Zen dragged the man in the suit a few feet away from the barrel, letting him collapse onto the ground, still gasping for air. He glanced down at the man, his expression unreadable.“You know, I could have killed you by now,” Zen said casually, dusting off his hands.The man in the suit smirked through the pain, wiping water from his eyes. “And yet, here I am. Breathing.”“Because I want information. I can drag this out for as long as it takes.” Zen crouched down next to him, his voice low. “Now, tell me more about this drug.”The man struggled to sit up, cradling his ribs as he spoke. “Tomorrow night. Dock -I won’t tell you. You won’t make it there in time anyway. We’ve got our eyes everywhere.”Zen tilted his head, studying him. “You’re very confident for someone who’s spent the last few minutes with their head in a barrel.”The man let out a short laugh, though it was laced with pain. “You don’t get it, do you? SP4 is not just some street-level drug. It’s a product the elite have be
Zen entered Sinclair’s office, the door closing behind him with a decisive click. Sinclair looked up from his desk, with concern in his eyes.“Chief, good timing. What did you find out?” Sinclair asked, gesturing for Zen to take a seat.Zen dropped into the chair across from Sinclair, leaning forward. “I had a nice chat with the guys in the warehouse, one in particular was entertaining.”Sinclair’s interest piqued. “Go on.”Zen began, “He called the poison, SP4, and confirmed SP4 isn’t just a street-level drug. It’s something the elite are heavily invested in. The Currens are behind it. Or at least, someone’s using their name.”Sinclair frowned. “He mentioned David Curren, not Daven?”“Yeah,” Zen confirmed. “I treated Daven Curren’s grandmother once. She was in rough shape, but I managed to help her. Daven never mentioned a brother named David.”“That’s strange,” Sinclair said, tapping his pen thoughtfully. “David might be an alias. If so, it could mean someone’s using the Curren name
Zen’s eyes locked onto Siara as she descended the stairs. Her elegance was undeniable, yet Zen’s gaze remained. As she reached the bottom, Daven made the introduction.“Siara, this is Tom, the man who helped Grandma,” Daven said warmly.Siara extended her hand with a bright smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tom.”Zen took her hand, his grip firm but his eyes scanning her face with coldness. “The pleasure is mine. I didn’t know the Curren family had a daughter abroad.”Siara’s smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered. “Yes, I’ve been studying in the abroad for the past few years. I thought it was time to come home.”Zen nodded slowly, studying her expression. “Interesting timing.”Daven noticed the subtle tension and quickly stepped in. “Why don’t you stay a bit longer, Tom? It’s the least we can do after your visit.”“I appreciate the offer, but I have other matters to attend to,” Zen said, glancing at his watch. “Perhaps another time.”“Of course,” Daven replied.
Zen carried the tray of coffee and tea towards the group of businessmen. As he moved, he purposely missed his step. The tray wobbled, and coffee sloshed over the edge, spilling onto the polished floor.A sharp exhale echoed from the tall businessman with the authoritative presence. “Are you serious?” he snapped, his irritation barely contained. “This is a high-stakes meeting, and you’ve just ruined it.”Zen faked a face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m really sorry about that,” he stammered, quickly setting the tray down and reaching for a napkin. “I’ll clean this up immediately.”The businessman, his patience wearing thin, stormed towards Zen, pushing him with a forceful shove. “You’re clearly not capable of handling this. Get out.”Zen stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the table. The sharp movement caused several papers to scatter, and a tense silence fell over the room. A wide grin stretched on his lips, his voice steady. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”Wil
Zen's realization hit him hard. He turned back to the distressed woman. “It looks like your son was transferred to the traditional medicine department, but they weren’t informed properly. There was a breakdown in communication.”The woman’s frustration boiled over. “How could this happen? I was assured he’d be taken care of. Now it seems like no one even knows he’s here!”Tasha stepped in, trying to mediate. “If the transfer was made, the traditional medicine department wasn’t notified. We’re working on fixing this.”The woman’s face flushed with anger. “This is outrageous! I demand to speak to the head of the hospital immediately!”Zen glanced over to see Sonia standing behind the woman, leaning casually against the doorframe, a grin on her face.Zen walked over to Sonia, his frustration evident. “Sonia, why are you standing there grinning? This is a serious issue. Why are you finding this amusing? Don’t tell me this is your doing?”Sonia straightened, her smile fading. “Hey, I might
The commotion in the traditional medicine department had reached a fever pitch. A crowd had gathered, many civilians recording the scene on their phones. The hum of chatter and the flash of cameras filled the air.Tasha, looking increasingly worried, tried to manage the crowd. “Please, everyone, this is a private matter. We need to maintain order!”Tasha’s face was pale with worry. “This is going to tarnish the hospital’s reputation. We’re finished. Only God can help us now.”Zen gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle this.”With that, Zen walked over to a private shelf in the back of the department. He opened a cupboard and retrieved a small kit with various vials and ingredients. The crowd’s attention shifted momentarily as Zen began his process, though they still recorded every move.Zen set up his workspace, carefully mixing ingredients. His movements were swift, blending powders and liquids with precision. The crowd watched intently, their phones capturing every d
