Chapter Ninety One As the rip spread across the painting, Mr. Woods gasped, his face paling as he realized the damage he’d just caused. For a moment, he stared at the ruined canvas in stunned silence, his mouth hanging open in shock. But just as Henry thought his father-in-law might take responsibility for what had happened, Mr. Woods turned to him, his expression quickly shifting from shock to accusation.“This is your fault!” he spat, pointing his finger at Henry. “I told you to keep quiet and stand aside. If you hadn’t distracted me with your constant interference, this wouldn’t have happened!”Henry felt a flicker of anger. He had been doing exactly as he was told, standing silently, watching as his father-in-law waved that cane around with reckless abandon. But now, instead of admitting his own mistake, Mr. Woods was casting the blame on him. Henry opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say a word, the art gallery manager rushed over, his face a mixture of concern and

Chapter Ninety Three Henry felt the weight of the manager’s gaze, a piercing suspicion that seemed to linger on his every move. He clenched his fist around the ring, aware that any sudden gesture could draw unwanted attention to it. The last thing he needed was trouble, especially with the strange power he sensed radiating from the ring. Keeping his tone low and steady, he turned to the manager. “I’ll pay for the damages,” he said, a quiet conviction in his voice. The manager raised an eyebrow, sneering. “You? Pay?” He scoffed, crossing his arms as he took a step closer, looking Henry up and down with disdain. “You expect me to believe nobody like you, a beggar who can’t even earn his father-in-law’s respect, can afford to pay $250,000? Is this some kind of joke?” Henry forced himself to remain calm, suppressing the anger that threatened to boil over. The manager’s words stung, but he kept his focus on the ring. As it seemed to pulse on his finger as though reminding him to

Chapter Ninety Five Henry barely noticed Léa’s scrutinizing gaze as she examined the restored painting. When she turned back to him, a flicker of intrigue lit her eyes, softened only slightly by the hint of a smile. "How did you know what to do?" she asked, her voice sharp but laced with genuine curiosity. “That technique—no one has used it in decades, and few have ever even heard of it. So, tell me, Mr. Knight, how did you do it?" Henry glanced down at his hands, still feeling the strange warmth from the ring. He opened his mouth, unsure how to explain something he didn’t fully understand himself. “Honestly… I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like this before. It felt like… instinct. Something just guided me.” Léa’s brows lifted, a skeptical smirk playing on her lips, but before she could question him further, her eyes sharpened as though she’d remembered something urgent. She placed her perfectly manicured hand on his shoulder, the pressure light but commanding. Her n

Chapter Ninety Seven Henry’s phone buzzed sharply on his desk, piercing through the silence of his office. Glancing down, he saw Damon’s name flash across the screen, but when he answered, he was met with only ragged breaths and desperate gasps. “Damon?” Henry’s voice rose, laced with urgency. “Are you… are you okay?” Through the phone, he heard Damon’s strained voice, barely a whisper, as though each word took all the strength he had. “Henry… please… I—” The words faltered, then the line went silent except for Damon’s harsh, shallow breaths. Henry’s heart pounded, a knot of worry tightening in his chest. Without a second thought, he abandoned the stacks of paperwork before him, his hands moving on instinct as he activated the hidden switch for the private elevator in his office. The elevator descended silently, cutting through floors to the underground exit reserved for the inner circle of the HEXAGON CONSORTIUM. Emerging into the dim light, he dialed an Uber and waited, every s

Chapter Ninety Nine The senator staggered back, gasping for breath, his eyes darting around the wrecked pharmacy. His men were groaning on the floor, beaten and bruised, and Damon’s pharmacy looked like a battleground. His eyes flickered to his phone. “I’ll call the police,” he muttered, half to himself, reaching into his pocket. But then, a thought struck him cold. The police? With his wife and four children overseas? If this turned into a public mess, he’d lose everything he’d carefully built. The scandal could destroy his career . All it would take was one headline, and he’d be finished—disgraced as the senator who couldn’t control his wife or his own thugs. He clenched his jaw, his hand frozen over his phone. “No,” he murmured, drawing himself up and straightening his tie, his mind already racing for a different solution. “I need someone better than police. I need… an expert.” The senator’s face twisted into a sneer as he thought of Henry standing there, smug and self-assu