Novels by Josh

The Sawyer Family mansion was lit, yet it was a pale reflection of the grandeur it had once held. The villa, built in a stately, ancient architectural style, loomed like a monument to the family’s faded glory in the Chunsan Villa District on the outskirts of New Haven. Every stone, every carved railing, whispered of a past era of power and respect, now overshadowed by humiliation and conquest. The sign on the gate, once proud and golden, declaring “Sawyer Family Mansion,” had been replaced by a cold, sleek plaque reading “Jessica Ward Mansion.” The golden trim pricked Thomas Sawyer’s eyes like shards of glass, a reminder that he had been reduced to nothing more than a memory in the empire he had built.“Thomas Sawyer, why have you come here?” A guard, tall and imposing, blocked his path, his eyes unblinking.“I… I came to see Jessica Ward,” Thomas managed, his voice tight and brittle, laden with desperation. Each word scraped against his pride like a jagged knife.The guard’s gaze

Outside the Triple Door karaoke, the neon glow of New Haven barely pierced the oppressive darkness of the alleys. Hannah Stone stood upright, her figure calm and composed, yet radiating the kind of lethal precision that made even the most seasoned men hesitate. Over ten men lay sprawled on the floor behind her, lifeless, their blood a testament to the violence that had unfolded inside. In reality, all of them were dead—their hearts had burst under her silent, merciless technique. To any outsider, it might have seemed miraculous, almost inhuman, that one woman could so thoroughly annihilate trained enforcers without so much as breaking a sweat.Ethan Sawyer’s hand gripped Samuel King by the collar, dragging him forward without a single glance at the corpses behind. There was no remorse, no hesitation. To him, those lives were meaningless; they had been sustained by filthy money, tied to corrupt power, and were as disposable as the dirt-stained notes they had extorted from innocent

The room was suffocating. It had barely been designed to hold six people comfortably, and now over ten had crowded inside, bodies pressing against each other like they were about to explode. The tattooed men who had barged in radiated authority and menace in a way Thomas Sawyer had never experienced. Unlike the four sprawled on the floor, these were veterans, each a carefully honed instrument of violence, loyal only to Victor Hale, trained to kill without hesitation, and entirely unafraid of death. Their presence made the air thick, almost unbreathable, as though the walls themselves were pressing inward, carrying the stench of sweat, fear, and cheap cologne. Thomas’s face turned ashen, his knees trembling beneath him as he tried to swallow his panic and plead: “CEO Anderson! Please… save my son! It’s all my fault! I… I…” But his words were lost to the room, to the tension that wrapped around them like steel cables.“Leave!” Samuel King’s voice cut across the room like a whip, sha

Samuel King had lived at Victor Hale’s feet for so many years that something in him truly had become canine. The way he watched rooms. The way he sensed shifts in air. The way terror found him before reason ever could.The moment Hannah Stone advanced, the killing intent rolling off her like winter fog, his scalp prickled and his back stiffened.“What are you doing?!” he shouted, forcing arrogance into his voice. “Do you even know who I am?!”“You don’t need to be known,” Hannah replied.She kept walking.Samuel’s throat tightened. The illusion of control shattered. He spun toward the men behind him. “What are you standing there for?! Take her down!”Four men lunged forward.They were veterans of Victor Hale’s underground network, men who had broken bones, buried bodies, and bled without blinking. They moved with confidence, with cruelty sharpened by years of unchecked violence.It did not matter.Hannah did not stop walking.Her hand rose, pale and precise, closing around the neares

A chill crept down James Parker’s spine, slow and suffocating, like icy water seeping beneath his skin. It was the same sensation he had felt years ago, when he had been trapped beneath collapsed ruins, his body submerged in blood that was not all his own, waiting for death to arrive. The only difference was that back then, Ethan Sawyer had appeared like a sliver of impossible light and torn him back from the brink with medical skill so precise it had bordered on the miraculous. But now… now the cold did not feel like salvation. It felt like the breath of hell itself, radiating from the man standing before him.It was as though the sky above New Haven were beginning to crack.The Supreme Commander of the southern border, the man who had swept through battlefields with icy reason and surgical cruelty, had torn off his dragon insignia without hesitation. Not for power. Not for ambition. Not even for the nation. But for one woman lying unconscious on a hospital bed.James Parker reali

“Why…”“Why?”The word left Ethan Sawyer’s lips in a whisper.Then again.Louder.“Why!”His gaze was locked onto the hospital bed.Onto the woman whose chest still rose and fell.Onto the sister who had already begun to leave.His fingers tightened.Skin split.Blood ran down his palm, dripping silently onto the white hospital floor.It hurt.But it meant nothing.Compared to the hollow tearing in his chest, this was nothing more than a reminder that he was still alive.He steadied his breathing, forcing it slow, forcing it even, pressing down on the storm raging inside him.A storm capable of swallowing a city.For six years, he had stood on the southern border.Six years of war, of ambushes, of starvation marches, of nights surrounded by corpses and mornings that began with blood.He had commanded millions.He had sent nations into submission.He had crushed enemies who were worshipped as gods of war.The world knew his authority.No one knew the cost.If his uniform were stripped