"Ah, finally, a cottage in sight," Sultan muttered, his exhaustion evident in his weary tone. He trudged along, his legs dragging behind the Magician's brisk pace. "I thought you'd never stop," he added, his voice laced with relief and a hint of sarcasm. The Magician didn't seem to notice, or perhaps didn't care, that Sultan was ready to collapse from fatigue. He led the way to the cottage, his strides long and purposeful, leaving Sultan to struggle to keep up.As soon as they entered the cottage, Sultan collapsed onto the ground, his chest heaving with exhaustion. "Get on the rock," the Magician instructed, his voice firm but detached. Sultan's gaze wandered lazily around the room, searching for the aforementioned rock. "Huh? What rock?" he asked, his voice laced with confusion and fatigue. His eyes landed on a large, moss-covered boulder in the corner of the room. "Oh, that rock... But I'm tired... Can't I just rest for a bit? Please, give me a break!" he pleaded, his body scre
Sultan hastened to the study, his long strides almost turning into a run as he hurried to reach the door. He paused, taking a deep breath to calm his racing heart, and gazed down at his dirty boots. As he looked down, he saw his dirty boots and took them off, leaving only his white socks. He pushed open the door and walked in, his eyes full of weariness yet anticipation.As Sultan entered the study, his eyes were drawn to a figure standing by the window, gazing out into the garden. The soft light streaming in highlighted the person's profile, and Sultan's heart skipped a beat as the figure turned to face him. His new secretary, Joe Armstrong, stood before him.Before him stood Joe, a tall and lean figure with chiseled features and an air of calm composure. Their eyes met, and for a moment, they engaged in a silent appraisal of each other. Then, Joe spoke, his voice firm and professional. "Mr. Emmett Watson, it's an honor to finally meet you in person." His words were laced with a
When Sultan hit his pad, he slammed the door shut behind him. He hauled himself up onto his king-sized bed, sat cross-legged, and spread the three files out in front of him. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out the tarot card and slapped it down in the middle of the files. "Let's get down to business," he said, addressing the card. Sultan had always been a little quirky, often talkiy with his stuff, like his socks, shirts, pants, and even his door. It was his way of sorting his thoughts and chilling out.Sultan started reciting a familiar childhood rhyme, his voice almost hypnotic. He tweaked the words to fit his situation, his eyes scanning the files in front of him. "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, find a clue and let it grow. If it's true, it'll start to show." His hand moved rhythmically, pointing to each file in turn, until finally landing on the one about the gunshot. It was like he was conjuring up an answer and which file to open first… oh wait, actually it was the case.He pi
Sultan's whisper was barely audible, his voice lost in the storm of thoughts ravaging his mind. “No way, Joe... What are you doing there?”He felt like he'd been punched in the gut, his breath knocked out of him. His eyes darted back to the tarot card, seeking a anchor in the chaos. “This can't be a coincidence,” he muttered, his mind racing with the implications. “No, it must be... Joe can't be involved in this, can he?” The question hung in the air, taunting him with its uncertainty. Sultan's eyes locked onto the card, willing it to yield some hidden truth, some reassurance that his trusted secretary wasn't a traitor. But the card remained silent, its secrets locked behind an enigmatic smile.Sultan's heart raced like a jackrabbit, his pulse pounding in his temples. The revelation had set his nerves on fire, and he felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He knew he had to act swiftly before it was too late. He didn't want to harm the Watsons or himself!And if it
The day of Tiana's wedding had arrived, and Sultan was determined to make a statement. Yeah, he had something to say even if not with words.The sun was shining brightly, casting a warm glow over the Watson estate. Sultan stood in his bedroom, waiting for Lugard to return with the perfect suit. His mind was still preoccupied with the revelations about Joe Armstrong, but he knew he had to set those thoughts aside for the time being.Lugard finally entered the room, carrying a meticulously tailored suit. "Here you go, young master. This should do the trick," he said, handing the suit to Sultan.Sultan took the suit and examined it. The fabric was of the highest quality, a deep midnight blue with subtle, elegant patterns. The suit was designed to fit him perfectly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and trim waist. "This… is perfect, Lugard. Thank you," he said, genuinely appreciative.Lugard nodded, pleased with Sultan's reaction. "I'm glad you like it. You will definitely make an impre
Ashley widened her set of white impeccable teeth at the new guy who just arrived, crossing a hand around his shoulder as he sat. "It's okay, I'm just glad you're here," she said warmly, her voice softening in a way that Sultan hadn't heard before.Sultan shifted in his seat, trying to mask his discomfort and making sure not to be dumped, he asked. "Who's your friend, my dear date?" he asked, forcing a casual tone, adding that last part intentionally.Ashley turned to Sultan, her smile unwavering. "Oh, yeah, Sultan, this is Henshaw. Henshaw, this is Sultan, my date for the evening."Henshaw strained forward and extended a hand towards Sultan on the left, his grip firm. "Nice to meet you, Sultan. Ash didn't say anything about you or a date.. haha..."It felt awkward.Sultan shook the guy's hand, managing a polite smile. "Nice to meet you too, Henddy. She didn't say anything about you either."“Er… it's Henshaw, not Henddy, haha,” Henshaw felt really awkward but only laughed it out lik
