James lingered at Emma’s side until the moon began its descent. She clung to his arm, her voice soft and pleading. “Aren’t you staying the night with me?” Though he hesitated, her glassy eyes made him falter. With a forced smile, he sat back down, intending to leave once she drifted off. Her breathing eventually grew shallow and steady, but James found himself rooted in place. The night outside pressed against the window like a silent spectator, and with every tick of the clock, James felt his resolve weaken. Guilt gnawed at him, an emotion he couldn’t quite define, tangled between duty and something darker. Elsewhere, outside the hospital. Fiona Hawthorn stepped into the cold embrace of the night, her heels clicking faintly against the pavement. She lit a cigarette with shaking hands, taking a long drag that filled her lungs with smoke and a fleeting sense of calm. “You know smoking is prohibited here, right?” The voice startled her, deep and smooth like velvet over
Maxwell leaned against the hospital bed, the weight of Marcus’s words pressing down on him like a vice. His pulse raced, his mind spinning as decades of lies unraveled before him. “Your father,” Marcus began, his tone steady, “was the second-in-command of the Silver Crescent Clan, a family revered for its strength and influence. But his stepbrother, Alphonse, resented him. Alphonse was failing as clan leader—his reign marred by poor decisions and rebellion among the ranks. When certain members conspired to overthrow him, Alphonse pinned the blame on your father, Archer.” Maxwell’s fists clenched as he leaned forward. “So they turned the brothers against each other?” Marcus nodded solemnly. “The accusations created a rift that couldn’t be mended. Alphonse, blinded by paranoia and rage, believed the lies. He feared your father’s influence and sought to eliminate him... and his family.” The room seemed to close in around Maxwell as Marcus continued. “Alphonse hired assassins t
Maxwell stepped out of the room, his footsteps echoing faintly as he walked beside Marcus toward the hospital's main entrance. “You sure you’ll be okay on your own?” Marcus asked, his voice low but firm.“I’ll be fine. Just need some time to think,” Maxwell replied with a faint smile.Marcus nodded but didn’t leave it to chance. As he walked toward his car, he gave a subtle signal to one of the guards stationed nearby. The man nodded, understanding his silent instruction to keep a watchful eye on Maxwell while maintaining a discreet distance.Maxwell turned back into the hospital, his steps unhurried as he let his thoughts wander. The events of the past few weeks had transformed him into someone else. He was a man with purpose now, carrying the confidence of someone who had climbed out of the abyss, stronger and more determined than ever.As he rounded a corner, a faint hum drew his attention. By the vending machine stood a familiar figure. Her frame was smaller than he remembered—it
Maxwell leaned back in the leather seat of the sleek black SUV, staring out at the blur of the city. Despite being discharged from the hospital with a clean bill of health, his body betrayed him—each movement a sharp reminder of his recent collapse. The faint hum of the engine filled the silence, occasionally interrupted by static crackling from Jackson’s earpiece. Jackson, seated in the driver’s seat, kept his focus on the road. His stoic expression gave away little, but Maxwell sensed the man was preoccupied, likely replaying the intense conversation they’d had hours earlier. There was more to Jackson than his quiet demeanor—his presence was a constant reminder of the dangers Maxwell now faced. When the car rolled to a stop in front of the towering glass building that housed Maxwell’s penthouse, Jackson quickly stepped out to open the door for him. “Thanks,” Maxwell muttered, hesitating briefly before stepping onto the pavement. As they rode the elevator to his floor, Jackso
James stepped into the hospital lobby, just moments after Maxwell had left. He caught a glimpse of him sliding into the back seat of a sleek black SUV, a man in a tailored suit opening the door for him. It was clear the man wasn’t just a driver—he exuded authority, the kind that turned heads. Tempted to approach, James took a step toward the vehicle, his curiosity burning, but as his eyes landed on the imposing figure of Jackson standing nearby, he stopped. Something about the man’s sharp gaze and controlled demeanor sent a warning signal through James’s gut. Without a word, he turned back toward the hospital. Inside, when the receptionist informed him that Emma had been moved to an executive wing reserved for VIPs, his curiosity only deepened. Though he masked his reaction, the unexpected shift left him unsettled. A nurse arrived to guide James through the exclusive wing. She was polite but distant, her demeanor professional. James couldn’t help but notice the contrast between
The room carried the weight of memories, the scent of aged wood mingling with stale tobacco. Lenox stood near the doorway, his posture rigid, hands clasped behind his back. The faint creak of the floorboards beneath his boots was the only sound, punctuating the tense silence as he stared at the frail figure of Alphonse, his adoptive father, slumped in a king-size armchair. Once a towering presence, Alphonse had been a man whose word could bend others to his will, a force of nature who commanded loyalty and fear in equal measure. But now, age had whittled him down, his frame thin and brittle. Still, the sharpness in his voice remained, an echo of the man he once was. “How dare you show your face here?” Alphonse's voice sliced through the air. “After all I’ve done for you? After the life I gave you, you walk in here like this—a weakling?” Lenox’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. His expression was stoic, carved from stone, his gaze steady and unyielding. Silence was his shiel
James leaned back in his leather chair, the tension in his shoulders betraying his outward calm. A crisp stack of documents sat on his desk, its bolded figures blurring under his sharp gaze. The offer from the board was too good to be true—a staggering buyout that promised wealth for all involved. But the fine print was unmistakable: agreeing meant relinquishing control of the company he had painstakingly built. This wasn’t just business; it was betrayal disguised as opportunity. The board, long resentful of James’s dominant hold, clearly saw this as their chance to strip him of power. He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. Losing was not an option.Moments later, James stepped into the conference room. The tension in the air was palpable, the polished marble floor reflecting his determined stride. The board sat stiffly, their expressions carefully blank, but one figure at the head of the table sent a jolt through James. Lenox. James’s stomach turned. Lenox’s reputation precede
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