William Sanders pushed through the crowd like a storm tearing through the sea. His heavy boots slammed against the stone path as his men followed close behind. His presence alone carried the weight of authority—his aura was sharp, hostile, and domineering.“Mr. Manchester,” Dante muttered under his breath, his face pale. He tugged lightly on Adam’s sleeve. “It looks like… they’re coming straight for us.”Adam didn’t flinch. His posture stayed calm, steady, unbothered by the growing tension. He had expected this. When Sasha fled earlier, he knew she wouldn’t let things go quietly.Soon enough, both groups faced each other in the open courtyard.William’s glare was like fire. “You brat,” he spat, his tone dripping with contempt. “Were you the one who hurt my son?”Adam’s expression remained even. “I don’t know your son.”“Don’t play games!” Sasha snapped, stepping forward. Her eyes burned with spite. “He’s talking about Mr. Jake—your handiwork on the hill, remember? Don’t tell me you’ve

The arrival of Leah Sanders shifted the atmosphere like a breeze through a closed room. She moved toward the entrance in a white dress that caught the light, hair falling in soft waves down her back. At a glance she looked no more than twenty, but there was a calm in her that belied her age. Her face was open, unpainted, the kind of beauty that made people look twice and then forget to breathe.Men in the crowd straightened as if by reflex. Even William’s scowl faltered for a moment. Leah’s presence had the odd effect of making the chaos look smaller, as if her composure sucked the edges of it inward.“Uncle William, what are you doing?” she asked, voice cool and steady.William’s anger snapped back like a cord being pulled. “That bastard beat Jake. I was about to break his legs for him. He needs to pay.”Leah turned, her expression settling on Adam. “Is what my uncle says true?” she asked, even and direct.Adam met her gaze without flinching. “It is true, but that is not the whole st

Maverick slammed his glass down and the others echoed him, not with words but with the kind of hungry, ugly laughter that made the room feel smaller. Jake swallowed the last of his drink and pushed to his feet, adrenaline and shame braided together into a dangerous energy.“Fine,” he said. “We go now. Find him, break him, show everyone he can be picked on.”They left the room in a cluster, elbows and shoves, the corridor alive with the kind of bravado that only cowardice baptizes as courage. The hotel smelled of cheap cologne and cigarette smoke. By the time they hit the elevator, their numbers had doubled through cousins and hangers-on. They moved like a small hunt.At the hotel lobby someone started a chant. It spread faster than a rumor. The concierge tried to calm them, but when the leader barked, “Hey, the jerk in room 503! Get out here!” the lobby turned into a stage for a public show of humiliation. Voices rose. Phones came out. People who would otherwise mind their own busines

He had known Sasha for a long time. He had watched her laugh at other men, watched her move through rooms like she owned the air. Seeing her in Adam's arms did something ugly in his chest. This was not supposed to be his scene.Adam held Sasha close, one arm locked across her shoulders. He spoke as if declaring territory. "This woman is mine. Marcus lost her to me in a bet. In fact, I plan to fuck her later."Those words landed like oil on tinder. Maverick’s eyes widened, hard and furious. The swagger that had carried him through every bar fight and backyard brawl vanished in a second and left a raw, ugly focus.Sasha fought with everything she had. She clawed at Adam’s wrist and kicked with her heels, but Adam’s grip was iron and calm. “Save me, Mr. Maverick,” she gasped, voice breaking. She looked at Maverick with a mixture of terror and pleading that made the whole lobby tilt.Maverick’s jaw clenched. He had thought this would be simple. He had thought the Sanders cousins would bar

“Impressive,” someone breathed. “Late-stage at his age. Divine grandmaster is only a step away.”The crowd buzzed. Practitioners leaned forward like wolves sensing blood. Rising that fast inside the Sanders clan meant resources, training, and raw talent. Maverick carried all three. People made small bets with coins and whispered wagers.Adam and Maverick stood about twenty feet apart on the flattened plaza. Lights from the club windows threw long, slow shadows across the stone. Between them the air felt tight, like the space before a drum is struck.Maverick’s face had gone hard. His pupils narrowed into pinpoints. His breath was measured, precise. You could see the hours of drilling etched into the way he shifted his weight, the years of sparring trapped in how his fists curled. He embodied confidence built over blood and repetition.Adam, masked and unreadable, leaned one shoulder forward. One hand hung relaxed at his side. The other idly rubbed his chin as if he were thinking about