Chapter Ninety Four Henry was knee-deep in soap suds, mopping the glossy marble floors of the gallery. The irony was sharp, but he held his head high, trying to ignore the stinging humiliation that clung to him like the scent of cleaning chemicals. The ring on his finger pulsed faintly, as though reminding him of its presence, of the strange pull it held over him. And then, almost without thought, he found himself standing in front of the torn artwork—the one that had ignited this chain of ridicule and disbelief. Without understanding why, Henry reached out, his fingers hovering over the torn canvas. He could feel the texture of the fabric beneath his fingertips, the brushstrokes and pigments alive under the lights. Then, in a trance-like state, he lifted the painting from the wall, his hands moving instinctively. He didn’t even realize he was moving toward the back storage room until he stood before shelves of painting supplies, reaching for brushes, paints, and an assort
Chapter Ninety Five Henry barely noticed Léa’s scrutinizing gaze as she examined the restored painting. When she turned back to him, a flicker of intrigue lit her eyes, softened only slightly by the hint of a smile. "How did you know what to do?" she asked, her voice sharp but laced with genuine curiosity. “That technique—no one has used it in decades, and few have ever even heard of it. So, tell me, Mr. Knight, how did you do it?" Henry glanced down at his hands, still feeling the strange warmth from the ring. He opened his mouth, unsure how to explain something he didn’t fully understand himself. “Honestly… I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like this before. It felt like… instinct. Something just guided me.” Léa’s brows lifted, a skeptical smirk playing on her lips, but before she could question him further, her eyes sharpened as though she’d remembered something urgent. She placed her perfectly manicured hand on his shoulder, the pressure light but commanding. Her n
Chapter Ninety Six Jasper leaned back, savoring the taste of smoke and the burn of liquor as he glanced around the room. The haze of shisha filled the air, clouding the small VIP lounge in a mix of spices and tobacco. He could feel the weight of eyes on him, the girls' laughter dancing around his ears, each one vying for a moment of his attention. One of the girls leaned in close, her perfume filling his senses, warm and floral, cutting through the dense smoke. Her hand brushed his jaw, her fingers lingering as she whispered, “So, tell us, Mr. Future CEO, when do we get to see this empire of yours?” Jasper chuckled, the sound deep and careless. "Soon, sweetheart. Soon enough, the world will be ours." His voice dripped with confidence, his eyes glinting with a cocky thrill as he threw back another shot, the fiery liquid trailing down his throat. Another girl, with dark eyes that seemed to spark under the low lights, slipped onto his lap, her fingers tracing the collar of his shir
Chapter Ninety Seven Henry’s phone buzzed sharply on his desk, piercing through the silence of his office. Glancing down, he saw Damon’s name flash across the screen, but when he answered, he was met with only ragged breaths and desperate gasps. “Damon?” Henry’s voice rose, laced with urgency. “Are you… are you okay?” Through the phone, he heard Damon’s strained voice, barely a whisper, as though each word took all the strength he had. “Henry… please… I—” The words faltered, then the line went silent except for Damon’s harsh, shallow breaths. Henry’s heart pounded, a knot of worry tightening in his chest. Without a second thought, he abandoned the stacks of paperwork before him, his hands moving on instinct as he activated the hidden switch for the private elevator in his office. The elevator descended silently, cutting through floors to the underground exit reserved for the inner circle of the HEXAGON CONSORTIUM. Emerging into the dim light, he dialed an Uber and waited, every s
Chapter Ninety Eight Damon took a deep, shaky breath, his voice raw and trembling as he looked at Henry. “She… she demanded the raw gold jar you gifted me, Henry,” Damon began, his hands trembling. “The one you gave me when I opened this pharmacy.” Henry’s eyes narrowed, his mouth pressing into a thin line as he listened. “When I told her I was going to divorce her… she didn’t even care. She just laughed, told me I was a ‘poor fool,’ and then… then, she had her new man—the senator—send his boys to beat the life out of me. My own wife just stood there, laughing as they kicked me, mocking me, calling me a ‘worthless man.’” Damon’s voice broke, and he clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “She… she actually looked at me, laughing, like I was nothing. She insulted me, said I was lucky she even bothered to look in my direction. And while I was on the ground, Henry, beaten half to death… she let that senator put his hands all over her. He… he kissed her, grabbed her li
Chapter Ninety Nine The senator staggered back, gasping for breath, his eyes darting around the wrecked pharmacy. His men were groaning on the floor, beaten and bruised, and Damon’s pharmacy looked like a battleground. His eyes flickered to his phone. “I’ll call the police,” he muttered, half to himself, reaching into his pocket. But then, a thought struck him cold. The police? With his wife and four children overseas? If this turned into a public mess, he’d lose everything he’d carefully built. The scandal could destroy his career . All it would take was one headline, and he’d be finished—disgraced as the senator who couldn’t control his wife or his own thugs. He clenched his jaw, his hand frozen over his phone. “No,” he murmured, drawing himself up and straightening his tie, his mind already racing for a different solution. “I need someone better than police. I need… an expert.” The senator’s face twisted into a sneer as he thought of Henry standing there, smug and self-assu
Chapter Hundred The fighters moved in unison, circling Henry, their eyes cold, calculating. Their movements were precise, deadly, and one of them shifted his stance, his hand poised to strike a lethal blow. Henry braced himself, every muscle tensed, knowing this could be the end. But just as the fighter was about to make his move, the leader’s gaze caught on something that stopped him cold. “Wait!” the leader barked, his voice sharp, halting his men in mid-motion. His eyes were fixed on Henry’s hand, a look of shock overtaking his face. Henry followed the man’s gaze, confused, and noticed that he was staring at the ancient, weathered ring he wore—a ring he’d never thought much of until now. The leader’s face drained of color as he moved closer, his eyes wide with disbelief. Slowly, reverently, he reached out and touched the ring, his fingers trembling as if he were touching something sacred. Henry stared back, bewildered, his pulse racing. He felt the leader’s hand graze his,
Chapter One Hundred And One Before the senator could squeeze the trigger, the warriors moved like shadows—so fast and silent that the senator barely had time to blink before the gun was wrenched from his grip. The cold muzzle of his own weapon was now pressed against his temple. The lead warrior held the gun, his expression unreadable as he turned to Henry, bowing his head slightly. “Lord Commander,” he said respectfully, “what would you have us do with this man?” Henry’s mind reeled. “Lord Commander”? He didn’t know what was happening, but the weight of the title and the reverence in their voices left him feeling a strange mixture of power and bewilderment. The ancient ring on his finger felt heavy, almost as if it pulsed with some unknown energy. He stared down at it, realizing it was no ordinary ring. But if these men saw him as a leader, maybe he could use this to his advantage. Clearing his throat, he straightened, pacing slowly, letting the silence linger as he thought. He