After Rejection, she crawled to my feet for forgiveness

Escorts from the president of Eldrida

Norman trudged up the mountain, through the knee-deep snow, his boots crunching against the frozen crystals, the chilled air sharp with each breath.

He neared the summit where his mentor's grave stood, marked only by a single stone. Up here, untouched by the world below, it felt as if time had paused, leaving only the wind and the silent snowfall.

He finally reached the grave and knelt, brushing fresh snow off the stone’s rough surface. "It’s done," he said, his voice low but steady. "I kept my promise to you. Valkoria is at peace."

The wind howled around him, but he barely felt it, his gaze fixed on the stone. He thought of his mentor’s unwavering guidance, the countless battles fought together. His master had taught him everything he knew. And his last wish was for Norman to remain good, and bring peace to Valkoria.

"I'm tired," he admitted, almost to himself. "And I think... I think I’ve done enough.”

Norman had fulfilled that promise, for two years he had done what many would find difficult to do in a time of ten years.

He had transformed Valkoria to a safe place, and he planned on doing more. But—the greediness of one woman could lead the nation to jeopardy. If they don't value his hard work, then it’s only best to let them handle things for themselves.

A snow-laden branch above him cracked under the weight, scattering flakes around the grave. Norman closed his eyes, hoping that somehow, his mentor could hear him—that maybe now, they could both find the rest they had earned.

Adam returned to the foot of the mountain where the convo and Bethany were still waiting for him. He walked directly to Bethany. “I'm done, take me to prison.” He said calmly.

A wave of emotions washed over Bethany, she didn't know how to react, she only nodded with her head lowering deep.

As they drove past the remote community, all the residents stood at the road, waving at Norman.

“Goodbye our hero”

“Thanks for coming Executioner.”

“There would never be anyone like you.

They all cheered, chanting his name. Meanwhile one of the statements struck Bethany to the heart like a dagger.

“There would never be anyone like him.” Norman's role in Valkoria was irreplaceable, and she was worried about the consequences this would bring in the future.

Meanwhile, at the Ryder Villa, Lana, Lucas, and Henry were celebrating their recent success. Henry had covered the bill at Grand Heavens with ease, solidifying Lucas’s confidence in him. Lucas was now convinced Henry was far more capable than Norman could ever be.

“I can’t believe how smooth everything went,” Lucas said, raising his glass." Our family joining forces with the Havords—it’s finally happening. Henry, you’ll do ten times better than that incompetent fool, Norman.”

“He’s probably locked up with all the criminals he put away. I’d bet they’re giving him a ‘warm welcome’ right now.”

Lana laughed wholeheartedly “By now, they’re probably lining up to take their turn,” she said with a grin. “He’s probably crippled by now, and praying for an escape.”

They laughed, sipping their drinks. It was common knowledge that Norman had a lot of enemies, not just normal criminals but powerful underground organization bosses, which he had all put behind bars. His tenure as the acting Mayor really bagged him a lot of enemies than friends. So they were sure he'd be dead meat by now.

—---

After hours of traveling, Bethany and Norman had returned to the cell.

Bethany was sparing no expense in transforming the cell into a space of unparalleled luxury. The standard cot was replaced with a king-sized canopy bed, hand-carved from rare ebony wood and draped in flowing silk curtains.

The mattress was the pinnacle of indulgence: a custom memory foam blend topped with a quilted cashmere cover, layered with satin sheets and a plush, velvet duvet. A collection of monogrammed pillows in varying firmness ensured perfect support and comfort.

Bethany commissioned an opulent Persian rug to cover the cell’s cold concrete floor. An ornate writing desk crafted from rosewood was brought in, accompanied by an ergonomic leather chair trimmed with gold accents. 

For leisure, a 75-inch OLED TV was mounted  on one wall, paired with a surround sound system hidden within gilded sconces. Beside the bed, a marble-topped side table held a custom humidifier diffusing the subtle fragrance of sandalwood and lavender, ensuring the air was as pleasant as the surroundings.

Nearby, a golden bar cart displayed a selection of aged whiskies, fine wines, and crystal glassware. 

When everything was in place, Bethany stepped back to assess her work. The cell now looked more like a private suite in a five-star hotel than a holding room. It wasn’t just a gesture of respect; it was a statement. Norman deserved the best, and Bethany would ensure he had it.