The room fell into a stunned silence, all eyes of those who knew sultan as Tiana's ex or just his first name turning to Sultan. His heart raced as he processed the groom's words. The missing rings, the public accusation—everything was spiraling out of control.Like seriously? Sultan Armstrong steal?!Ashley’s grip on Sultan’s hand tightened under the table, her eyes wide with disbelief. "This can't be happening," she whispered, her voice trembling.She definitely didn't believe he stole the ring. Well, she didn't know sultan personally to believe be didn't steal the ring, but she knew for sure that Tiana and George was up to no good!Sultan stood up slowly, trying to maintain his composure. "I don't know what you're talking about," he raised, his voice steady despite the rising panic inside him. "I didn't take any rings."He acknowledged he was sultan, the one and only.George’s eyes narrowed. "Then how do you explain your presence here without an invitation?" he demanded, his tone a
In the midst of the commotion, just when Sultan had given up hope of revealing he was a Watson (fearing they wouldn't believe him without his card), another disturbance erupted from the front. A man, flanked by men in black attire and sunglasses, entered the hall, commanding silence and prompting the security personnel to halt their restraint of Sultan. "The Son of the President has arrived!" one of the black-clad guards announced from the front.The president's son was dressed in white amidst the black-suited men. Everyone was surprised to see him. Tiana's mother was incredulous, thinking, ‘The president's son came to my daughter's wedding. Could it be that one of the men she dated was him?’Whispers filled the room, and cameras started clicking. This was the country's president's son, after all!Mr. Sanderson, being the father of the day, went forward to welcome the young man. Sultan, on his own part, was dusting off his shirt when he heard someone call, "Emmett." He looked up.
The room was dark, the only sound was the faint hum of the air conditioner, and Sultan could still feel his pulse racing from the nightmare. He muttered under his breath, "Damn it…"Sultan shifted in bed, the sheets rustling as he pushed himself up to sit at the edge. His hand ran through his hair, now damp with sweat. He could still feel the weight of the dream, the shadows of the four figures lingering in his mind. Their accusations, the way they chased him, it all felt too real. It was as if they were trying to pull him back into something he desperately wanted to escape from."Forgotten... forsaken… what the hell does it even mean?" He muttered, rubbing his face with his palms. The clock on the nightstand showed 6:15 AM. He hadn’t planned on waking up this early, but after that dream, there was no chance of going back to sleep. He got up, his feet making soft thuds on the carpet as he moved to the window. Pulling the curtains apart, he was met with the dull light of dawn. The
Darkness clung to Sultan like a thick fog as he found himself standing in the middle of an unfamiliar place. He couldn’t tell if it was night or day—the sky was a dull, ashen gray, and the air was still, oppressive, as if the world itself were holding its breath. Around him, shadows loomed, shifting and twisting, never settling into anything recognizable.Sultan’s breath quickened, his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn’t sure how he had ended up here or why, but something about this place gnawed at the edges of his mind, a whisper of fear that he couldn’t quite shake. The ground beneath his feet was cold, hard, and unyielding, and every step he took seemed to echo into the void.He started walking, not sure where he was going, but driven by an urgent need to move. His footsteps were the only sound, the silence around him thick and stifling. As he moved forward, the shadows seemed to part slightly, revealing a narrow path ahead. It wound through what appeared to be an endless exp
The road to a certain destination was long and winding, flanked by dense forests that seemed to close in around the narrow path. The man walked with a deliberate pace, his steps heavy with the weight of memories that he couldn’t shake. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, and the only sound was the steady crunch of leaves underfoot.As the road twisted and turned, the destination finally came into view, nestled at the end of the valley. "Armstrong's Den," the man blurted out.The house stood like a forgotten sentinel, its once-grand façade now weathered by time. Vines clung to the walls, and the windows, some broken, others covered in dust, gazed out like the hollow eyes of a weary sentinel. The man hesitated at the edge of the clearing, his gaze fixed on the house that seemed to hold all the answers he had been seeking.Without a word, he moved forward, crossing the worn cobblestone path that led to the front door. The creaking of the floorboards under his feet