As Zen stepped out,“That was incredible,” Tasha’s friend said, shaking her head in disbelief. “We’ve gone from a crisis to the spotlight. This could get out of control.”Zen, maintaining his calm demeanor, responded, “Show’s over everyone, it’s time to get back to work.”Suddenly, the hospital’s lobby TV flickered on with breaking news. The anchor’s voice was upbeat as she reported, “Breaking news: A new cosmetic product unveiled at Patel Bass’ Hospital by the new rumored miracle doctor and this is making waves. This product is reportedly the first instant acne and pimple remover, showing results almost immediately. It has already garnered 34 million views and 8 million likes across all social media platforms in just minutes!”___In a high-rise living building elsewhere in the city, a female voice asked, “Who is this Miracle Doctor they keep talking about?”A male voice answered, “That’s the new Miracle Doctor that saved Cyrus’ life at his event. I didn’t realize he was with Patel’s
The next morning, the city buzzed with the latest sensation: an instant cosmetic product that seemed to erase pimples almost magically. As Zen drove into the hospital parking lot. He parked his car and was greeted by a man in a sharp black suit.“Mr. Diel,” the man began, his tone was formal and businesslike. “I represent an organization that has been expanding its influence in various cities. We’re interested in acquiring a stake in your product. We’re willing to offer 25 billion dollars for 45% of the product’s rights. Our team will handle all production and distribution. All you need to do is provide the recipe and preparation details.”Zen looked at the man for a while. “25 billion, huh? And you think I should just hand over the recipe like that?”The man remained calm, his face a mask of professionalism. “It’s a very generous offer, Mr. Diel. This could be a significant opportunity for you.”Zen shook his head, clearly unimpressed. “I’m not interested. Tell your organization to f
The room hung in stunned silence, the air thick with disbelief. Yaya remained on his knees, his voice breaking as he groveled toward Zen. His head bowed so low it seemed he might sink into the marble floor. “Please, I’ll do anything!” Yaya’s words poured out like a flood, his hands trembling as they gripped the floor beneath him. “Just—just call them back. Restore my distribution channels. I can fix this! I’ll pay whatever you want!” Jun stared at his father, horror and confusion warring on his face. His voice came out sharp, cutting through the murmurs beginning to rise around the room. “Dad! What are you doing?” Jun took a step closer, grabbing Yaya by the arm. “Get up! Why are you kneeling to him?” Yaya barely turned, his eyes wild with desperation. “Let go of me, Jun! You don’t understand what’s happening here!” “I don’t understand?” Jun’s voice cracked as his confusion turned to anger. “You’re humiliating yourself! Him? He’s nothing! A useless son—” *SMACK!* Yaya’s ha
Zen's gaze remained steady as the man took another step closer, the condescension dripping from his tone. “Hey! Look!” Someone echoed. “That’s Mr. Yaya. Jun’s father. What’s he doing here?” Another voice echoed. “Do you even understand the weight of the people in this room, Tom?” Yaya’s voice was loud enough to draw more eyes to their corner. “Men who have built empires, shaped industries, and created legacies. And then there’s you—scraping by, pretending to fit into a world you clearly don’t belong to.” Rosalia, her frustration evident, stepped forward again. “Mr. Yaya, this is getting out of hand. You have no right—” “Stay out of it, Mrs. Rosalia,” Yaya snapped, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t understand the stakes here. This is about respect, and this boy has none.” Jun smirked as he pushed his uncle’s hands off himself, crossing his arms as he looked Zen up and down. “He doesn’t just lack respect, Father—he lacks everything. Power, influence, wealth. What does he have? A
Zen turned slowly, his eyes locking onto the man who had called out. His tone was sharp and mocking, cutting through the air like a whip. The man was tall, his stance brimming with arrogance as he squared his shoulders and stepped forward. Rosalia’s smile faltered, and she instinctively stood from her chair. “Jun, what are you doing?” Jun ignored her, his eyes focused entirely on Zen. “I’m asking what right he has to be sitting here with you.” Zen’s expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of annoyance in his gaze. He stayed calm, leaning slightly on the back of the chair he’d just pulled out for Rosalia. “And who are you to decide that?” Jun scoffed, his lips twisting into a bitter smile. “Who am I? That’s rich coming from someone like you. Do you even know where you are? Do you have any idea the kind of people in this room?” “I’m well aware,” Zen said evenly, his voice low but commanding. “Now, why don’t you explain why this concerns you?” Jun’s hand clenched i
