Novels by Mr. Felix

Elior stepped forward, voice thick with grief but steady with resolve.“Grandpa… I’ve come to save you. I’m torn apart knowing all this happened while I was away. I don’t even blame you for banishing me—I know it was Darian’s treachery that poisoned your trust in me.”Patriarch Godwin staggered back a step, his weathered face twisted in rage and disbelief.“Stop right there! How dare you defy my orders and abandon the eastern border? You stand here like some righteous savior—when in truth, you came to finish me off and spit on my corpse, didn’t you?”“Grandpa!” Elior’s voice cracked, raw and desperate. He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.“How could you ever believe that? How could I ever want you dead? When the Dragon-Flame finally brought peace to the border, every soldier was released, sent home to their people. And the second I heard you’d been seized, I risked everything to come here for you. And still, you doubt me? Still, you think I’d betray you?”Darian step

The atmosphere inside the jungle hall twisted into raw tension the moment Darian opened his mouth. His smirk was thin, oily, and full of arrogance as he stepped forward, bowing slightly toward Desmond.“Some fools from Crestfall dared to walk into your domain just to question you for capturing that old patriarch? Pfft—how foolish they must be!” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Men like that deserve to die, my lord. But me? I came here for a matter far more… important. A discreet discussion, if we could have a private chamber.”Lady V’s boots clicked sharply against the stone floor as she stepped out from the shadows, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade. Her eyes narrowed like a hawk’s.“This bastard can’t be trusted, my lord,” she spat, venom dripping in every syllable.The crowd roared in agreement, their weapons raised high. The hall shook with the fury of four thousand voices.“Please, my lord, let us have his head!”“Such audacity must not go unpunished!”“Allow us to

The clearing turned into a graveyard of silence. The moment their so-called god hit his knees, the spell shattered.Jackson’s bravado evaporated. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Then—thud—he dropped to his knees, forehead nearly scraping the dirt. The others followed like dominos, one after another, until the entire jungle of hardened thugs—men who once thought themselves wolves—were bowing like broken dogs. Their weapons clanged against the soil, machetes and guns abandoned without a fight.It was a sight no one could’ve imagined. The Casino Bully Syndicate—thousands of ruthless criminals—kneeling before one man.Elior’s gaze swept over them, sharp, cold, but steady.“How did you know I’m the Dragon-Flame?” His voice was calm, but it cut like a blade, daring the wrong answer.The Lord of the Jungle trembled, forehead pressed to the dirt. His voice cracked with emotion.“You’re… you’re my life savior, my lord.”Lady V was shoved forward by Ryker, stumbling, before collapsing

“That’s fucking nonsense!” the big-bellied thug bellowed, his voice carrying through the trees. “You think you’re some godamn superhero? Like Flash? There are over four thousand of us in this jungle! You couldn’t drop two of us before we tear you apart. You’re the ones staring death in the face, not us.”Elior tilted his head, lips curving into a dangerous smirk. “You never know until you try.”“Grab this bastard!” the thug roared.The mob surged forward. Elior moved first—one sharp crack split the air. The thug collapsed with a scream, clutching his bleeding leg. The crowd erupted, piling onto Elior and Liliane, forcing them down.In the chaos, Gideon slipped free, blending seamlessly into the mob, hiding his loyalty behind a mask of rage.“Holy hell!” the wounded thug—Jackson—spat through clenched teeth. “You little rat!” Limping, blood soaking his pants, he shoved through the crowd until he was face-to-face with Elior. With a furious snarl, he wrenched both guns from Elior’s grip.

The next morning came faster than Liliane wished. Sunlight spilled into the room, catching the glint of her emerald gown as she sat in front of the towering mirror. For the last half hour, she’d been retouching her face, fussing with her hair, making sure not a single strand was out of place.Elior leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes drinking her in. Finally, he strolled over and slipped his arms around her from behind, pressing his chest against her back. “Babe,” he murmured near her ear, “we’re not heading to a wedding. We’re about to face down four thousand armed goons. You know that, right?”Liliane smirked at his reflection in the mirror. “And you don’t understand, Elior. I finally realized I’m the wife of the most exalted Supreme Commander—the damn Dragon-Flame himself. If I’m standing at your side, then I better look like I belong. And this emerald gown? Yeah… it seals the deal.”Elior chuckled low, lips brushing the curve of her neck. “You sure know how to

The words detonated like a nuke in the middle of the street. Silence choked the air before the shockwaves hit—gasps, shouts, and trembling whispers rippled across the stunned crowd. A few women clutched their pearls, men muttered under their breath, and even the guards flanking Frank stumbled backward like the ground itself had shaken.“Elior…” Liliane whispered, her lips trembling, her hand pressed to her heart. Her eyes welled, caught between awe and disbelief.And then—Frank’s obnoxious laugh shattered the silence. Loud. Mocking. He doubled over, holding his stomach like Elior had just cracked a cheap joke.“Holy shit, did you all hear that?!” he jeered, jabbing a finger toward Elior. “This crazy scrub thinks he’s the Dragon-Flame? The commander of millions? The man who crushed the Eastern Alliance with his bare hands? My ass! What’s next—he’s secretly the damn President too?”The guards around him burst into raucous laughter, clapping each other’s shoulders. “Yeah right!” one bark

