She crumpled to her knees, trembling, voice cracking with desperation—but Klaus was already walking away. No hesitation. No mercy. Cassandra watched the woman silently, then tilted her head toward Klaus. “Too harsh?” “Too late,” Klaus said without turning. He paused at Damian’s side, took a breath that felt like a verdict, and met his eyes. “Now,” Klaus said, smooth and deliberate, “let’s talk about your company’s future… assuming you still want it to have one.” Damian swallowed hard, nodding. “Of course. My office is upstairs.” “Lead the way.” As they moved toward the elevators, the executives trailing behind them exchanged nervous glances. No one dared break the silence. Tasha, still kneeling on the marble floor, clutched her ID badge like it was a lifeline. No one helped her up. The receptionist desk stood abandoned, like an omen. Everyone in the lobby had seen it. Felt it. When Klaus Whitlock walked in, the rules changed. And when he left? Nothing would

Klaus appeared behind a ventilation unit on the same rooftop. Just meters away. Jack's instincts flared like a struck match. He moved fast, sliding into a sniper’s crawl, trying to reposition before the shot could be interrupted. His gloved fingers reached to steady the rifle barrel—but it was already too late. The world stretched. Time hiccupped as Klaus blurred through the air, his teleportation phasing him in and out of visible space. In a final blink, he appeared directly before the rifle’s muzzle, one hand already wrapped around the barrel like a snake claiming prey. With zero hesitation, Klaus wrenched the weapon upward, then drove a vicious foot into Jack’s masked face. Crack. The sniper's visor shattered. He flew back, skidding across the gravel-strewn rooftop with a grunt muffled by his mask. His rifle clattered beside him, useless. But Klaus didn’t wait. He advanced like a force of nature—steady, inevitable. “Hello, Jack,” he said, voice calm but laced with v

She picked up almost immediately. “Sir?” Cassandra’s voice was tight, laced with worry. “Is it over? What happened? I heard—gunshots. It sounded like a—” “Come outside,” Klaus said coolly, already sliding into the seat. “We’re going to pick someone up.” A beat of silence. “Pick someone up…? You mean the threat? The assassin?” “I told you,” Klaus said as he started the engine, “everything’s fine.” The line went dead. Minutes later, Cassandra emerged from the side entrance of the building. Her heels tapped softly against the pavement, the click echoing in the dim alley. Her expression was tight, brows drawn in worry, eyes scanning the darkness. Then she saw him—calm behind the wheel, one hand resting lazily on the steering wheel, his face unreadable… but strangely serene. She approached cautiously. “You okay?” He nodded once. “Didn’t even get scratched.” Her eyes narrowed. “Wait. So the danger’s gone?” Klaus glanced at her, the corners of his mouth curling faintl

Klaus felt the oppressive weight in the air before anything else. The atmosphere around him buzzed with a palpable, dense energy—divine, yet foreign, twisted in a way he couldn't quite place. It was ancient, dark, and it clung to the space between the physical world and something far more dangerous. He stood on the rooftop, his gaze locked onto Jack's petrified form. Jack, once his enemy, now a mere statue—frozen in agony, his heart gone, his identity erased. That divine energy thrummed in the air, too strong to ignore. Klaus’s chest tightened. Whoever had done this to Jack hadn’t just killed him—they’d stripped away everything that made him human. His heart, his soul, his very essence—consumed by something far more sinister. A sharp instinct gnawed at him, urging him to retreat, but Klaus wasn’t one to back down. He couldn’t. Not now. The danger was far from over, and the more he stood in the presence of that energy, the more it felt like a calling—something that was coming for h

"Klaus is—what, an acquaintance?” She shook her head. "He saved my life on Hayman Island, dad. Twice. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t even be here. You don’t get to call him an acquaintance. He’s the reason your daughter came home alive." Julian leaned back, visibly shaken. He remembered the incident—the silence surrounding it. He had never gotten the full story. Until now. "And Felix," Isabella continued, her voice breaking, "has done nothing but lie and manipulate. You’re backing a man who tried to destroy someone good. Someone who never once used his power to hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it." She took a breath, then delivered the final blow: "I won’t be able to live with myself—or look at you the same way—if you keep treating Felix as your protégé. Drop him, or you lose more than your reputation. You’ll lose me too." The silence that followed was deafening. And in that moment, Julian Rossi didn’t make the decision as a politician. He made it as a father. He picke