Zen turned slightly, scanning the crowd. His eyes landed on Rosalia, who stood a few feet away, her soft smile aimed directly at him. She looked stunning, her emerald-green gown flowing gracefully as she approached him. "Tom," she said, her voice warm and teasing, "I thought I’d never get through that sea of people to find you." “Rosalia,” he said, his lips curving into a faint smile. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself.” She gave a small laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You could say that, though I don’t think ‘enjoying’ is the right word. Awkwardly surviving? Maybe.” Zen arched a brow, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Awkward, huh? What’s awkward about mingling with a bunch of over-dressed people waiting to make power plays?” Rosalia rolled her eyes, stepping closer. “You’re forgetting the forced smiles, empty compliments, and the undercurrent of judgment in every conversation. It’s exhausting.” Zen chuckled softly, tilting his head
On the day of the gala, the Albrecht Estate was alive with energy. Cars lined up in a procession at the gates, with chauffeurs stepping out to open doors for the city’s elite. Inside the sprawling ballroom, the hum of conversation was only interrupted by the occasional clink of glasses or bursts of laughter. Waiters moved swiftly through the crowd, trays balanced, while the soft melody of a live quartet filled the air.Zen’s car pulled into the driveway, sleek and understated compared to the flashy limousines that preceded it. As he stepped out, two young attendants rushed forward. “Mr. Diel,” one said, bowing slightly. “Welcome to the gala. Let us guide you inside.” Zen adjusted his cuffs and gave a curt nod. “Lead the way.” The attendants escorted him through the grand entrance, where the doors opened to reveal the glittering scene inside. The air smelled faintly of expensive perfume and polished wood, every detail carefully curated to impress. Zen’s gaze scanned the room
Zen’s eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the soft morning light spilling through the window. He turned his head and spotted Keisha, sitting across the room with her arms folded, watching him with a casual smile. Her presence caught him off guard.“Morning, sleepyhead,” she said with a smirk.Zen blinked, then let out a sigh, rolling onto his back. “I overslept,” he muttered, a bit annoyed with himself. “Not like me at all.”Keisha raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “Even the mighty Zen has his off days, it seems.”Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes, then looked at her with suspicion. “How did you get in here? I lock my doors every night.”She held up a shiny key, dangling it between her fingers with a playful grin. “Spare key. Thought you’d remember I keep one.”Zen sighed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Of course you do.” He ran a hand through his hair, then fixed her with a curious stare. “Since you’re here, Keisha… explain your schedule to me.”Keisha blinked, clearly t
The night was cool and crisp as Zen stepped onto the deck of his yacht, taking in the gentle sway of the water beneath him. The lights from the city reflected off the waves, casting shimmering patterns on the boat. Just ahead, leaning against the railing with a glass in hand, Sinclair turned, a grin spreading across his face as he spotted Zen approaching. “Thought you’d never make it,” Sinclair teased, raising his glass in greeting. Zen smirked, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Didn’t want to keep you waiting too long.” He looked around, taking in the luxurious setup. “But tell me, when are you finally going to get your own yacht, Sinclair? This ‘borrowing’ act is getting old.” Sinclair laughed, an easy, carefree sound. “Who says I don’t have my own?” he replied, eyes twinkling with mischief. “In fact, I have more yachts than a three-year-old can count. I just happen to like *this* one the best.” Zen raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. “So, you’re telling
Zen’s gaze locked onto Silas, his expression calm but his eyes flashing with a dangerous intensity. “So, this is how you like to handle things? Thought you’d finally stand up to someone, Silas?”Silas sneered, but there was a flicker of fear in his eyes. “You think you’re something cause you managed to pull a fast on me with pure luck—”Zen’s smirk widened. “I think we both know luck had nothing to do with it.” He took a step closer, hands relaxed at his sides, his presence radiating an authority that made everyone in the room hold their breath.“Stay back,” Silas snapped, his voice wavering as he tried to maintain his composure.Zen chuckled softly. “Oh, now you’re worried?”Silas glared, but his posture had shifted, more defensive than before. He glanced around, seeking support, but the others kept their eyes on the floor, unwilling to meet Zen’s gaze.“I don’t have time to play with you, Silas,” Zen murmured, his tone almost bored. “But maybe a quick reminder wouldn’t hurt.”He mov
“Tom!” Nia called out, drawing his attention, her voice sounding urgent. She didn’t even glance at Rosalia, who was standing beside him, her eyes fixed solely on Zen.Zen looked up, surprised to see her approaching. “Nia?” he asked, standing as she reached their table. “What happened?”Nia huffed, folding her arms across her chest as she tilted her head, clearly savoring the moment to vent. “You won’t believe what just happened,” she began, her tone laced with annoyance as she jerked her thumb back toward a waiter who was lingering nervously by the kitchen entrance, clearly aware he was in trouble. “That waiter back there? He decided to make a judgment call on my financial status. Apparently, my card didn’t go through, and he assumed I couldn’t pay.” She paused, letting out a short, sarcastic laugh. “He even suggested I… ‘pay’ another way. Like I’d be desperate enough to trade favors for dinner.”Zen’s face shifted from mild surprise to something much darker, his jaw tightening as he