The Syndicate headquarters looked like something built to survive the apocalypse.Converted military bunker, buried three stories underground, concrete walls thick enough to withstand direct missile strikes. The only visible entrance was a reinforced steel door that could stop a tank. The perfect fortress for someone who had enemies and knew they were coming.Outside, in the darkness three hundred meters away, Dante's forces assembled with the silent precision of predators preparing to hunt. Night vision equipment turned the world into shades of green. Suppressed weapons rested in hands that knew how to use them. Forty-seven operators, spread across four teams, waiting for a signal.Inside the mobile command center—a converted surveillance van with more technology than most government operations—Scarlett, Sophia, and Isabella clustered around Vincent's monitors. Screens showed thermal signatures, building layouts, communication frequencies."Plan is simple," Dante's voice came through

Dante studied Scarlett with the cold assessment of someone evaluating a weapon that might explode in his hand."Why would you help me?"The question hung between them, heavy with implications and three years of complicated history. Scarlett's carefully constructed mask—the socialite, the victim, the wronged wife—finally crumbled completely."Because my mother is a monster." Her voice cracked on the word. "Because Marcus is dead and I realize now he never loved me. Because everything I thought was true is a lie and I can't—I can't keep being who I was. That person was built on quicksand."She pulled out her phone with shaking hands. Her fingers swiped through old messages, stopping on a conversation thread from four months ago. Marcus's name at the top, cocky and confident even in text form."He sent me these." She turned the screen toward Dante. "Thought he was impressing me. Bragging about the Syndicate's power, their resources. Look."Dante took the phone. His eyes scanned rapidly—c

Dante's face did something Isabella had never seen before—it showed actual shock."Reaper." The name fell from his lips like a curse. "That's impossible."Isabella grabbed his arm, her own terror momentarily forgotten in the face of his reaction. "Who is that? Dante, who is that man?"Five years ago, somewhere in the mountains between hostile territories, Dante had led a black ops team into hell with a simple objective: eliminate a terrorist cell before they could detonate a dirty bomb in a civilian population center.The mission had been textbook until the end. Breach. Secure. Extract. The team had moved like a single organism, every member trusting the others with their lives.Cole Savage had been his second-in-command. Brilliant. Ruthless. The kind of soldier who could calculate kill zones while eating breakfast and never lose his appetite. They called him Reaper because death followed him like a shadow.The terrorist cell had been neutralized. The bomb had been secured. And then C

Thirty minutes later, Dante stood in Victoria's study with Isabella beside him. The moment she saw the wall of photographs, her face drained of color so completely she looked like a ghost."That's impossible," she whispered. Her hand found the doorframe, gripping it like her legs might give out. "Victoria and I never met. Not once in twenty years."Detective Morrison pulled a file box from Victoria's desk. It was thick, overstuffed with papers and photographs that spilled out when he opened it."Mrs. Hayes had extensive files on you, Miss Ashford. Dating back twenty years." He laid out the contents with the careful precision of someone presenting evidence. "Financial records. Property purchases. Travel itineraries. She knew everywhere you went, everything you did."Isabella's breath came in short, sharp gasps. "How? Why?"The files told a story that made Dante's blood run cold. Photos of a younger Isabella with Leonard Hayes—stolen moments in cafes, walking through parks, hands intert

Dante's phone was back in his hand before the video could end."All assets to Hayes mansion, NOW!" His voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "Full tactical response. Assume hostile environment."The team that had been securing the basement snapped to attention. Within seconds, they were mobilizing—weapons checked, communications synced, vehicles already being pulled around.But Dante's mind was elsewhere, replaying Victoria's last words before the line cut off.The Syndicate has orders to kill everyone you care about, starting with—Starting with who? The question gnawed at him. Who did Victoria think he cared about enough to use as leverage? Sophia was safe—relatively—here with him. Scarlett was worthless as a hostage. So who?His phone rang. Isabella's name flashed on screen."Dante, police just raided Victoria's mansion." Isabella's voice was tight with urgency. "I've been monitoring emergency channels. She's gone. They found underground tunnels—looks like she escaped through t

The silence on the phone stretched like a blade being sharpened.Then Victoria's voice came through, and it was pure ice wrapped in silk."Dante. I should have known Marcus would fail like everything else."Not surprise. Not fear. Just the cold disappointment of a woman whose pawn had proven inadequate. Like she was discussing a stock that had underperformed, not a man bleeding out on a basement floor.Dante walked away from the others, his footsteps deliberate. Each stride put distance between him and Sophia, between him and Scarlett's shattered expression, between him and Marcus's whimpering. This conversation needed privacy.Not for his protection. For theirs."You tried to murder an innocent girl," he said quietly. The words were simple, but they carried the weight of judgment.Victoria laughed. It was the kind of laugh that belonged in boardrooms where lives were reduced to numbers on spreadsheets."Innocent? That bastard child was a threat to MY daughter's inheritance! Leonard's