The late afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows of the Rhodes mini house, casting long shadows across the polished wooden floors. This particular house, one of many the Rhodes family had built across the city and country, was Rhys’ refuge. Though modest compared to the grand estate that was their primary residence, this place held a special significance. He had always been fond of it, remembering how his parents would bring him here when he was a boy. Back then, it was a retreat from the pressures of the outside world—a sanctuary. But today, the house felt different. It felt suffocating, as though the walls themselves were closing in on him. Rhys paced up and down the living room, the heavy silence of the house broken only by the sound of his footsteps. His mind was spinning, replaying the events of that fateful day over and over again. The image of Jason standing there, his face a mask of calm as he exposed Denera’s treachery, was seared into Rhys’ mind. Jason hadn’t rais
The room was dimly lit, a small lamp casting long shadows across the aged furniture and weathered walls of the Anderson safe house. The old man sat on the edge of his bed, his back hunched with the weight of years and the burden of an elusive victory. The Anderson family had been moving him from one safe house to another, constantly evading the enemy. This particular house was the fourth in the last month, and despite the precautions, he could feel the threat of danger tightening its grip.Sleep had become a distant memory. No matter how hard he tried, his mind would not let him rest. The mission, the stakes, the people he had trusted—it all swirled in his head like a relentless storm. He had thought he had sealed the deal with Kenji, the supposed key to their success. Kenji had all but assured him that he would deliver. But now, Kenji had vanished. Gone without a trace.The old man clenched his fists, his knuckles white against the dark fabric of his sleeves. “No. He wasn’t the re
The underground lair of the mafia boss was a hidden fortress, built in the most secluded corners of the city. It was a place where only the most trusted knew of its existence, deep beneath the surface, concealed by layers of deception. The entrance, a nondescript warehouse door above ground, led to a staircase that wound down into the dark, labyrinthine bowels of the criminal empire. Once inside, the air became heavy, thick with the scent of leather, gunpowder, and the unmistakable stench of raw power.The lair itself was a sprawling maze of rooms and corridors, each more dangerous than the last. Every corner of the building told a story of wealth and violence—bundles of money stacked carelessly on tables, some half-burnt as if discarded after a rushed deal.Weapons of every kind mounted on the walls like trophies of war. Pistols, assault rifles, machetes, even rocket launchers—all gleaming under the dim, flickering lights. It was an armory for an army of outlaws.The deeper one ven
The Tree Mansion was an imposing structure, towering over the lush green hills, its grandeur overshadowed only by the dark secrets it housed. Since the failure of the yacht mission, the mansion had become a hive of frenetic activity. The once-quiet halls were filled with the sounds of hurried footsteps, clinking weapons, and hushed conversations. Servants rushed back and forth, carrying out orders with a sense of urgency that was not far fetched. The tension in the air was thick, hanging over everyone like an invisible storm cloud, ready to burst at any moment.Everywhere you looked, people were busy. Some were checking equipment, sharpening blades, or discussing strategy in low voices. Others were pouring over maps and blueprints, adjusting plans to ensure that the next mission wouldn’t end in disaster like the last one. There was no room for error anymore. The Tree Mansion’s heir had made that clear.Amongst this chaos, the lady who had once handed Alex the card—the card that hel
The dim light flickered in Alex's makeshift room, casting long shadows against the worn walls. The room wasn’t much—just a small space with a tattered mattress on the floor, a cracked mirror, and an old wooden chair pushed up against a creaky table cluttered with supplies. It was a far cry from the lavish accommodations of the elite, but it served its purpose. This was where he had been recovering, nursing wounds that hadn’t fully healed yet.Alex winced as he applied more antiseptic to the bruised area just below his ribs, feeling the sting bite into him. He wasn’t as bad as last time—no broken ribs, no dislocated joints—but the gashes and bruises told the story of his most recent fight. A fight he had barely survived. His body was tough, but even he had his limits. As he bandaged the wound, tightening the cloth around his torso, his thoughts drifted to the one person he couldn’t stop thinking about: Laurel.The thought of Laurel never left his mind. She was a constant presence in
Jason sat at his expansive desk in his sleek, modern office. The room was a pristine reflection of his personality—minimalist, cold, and precise. Every surface gleamed, and not a single item was out of place. Tall glass windows provided a view of the city skyline, but the view didn’t matter much to him today. His focus was entirely on the glowing screen in front of him. Jason was still searching for Laurel, trying to follow through on the deal he made with Alex. A deal that could be the key to bringing down his greatest rival—Ethan.The office was silent except for the faint hum of the computer and the occasional clicking of Jason’s keyboard. His mind raced as he sifted through data, pulling at threads, digging deeper into the city’s underground network. If there was even the slightest clue about Laurel’s whereabouts, he was determined to find it. He had to. Not just to fulfill his promise to Alex, but because Alex had something valuable—something that Jason needed to complete his
Ethan Anderson sat in his sleek, spacious office on the top floor of Majestic Skies’ headquarters, the sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across the polished hardwood floor. The atmosphere was unusually calm, a stark contrast to the chaos that had erupted after the yacht incident. The event had left ripples across the city’s elite, and Ethan needed to take control of the narrative before things spiraled further. He had called a brief meeting with two of his most trusted allies—Paul, his loyal right-hand man, and Rachel, his brilliant but often overworked secretary.He leaned back in his leather chair, glancing at his watch. Right on time, Rachel walked in, followed closely by Paul. Rachel, as always, was sharply dressed, her suit crisp and her hair pulled back into a neat bun. She exuded competence and confidence. Paul, on the other hand, looked slightly more reserved than usual. His typical calm demeanor seemed somewhat rattled, though h
Gerald paced back and forth in the dimly lit, hidden chambers of his sprawling mansion. His footsteps echoed in the confined space, his usually confident demeanor replaced with the rare sign of uncertainty. The walls, lined with ancient artifacts and old maps of the Geralt empire, felt as though they were closing in on him. Despite his outward appearance of control, the recent actions of those around him had left him more confused and unsettled than he’d like to admit.He stopped in front of a large, ornate mirror that dominated one wall, staring at his reflection. His sharp, angular face, usually a mask of calm and precision, now showed faint traces of frustration. "I need to think," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. "I can't let this spiral out of control."His thoughts drifted to Denera. She was a necessary piece on his chessboard—a vital player in his grand scheme to take over the monument project from Ethan and position himself as the House