Lenox stood motionless for a moment, staring at Alphonse’s lifeless body cold across the luxurious carpet. A part of him still couldn’t believe what he had done. He had crossed a line from which there was no return. Alphonse, the patriarch of the Silver Crescent Clan, was dead by his own hands. But there was no time to hesitate. Panic would only lead to mistakes, and mistakes in this world meant death. The room was silent except for the faint ticking of the clock, a sound that seemed louder with each passing second. Lenox took a deep breath and began to assess his options.The thought of fleeing flickered briefly in his mind, but he dismissed it. Running would only confirm guilt. No, the only path forward was to act quickly and decisively, to take control of the narrative before anyone else could. He had to make it appear as though Alphonse’s death had been his own doing.Lenox scanned the room, his eyes landing on a coiled length of rope near the window. He moved swiftly, dragging

Marcus words carried the gravity of leadership, invoking both respect and contemplation. The crowd listened intently, their locked onto him.As his speech drew to a close, Marcus allowed a brief silence to settle, ensuring the weight of his message lingered. Then, with a subtle nod, he signaled Alfred, “Alfred,bring Maxwell here. It’s time,” he said in a mild tone observing the people around him. Alfred moved with purpose, disappearing briefly before returning with a young man who was unknown to most of the crowd by his side. Maxwell Arnold Quentin walked with quiet confidence, his tailored suit fitting him perfectly, imposing his composed demeanor. His presence was magnetic, drawing curious and appraising looks from the crowd.Marcus extended a hand toward Maxwell as he approached. “Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Maxwell Arnold Quentin, son of the late Archer Quentin, a name many of you hold in the highest regard,” Marcus said in a mild tone, but loud enough for those close

Emma had been admitted a week ago after her harrowing ordeal, and while she was safe now, the sight of her pale, fragile figure lying in that hospital bed was a constant reminder of what could have been lost. Richard carried the weight of that reality silently, while Fiona’s emotions hung just beneath the surface.Their visit to Maxwell’s apartment had left them both shaken. Seeing the man they had dismissed months ago transformed into someone commanding and self-assured was a reckoning neither of them had anticipated. But tonight, their thoughts were fixed on Emma. Maxwell’s past with her was a conversation for another day.As they approached Emma’s room, Richard noticed a commotion ahead. A man stood by the door, his hands gesturing in frustration as two guards blocked his path. The closer they got, the clearer the picture became. It was James.Richard’s steps faltered as his jaw tightened. Fiona, walking beside him, stopped dead in her tracks. Her breath stopped briefly, and her

The room was silent as Marcus stood before the assembled council and contenders. The air was thick with tension, and every eye in the chamber was locked on him. Clearing his throat, Marcus finally spoke, his voice calm but firm, carrying the weight of authority."After much deliberation,the council has reached a decision regarding the duel for leadership of the Silver Crescent Clan," he began.Maxwell straightened his posture, bracing himself. He felt Alfred's reassuring hand on his shoulder, but his nerves were tensed.Marcus continued, "While a duel to the death would be both traditional and, I admit, quite the spectacle, the council has determined that such an act would be inappropriate at this time. The passing of Alphonse Quentin still weighs heavily upon us, and further bloodshed would tarnish the dignity of this conclave," he continued.A few murmurs rippled through the crowd, but most nodded in understanding."Thus, the duel will proceed as hand-to-hand combat. Victory will be

The air inside the clinic was heavy with the scents of antiseptic and whispers. The Silver Crescent Clan’s Conclave had drawn dignitaries from across the region, filling the halls with constant murmuring conversations. Some visitors lingered with genuine concern for Maxwell, the victim of an attempted poisoning, offering their support in hushed tones. Others, however, had ulterior motives. Their real purpose was to assess his condition and report their findings back to Lenox.Behind the tightly shut door of Maxwell's hospital room, was an aura of secrecy and caution. Alfred and Marcus, Maxwell’s most trusted confidants, had issued strict orders, no one was to enter without their explicit permission. They had even stationed their most reliable guards at the door, ensuring that Maxwell's recovery remained undisturbed and shielded from prying eyes.Meanwhile Emma’s footsteps echoed faintly as she strolled down the corridor, her psychiatrist walking quietly by her side. Therapy had bee