By six in the evening, the entrance to Ferro House had transformed into a showroom of excess.The driveway was choked with a gleaming procession of SUVs, stretch limousines, and luxury sedans, all queuing to disgorge the city’s elite for the evening’s elegant affair.Everton and a squad of valets moved with military precision, steering the vehicles onto the meticulously manicured lawn to keep the chaos organized.Inside, the kitchen was a war zone of culinary excellence. Julian commanded the buffet team hired by Briana like a general, the pace and quality rivaling a three-star Michelin restaurant.Security was tight, though invisible to the untrained eye. Vargas and his "Men in Gray" blended into the shadows, posing as private security.A pair of thick-rimmed, Clark Kent-style glasses was the only thing preventing the guests from recognizing "Dr. Vargas," the man who usually delivered babies, now acting as the head of Lord Ferro's private guard.Meanwhile, Regis and Domitila glided th

Mark gripped the wireless microphone, stepping effortlessly into the frame beside the smiling couple. The television cameras seemed to gravitate toward him rather than the guests of honor, feeding off his commanding presence.Nearby, Sandro wasn't watching the speech. His gaze kept drifting upward to the balcony of the master suite. The glass doors were shut tight, the heavy curtains drawn against the evening light."I think our daughter is coming down," he whispered, hope warring with anxiety."Calm down, man," Nadir muttered, nudging him in the ribs."Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" Mark’s voice boomed, smooth and charismatic. "It is with great pleasure that I, Mark Ferro, husband of General Manager Briana Vasconcelos Ferro, host this gathering to celebrate the engagement of this beautiful, radiant couple!"The applause was effusive. Jean D’Arveil clapped along, though his eyes didn't match the celebratory mood; they darted left and right, scanning the perimeter like a radar."

"Did you plan this?" Armand hissed, the barrel of his revolver unwavering as it aimed at Mark’s chest.Mark let out a cynical scoff, staring down the muzzle with bored indifference. "Huh? You’re the one who crashed a party strapped for war, and I’m the one being accused?""This wasn't supposed to happen now, Lord Ferro!" Armand’s voice was tight, vibrating with suppressed rage. "We have a score to settle, but not in the middle of innocent bystanders!""Oh, so now you care about innocents?" Mark’s eyes narrowed, cold and sharp. "You should have thought about them before you rallied untrained men to their deaths, creating that pathetic rebellion of yours.""It was you who controlled the state machine!" Armand shouted, stepping closer, the veins in his neck bulging. "You had the weaponry! You were the one who drove a tank over my comrades!""Okay, I've had enough of this!" Christopher shouted, stepping forward to intervene.Click.The distinct, metallic sound of a hammer cocking froze th

Briana stared at her cousin, the sheer audacity of the moment momentarily eclipsing the danger. The delusion clawed at her throat.Back when Mark wore a janitor’s uniform at Glamour, Katrina had treated him like something she scraped off her shoe. She had mocked him, belittled him, and looked at him with unmasked disgust.But now that the janitor was revealed to be Lord Ferro? Now she felt entitled to the throne. She wanted the title, the money, and the man she had once scorned.Dream on, Briana thought, her grip on her son tightening.Katrina’s face twisted, the sound of Briana’s incredulous laughter acting like gasoline on her rage."Do you see?" she screeched, gesturing wildly with the gun, her composure fracturing. "Do you see how she always looks down on me? How she humiliates me?"Domitila didn't flinch. Her aim remained steady. "You are sick, Miss Vasconcelos. You are the only person on Earth who gets violated by a man on illegal aphrodisiacs and complains that the police saved

The pool deck had transformed into a tapestry of carnage. Drakov’s loyalists lay scattered across the wet tiles, either dead or writhing in agony, their groans mingling with the sharp scent of chlorine and spent gunpowder.It looked less like a high-society engagement party and more like the aftermath of a brutal ethnic conflict.Mark’s "Men in Gray" were battered, some nursing gunshot wounds, but miraculously, none had fallen.Vargas, pressing a hand against a bleeding gash in his side, waved off assistance, prioritizing the evacuation of his men and the wounded cook, Julian.Mark wiped grime and sweat from his brow, looming over his defeated enemy."Satisfied, Drakov?" Mark rasped, his chest heaving. "You provoked another massacre for absolutely nothing!"Armand glared up from the ground, blood staining his teeth, refusing to accept the reality of his defeat. "You keep blaming me... you keep pointing the finger... but which one of us is called the 'God of War,' hmm?""You never want