Maxwell woke to the sharp, relentless buzz of his alarm. His phone blinked on the nightstand, vibrating insistently. Groaning, he grabbed it, blinking away the haze of sleep until the words on the screen came into focus: “6:00 a.m. Gym session with Alfred."He exhaled heavily and swung his legs over the bed, every muscle in his body protesting. Yesterday’s sparring had been brutal; each punch and block now etched into his aching limbs. As he stood, a sharp pain shot from his calves to his shoulders, making him mutter, “Should’ve skipped the second round.” The thought of Alfred—always brimming with inexhaustible energy—waiting for another grueling session filled Maxwell with reluctant determination. Their sparring had become a ritual, a weekly test of endurance, but today, he wasn’t sure if his body would cooperate. Dragging himself to the bathroom, he caught his reflection in the mirror: disheveled hair, dark circles under his eyes, and a faint bruise on his jaw—a souvenir from
Emma rested her head on James’s chest, her breaths soft and steady. The physiotherapy session had drained her, leaving her weary but strangely at peace in his arms. The sterile hospital room felt less cold when she was wrapped in his warmth. The faint hum of the air conditioning filled the silence, a steady backdrop to the rhythmic beating of his heart. James brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering longer than necessary. The bruises on her body had faded, but the invisible scars remained. She didn’t talk about the pain anymore, but he could see it in the way her eyes clouded over at times, as if revisiting some dark memory. He wondered if his presence helped her, even a little. Her hand rested on his chest, fingers curling lightly, when his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He glanced at the screen, and his stomach tightened. Lenox.“Sorry,” he murmured, kissing her hair as he gently shifted her off him. “I need to take this.” Emma opened her eyes, her
Alfred tightened the laces on his sneakers, grabbed his gym bag, and took a deep breath. Morning workouts were a sacred ritual—a rare moment of peace away from the relentless pressures of the clan’s politics. He slung the bag over his shoulder, ready to leave, when the creak of his father’s door shattered the early morning stillness. Alfred frowned. His father, Marcus, rarely rose before nine. A man of strict routine, Marcus treated dawn as his personal sanctuary for rest. Alfred hesitated, then set his bag down and stepped into the hall. There stood Marcus, impeccably dressed in a gray suit and wearing the silver lapel pin that symbolized his high status within the clan. “What’s going on?” Alfred asked, his voice tinged with concern. Marcus looked at him with an expression that was both stoic and heavy with purpose. “Alphonse has called an emergency summit.” “An emergency summit? At this hour? Why?” Alfred’s suspicion flared immediately. Marcus shook his head. “He didn’t
Maxwell paced his room, restless. the events of the evening weighing heavily on his mind. After returning home, he’d taken a long shower, hoping to wash away the stress and clear his thoughts. He changed into clean clothes, but the sense of unease lingered. He glanced at his phone and, after an hour of deliberation, he dialed Alfred.The call was brief but informative. Alfred confirmed that Marcus was safe and unharmed, though the news wasn’t without its cost. “One of the guards was killed during the escape,” Alfred said .The guard’s death was the final straw. Lenox and his uncle Alphonse had crossed a line. He was enraged and wanted to act but retained his calm exterior. “Prepare the car, We’re going to Marcus’ house,” he said to Jackson who was helping himself to some coffee.Jackson nodded without question, his stoic expression a reflection of his loyalty. The drive was tense, the silence in the car was only broken by the hum of the engine. Maxwell stared out the window, his min
Emma woke to a peculiar sensation in her leg, an itch that shouldn’t have been possible. Still sleepy, she reached down to scratch her leg, more out of instinct than conscious effort. Her hand froze when she felt the unfamiliar warmth of movement in her left foot, the same one paralyzed in the accident. Two of her toes were moving.She held her breath out of excitement as she flexed her toes experimentally. First the big one, then the second one, a wave of relief and happiness flooding through her emotions. "Oh my God, "I can move them," she said to herself.The joy of this development , encouraged her to sit upright and swing her legs over the edge of the bed. Fueled by excitement, Emma tried to stand, but her legs betrayed her, she lost her balance and she hit the floor hard, pain shooting up her hip as she cried out. “Nurse! Someone, help!” she yelled.She waited, as her heart pounding. Footsteps hurried down the hallway, but it wasn’t Abigail, her usual nurse, who appeared. Ins
Richard tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles pale against the leather. The usual hum of the city streets around them felt oddly muted, drowned out by the mounting tension that had been building inside him since this morning. The hospital was just ahead, its white walls gleaming in the soft morning light. He flicked a glance at Fiona, who was rifling through her purse, her brow furrowed. “I hope Abigail is on duty,” she said, absently pulling her phone out and scrolling. “Emma always says she’s the best nurse around. I swear she knows how to make her laugh even on bad days.” She paused, her lips curving slightly into a distracted smile, but the sound of Richard’s phone ringing shattered the moment. The dashboard lit up with the caller ID: Chief of the Medical Board. Fiona barely looked up, but Richard’s gut clenched. Calls from the hospital outside of routine check-ins were rare—and never good. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he picked up the call. “Doctor? Is e
Emma’s consciousness returned like a tide dragging her from the depths. Her head throbbed with a relentless ache, and her vision blurred, making it hard to discern her surroundings. Instinctively, she tried to lift her arms, but they refused to move. A cold wave of panic washed over her as she blinked rapidly, attempting to clear her sight. This wasn’t a hospital, as she’d initially hoped. The walls were covered in graffiti, their dark, peeling paint a stark contrast to the metallic tang of rust and blood saturating the air. It wasn’t old blood. It was fresh.Her heart slammed against her ribcage as her gaze landed on him—Kenneth. He lay crumpled on the ground a few feet away, his lifeless body pale and stiff. A dark, wet stain spread across his chest, the pool of blood beneath him evidence of his violent end. His eyes, frozen wide in terror, revealed everything she needed to know: Kenneth was dead. A scream clawed its way up her throat but died before escaping. Fear gripped her
Emma lay restrained, her body kept alive by the steady drip of fluids from an IV bag. Her head to one side, and fading consciousness. Two guards stood near the rusted steel door, their stances stiff, firearms slung casually over their shoulders but ready to be used at a moment’s notice.Lenox observed her from the shadows for a moment, his sharp eyes scrutinizing every detail. She was fragile now, but that suited him perfectly. Fragility made people predictable, pliable. He adjusted the IV tube slightly, ensuring the steady stream of nutrients continued its course into her veins. Her survival wasn’t just necessary; it was critical.“Don’t let her out of your sight,” Lenox commanded, his tone clipped and unwavering. The guards nodded silently, their faces betraying no emotion.Satisfied, Lenox turned and exited the warehouse, his polished shoes clicking against the cracked concrete floor. A black car waited for him outside, its tinted windows gleaming under the fading sunlight. He sli