(SOMEWHERE IN THE WOODS)..It was a typical late afternoon in the sleepy little town of Thornwood, where the world seemed to move just a touch slower. The summer sun was beginning its descent, casting long, lazy shadows across the winding dirt road that led out of town and into the thick, endless stretch of woods that bordered the northern edge of the county. The locals called it the “Dark Forest,” though it had no official name. It was a place that everyone knew of but few dared to explore.Today, the forest was quiet, as it usually was, save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant cry of a bird. The air was thick with the scent of pine and earth, and the light filtered through the dense canopy above, painting the forest floor in a patchwork of gold and shadow.As the day edged closer to dusk, the quiet was broken by the crunch of gravel underfoot. A man, dressed in a worn leather jacket and faded jeans, walked slowly down the old road that cut through the forest. His
The room, still warm with the remnants of their earlier conversation, felt charged with an undercurrent of something unspoken, something that Sultan had already perceived.For Sultan was no ordinary man. Known to many as the fool—a title that masked the depth of his true abilities—he had honed his skills to an art. And today, as Mr. Dickson sat across from him, discussing marriage and the future of the Watson family, Sultan’s mind was elsewhere, reaching into the recesses of Dickson's thoughts, peeling back the layers of his intentions.In an instant, Sultan saw it clearly: Mr. Dickson's visit had little to do with genuine concern for the Watsons or their company's future. It was about positioning. The recent collaborations with Lin Enterprise and Sullivan, the President's son, had solidified the Watsons’ place on the path to immense power and influence. Mr. Dickson, ever the opportunist, was angling for a deeper slice of that pie—one that could only be secured through family ties. H
The morning sun poured gently through the tall windows of the Watson estate, casting a warm glow over the meticulously set dining table. The table was adorned with fine china, polished silverware, and an array of breakfast dishes—freshly baked bread, fruits, eggs, and other delights, arranged with care by the household staff. Mr. and Mrs. Watson were already seated, exchanging quiet words as they waited for their sons and their guest to join them."Everything looks perfect," Mrs. Watson remarked, her eyes scanning the table with approval."It certainly does," Mr. Watson agreed, a hint of pride in his voice. "But it’s not the food that matters today. It’s eating with our sons."As they spoke, one of the bodyguards entered the room, standing tall by the door. "Mr. Dickson has arrived," he announced."Thank you. Please show him in," Mr. Watson instructed.A moment later, Mr. Dickson entered the dining room, his presence as imposing as ever. Dressed in a tailored suit, he moved with the
"Greetings and peace be unto here,” a bewitching voice slurred from the entrance.The atmosphere in the room shifted dramatically as Sullivan walked in. The cameras, previously focused on Sultan and the Watson family, swung towards the door, capturing every step of the president's son. The reporters, eager for a scoop, rushed forward, their microphones thrust out and voices overlapping in a chaotic symphony of questions and praises."Mr President's son! Over here!""Mr. Sullivan, can we get a comment?""How do you feel about the recent developments? And do you have a hand in the help of the Watsons to resolve their issues?""Why are you here today?”Sullivan, dressed in a sharp suit that seemed to glow with authority, acknowledged the cameras with a nod and a charismatic smile. His presence commanded attention, and the room seemed to hold its breath.Mr. and Mrs. Watson, along with Emmet, looked genuinely happy. They exchanged glances, then moved quickly to greet Sullivan and his ent
After his bold declaration, Sultan tapped Emmett's back seemingly soothing him to easen his tension then stepped forward, addressing the gathered shareholders, employees, and reporters. His calm demeanor and confident presence commanded attention, and as he began to speak, the room fell silent. He felt the funny and playful side it him - the FOOL, give way for his smart side as Sultan Armstrong, now a Watson. "Ladies and gentlemen," Sultan began, his voice steady and assured, "I understand that there has been a lot of uncertainty and concern regarding the future of the Watson Company. Today, I stand before you to address those concerns and present a vision for our collective future."He paused, letting his words sink in. The shareholders, some skeptical, some hopeful, leaned in, eager to hear more."My vision for the Watson Company is one of innovation, fairness, and family values. We need to embrace new technologies and ideas to stay competitive in this rapidly changing market. Bu
As Joe Armstrong's car sped away from Emmett, he took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the conversation that had just transpired. But instead of heading straight to the office, he made a subtle turn back towards the previous location. Once out of sight, Joe pulled over and quickly exited his vehicle. He glanced around cautiously, ensuring no one was observing him.A short distance away, a larger, luxurious gold-colored Venza awaited him. Joe approached the vehicle, his demeanor shifting from casual to serious. He opened the rear door and slipped inside, immediately bowing his head. In the plush back seat, a man dressed in a striking gold suit sat with an air of authority. His presence was commanding, exuding a quiet, menacing power. This was Sullivan, a figure who rarely showed his face but whose influence was deeply felt.Joe greeted him respectfully, "Greetings, Master."Sullivan, without looking up from the tablet he was holding, acknowledged Joe's presence with a slight n