The sunlight streamed softly through the tall windows of Chris’s Brooklyn villa, casting golden lines across the floor. It had been only a day since Elias’s death — a single day since blood had painted the streets, yet the air felt eerily calm. The chaos that had erupted the night before now lingered only in whispers, like the fading echo of a storm that promised to return. Inside one of the villa’s spacious rooms, Elliot sat up in bed, his upper torso wrapped in clean bandages. His breathing was steady but shallow, every movement reminding him of the wounds he’d sustained under Ken’s brutal torture. The pain was still there — a dull ache that pulsed through his ribs — but it was nothing compared to the quiet determination in his eyes. Stacks of documents lay open on his lap, spread neatly across the blanket. His brows furrowed in concentration as he flipped through page after page, the faint rustle of paper the only sound in the quiet room. The door creaked open gently, and Amanda

The golden hues of sunset draped Brooklyn in a calm deceit. The sky was a burning canvas, streaked with crimson light that poured through the glass walls of the studio where Amanda Jensen had just wrapped up a photo shoot. Her beauty shone even after hours under the harsh camera lights — yet her eyes carried something deeper tonight: fatigue, and perhaps, an unspoken anxiety. Ever since Elias’s death and the revelations surrounding Chris, life had felt unstable — like a calm sea hiding a storm beneath. She drove home quietly, the rhythmic hum of the tires blending with her thoughts. The city outside flickered by — a blend of neon and dusk — but her mind lingered elsewhere, on Elliot. His recovery had been steady, but the thought of him lying bruised and bandaged still made her heart ache. She wished she could’ve stayed at the villa longer, to care for him, to feel that fragile sense of safety she only ever felt near him. When she finally pulled into the Jensen family driveway, somet

The night air was cold and tense, wrapping around Amanda like invisible chains as she was shoved into the black SUV parked in front of her family’s mansion. Her wrists trembled, not because of the chill but from the shock that had yet to leave her body. The echoes of the gunshot—her father’s cry—still haunted her ears. Sirius sat beside her, calm and composed, as though what had just transpired inside her home was a trivial affair. His men, dressed in black and armed to the teeth, filled the car with an air of danger that left no room for defiance. Amanda’s breathing was uneven, her mind spinning with images she couldn’t erase—her father collapsing to the floor, Alan’s bloodied face, her mother’s horrified scream. She clenched her fists, silently praying that her family was still alive. Sirius glanced at her, smirking faintly. “You’re quiet, Miss Jensen. I suppose reality has finally sunk in?” Amanda turned her face toward the window, refusing to look at him. “You’re going to regre

Elliot smirked, his calm demeanor throwing Sirius off balance. “You think killing me will make you any safer?” Sirius frowned. “You’re not in a position to act cocky, kid.” “I’m not acting,” Elliot replied coolly. “I’m telling you the truth. You’re in over your head. I don't know you but whoever sent you on this mission must have paid you well… because only a desperate fool would take a death job like this.” Sirius’s expression darkened. “Big words from a man on his knees.” Elliot leaned forward slightly, his tone laced with quiet defiance. “You think you can touch my master? You have no idea what you’re walking into.” Sirius’s patience snapped. He struck Elliot across the face with the butt of his gun, the metallic thud echoing in the silence that followed. Blood trickled down Elliot’s lip, but he only laughed softly, shaking his head. “Stupid and suicidal,” Sirius muttered, standing upright. “Fine. If you won’t talk, maybe I’ll start with her instead.” He turned toward Amanda

The morning sun had barely risen over New York, yet the city was already humming with its usual rhythm—honking horns, screeching subways, and the perpetual chatter of people rushing toward work, errands, or appointments. Yet amidst this ordinary chaos, the air carried an electric undercurrent—a whisper that had swept through the city like wildfire. Chris’ identity, long shrouded in secrecy, had finally been exposed: heir to the White family fortune, chairman of Pegasus Enterprise, and the very man who had quietly held the city’s undercurrents of power in his hands. Inside a sleek black sedan weaving through the traffic, Chris drove with his usual composed demeanor. Beside him sat Eva, calm as ever, her eyes scanning the cityscape outside the window. Behind them, Kate, her mother, and Doris, her grandmother, were seated in the back, and the tension in the air was nearly tangible. Kate shifted uncomfortably in her seat, fingers twisting nervously in her lap. She stole glances at Chris