Lilian couldn't help but offer a faint, knowing smile as Marcus's words echoed in her ears. Her eyes flickered with a mixture of amusement and seriousness before she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a soft but steady tone. "I know you're skilled, Marcus," she said, her gaze unwavering. "But I advise you not to make a move. If you even think about it, I will kill him."Marcus, sharp and perceptive, immediately recognized the depth of her skill. The way she held the gun suggested she wasn't bluffing; if she chose to pull the trigger, Richard’s life could very well end in that instant.Panic began to rise in his chest, but he masked it well. “Don’t be rash,” he replied quickly, his voice steady but betraying a hint of urgency. “I won’t make a move…”Lilian's lips curled upward in a small, satisfied smile. "That's good..." she said softly. Then, her attention shifted, her eyes locking on Richard. "Little Richard," she began, her voice laced with a hint of sadness, "I helped you back

Richard’s footsteps echoed in the quiet night air as he walked leisurely toward his villa, but something in the back of his mind felt off, a lingering sense of unease that he couldn’t shake. As the darkness stretched out around him, the feeling intensified, like an invisible presence lurking just beyond his sight.He paused, his hand instinctively going to his side as a strange, cold chill crept over him. He turned abruptly, his eyes scanning the surrounding shadows, but found nothing—just the oppressive stillness of the night. The moon was only a sliver in the sky, casting faint light over the landscape, leaving the world draped in darkness. He checked again. And again. After three careful glances over his shoulder, he sighed, chalking it up to nothing more than his own paranoia. But that nagging sensation wouldn’t go away. He was being followed. He could feel it.He continued walking, but the unease gnawed at him, urging him to stay vigilant. Every few steps, he turned to glance behi

When George and James entered the hospital room, their eyes immediately fell on Richard, lying in a state so dire that even they, accustomed to high-stress situations, were taken aback. The room was heavy with the scent of antiseptic, and the stark, clinical environment felt suffocating. George, his face pale and drawn, looked at his grandson with a sense of disbelief. His worst fears were now a cruel reality.Richard’s body was battered beyond recognition, and the sight of him lying there, barely clinging to life, struck George harder than he cared to admit. The gravity of the situation was not lost on him. For a moment, he simply stood there, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him.“How severe are his injuries?” George asked, his voice thick with emotion. It was more than just a question—it was a plea for hope, even if only a sliver.The doctor, a man who had seen his share of life-and-death situations, sighed heavily. His eyes flickered to George before speaking in a profes

George sat behind the mahogany desk, his movements deliberate and slow as he poured the wine, filling both glasses before passing one to Richard. The glass, delicate in its crystal clarity, caught the light as George slid it over to his grandson.Richard took the glass with a quiet nod, appreciating the gesture, though his mind was miles away. He raised it to his lips, taking a sip as he pondered the recent events that had brought him here. The rich flavor of the wine seemed to momentarily ground him, but before he could fully relax, his grandfather broke the silence, his voice steady but laced with concern.“What exactly happened, Richard?”The simple question pierced through Richard’s thoughts, forcing him to recall the horrific events. His brow furrowed as he began recounting the attack, speaking of the assassin’s cold demeanor, the violent confrontation, and the unmistakable feeling that death had been only a breath away. He didn't hold anything back, detailing every moment as best

David Prescott sat in his opulent office, the weight of his recent troubles pressing down on him like a suffocating cloud. His mind churned with confusion and frustration. His company, the Prescott Group, was crumbling before his eyes, and yet he couldn’t understand why. He hadn’t made any missteps, hadn’t crossed any lines that would warrant such a devastating attack. His only recent quarrels had been with business rivals—rivals who, though they posed a challenge, certainly didn’t have the power to bring a $100 billion company to its knees. So who, then, was behind this catastrophic downfall?His thoughts spiraled in a haze of uncertainty, when suddenly, the shrill ring of his phone cut through the silence. Startled, David quickly answered, assuming it was an update from his company’s struggling departments. But the voice that greeted him on the other end was not what he expected. It was accusatory, sharp, and carried an underlying threat.“You have the nerve to send your bodyguards a