boiling over. He was determined to get an explanation from Number One, but every time he tried calling, the line wouldn’t connect. His text messages went unanswered, leaving him feeling helpless and enraged. As he sat in the parking lot, his mind wandered to the potential consequences of being linked to the explosion. If Mark Darius had died, it would have been a twisted victory, but Bennet knew he would be in a world of trouble. He had to get in touch with Numb

Mark walked back into the room, his eyes scanning the space as if searching for something out of place. He noticed Karen quickly putting down her phone, her movements swift and secretive. She gently set it inside her handbag, her eyes flicking up to meet him as he entered. "Sorry about the interruption earlier," Mark said, his deep voice filling the room. "I had to deal with an issue that came up impromptu." "It's fine," Karen replied, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. Mark's gaze lingered on her, sensing that something was off. "Is everything okay?" He asked, his tone gentle. Karen rose to her feet, her movements graceful. "I want to leave," she said, her voice curt. Mark's face fell, hurt evident in his eyes. "Why so soon?" He asked, his voice laced with disappointment. Karen's expression softened slightly. "I have to go check up on my uncle in the hospital, and then head back home to prepare for work tomorrow." Mark wanted to ask if she was still upset about the inciden

Mark's gaze remained fixed on Elena, his eyes piercing and unyielding. He could sense her discomfort, her unease palpable as she shifted in her seat. Her eyes darted between the lavish spread before her and Mark's unwavering stare, as if searching for an escape from the tension. The silence was oppressive, heavy with unspoken words and unresolved conflicts. Mark's presence seemed to fill the room, his dominance over the situation evident in his calm, collected demeanor. Elena, on the other hand, appeared small and vulnerable, her usual confidence and poise deserting her in the face of Mark's piercing gaze. The stillness was broken only by the soft clinking of silverware against plates, the sound echoing through the room like a ticking time bomb, waiting to unleash the pent-up emotions that hung in the air. Mark's eyes never wavered, his focus solely on Elena, as if daring her to speak, to break the silence that threatened to consume them both. Catherine led the procession of staff