Nero’s operatives worked swiftly, tracing the threads of Martin Grayson’s activities.Meanwhile, Oliver prepared himself for the inevitable confrontation. He spent the evening pacing his office, his mind filled with a storm of emotions—rage, fear for his parents, and a determination to end Grayson’s game.Elena sat nearby, watching him with worried eyes.“Oliver, you’ve barely eaten all day,” she said softly, holding a plate of food she had brought him. “You need to stay strong.”“I can’t eat, Elena,” Oliver replied, his tone sharp but not unkind. “Not until I know they’re safe.”She sighed and set the plate on his desk.“You won’t be able to fight Grayson if you’re weak.”Oliver stopped pacing and looked at her, his expression softening.“You’re right,” he admitted, pulling out the chair and sitting down. “But this isn’t just about strength. It’s personal. That man dared to touch my family.”Elena placed her hand on his.“I know. But you can’t let your anger cloud your judgment. You’

The villa was eerily quiet that night.The kind of silence that hinted at something brewing beneath the surface.Oliver sat in his study, the amber glow of the desk lamp illuminating the papers spread before him. Financial reports, security updates, and a dossier on David’s known associates stared back at him, but his mind wasn’t on them.A soft knock on the door broke his concentration. He glanced up to see Elena standing in the doorway, a steaming mug in her hand.“You’ve been in here for hours,” she said gently, walking over and placing the mug beside him. “It’s late, Oliver. Come to bed.”“I can’t,” he replied, rubbing his temples. “Not yet. There are too many loose ends.”Elena pulled up a chair beside him, her concerned eyes scanning his face.“David’s gone. What more needs to be done?”“It’s not just David,” Oliver admitted, leaning back in his chair. “The network he built—the alliances he formed—they’re still out there. And Grayson wasn’t working alone either. There’s someone

The cold air of the French countryside brushed against the estate’s high walls, but the atmosphere inside was far colder. Lucian, once the puppet master pulling strings in the shadows, now sat at the long table like a dethroned king. His slick composure was cracking, his hands gripping the table’s edge as Oliver loomed over him.Nero stood by the entrance, his imposing frame and calculated gaze ensuring no one dared move. Elena, though she had been advised to stay behind, had slipped into the scene, watching the confrontation unfold from a shadowed corner. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Oliver, who embodied an unstoppable force of justice.Oliver’s voice was cold as steel. “You’ve built your empire on fear and manipulation, Lucian. But tonight, you face someone who doesn’t fear you.”Lucian smirked weakly, trying to recover some semblance of control. “Do you think taking me down will end this game? There will always be another Lucian, another man ready to seize power.”Oliver le

The afternoon sun filtered through the large windows of a modest café on the corner of a busy street.Oliver Roberts sat quietly in a corner booth, his posture relaxed, though his sharp eyes scanned the room with calculated precision.To the average observer, he appeared inconspicuous—just another man in an off-the-rack suit, sipping his coffee.Across from him sat a man named Garrett Fletcher, a newly minted business magnate whose reputation for arrogance preceded him.Garrett leaned back in his chair, a smirk plastered across his face as he sized up Oliver."So, this is the infamous Oliver Roberts," Garrett began, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The man who thinks he can teach me a lesson. You should've stayed in the shadows where you belong."Oliver smiled faintly, lifting his coffee cup with calm deliberation."I’m not here to teach you anything, Garrett. I’m here to make sure you understand who you’re dealing with."Garrett laughed, a loud, obnoxious sound that turned a few hea

Oliver walked into the grand hall of Grayson Enterprises, his presence unassuming but purposeful.The receptionists barely spared him a glance, mistaking him for an employee rather than a visitor of importance. He was dressed in a simple button-down shirt and dark slacks, his appearance far from the sharp, commanding look of a typical corporate figure.The subtle whispers of disdain didn’t escape his sharp hearing as he waited near the front desk.“Who’s that?”One receptionist muttered to another, eyeing Oliver’s worn leather shoes.“Probably here to deliver something. Doesn’t look like he belongs in a place like this.”Oliver merely smiled to himself, the slight curve of his lips betraying neither irritation nor amusement. He thrived on these assumptions; underestimation was the greatest weapon he wielded.“Excuse me,” he said to the receptionist. “I’m here to see Mr. Grayson. Tell him Oliver Roberts is waiting.”The woman’s expression tightened in confusion.“Mr. Grayson doesn’t ta