At noon, their private jet touched down at the Kane estate.The Kane family was one of Vermont’s oldest ruling lineages, and their headquarters reflected centuries of power.The mansion rose like a fortress of wealth, its sprawling gardens and ponds arranged by the most renowned feng shui masters.Every tree, every stone, every ripple of water was placed to channel fortune endlessly toward the Kane bloodline.Hundreds of guards patrolled the perimeter, their eyes sharp, rifles steady.Bella walked at Alex’s side, her fingers clutching the back of his shirt as if it were her lifeline.She stayed close, almost sheltered in his shadow, her steps timid but steady.She longed to pull him nearer, but shyness held her back, stealing her courage—yet the fear of losing him kept her grip unbreakable.“Alex, you’re finally here. Please, help us check on Jericho—something’s happened to him.”At the entrance, Lidia stood with her butler, her face pale and frantic.“I’ll check him,” Alex said firml

Last week, Samuel Prescott sat across from Jericho Kane in a private study thick with the scent of oak and old leather.The table between them gleamed with crystal glasses and an unopened bottle of wine.“Samuel,” Jericho said. “I don’t understand you. You want me back in the governor’s seat? You don’t have the power to make that happen.”Jericho uncorked his finest bottle, pouring deep red into Samuel’s glass.“I don’t,” Samuel admitted, accepting the pour. “But the king does. He could put you back.”Jericho laughed, sharp and bitter. “You know where I stand. I am always on the old king’s side. Thee new king? He despises me. He gave Kelly Kingston the governorship just to keep me out.”“The king sees more than you think, Kane.” Samuel swirled the wine, took a sip, and let his eyes widen. “Remarkable vintage.”Jericho smirked faintly.“He’s been watching you,” Samuel continued. “You’ve done nothing. You’ve stayed in the shadows. To him, that means you’re teachable—maybe even useful ag

Alfred Kingston sat at the long dining table with his wife Jessica and their daughter Jasmine. The weight in the air was heavier than the plates before them.“Jasmine,” Alfred said, “I’m lifting your house arrest. You’ll return to Vancouver, and from now on, you’ll do exactly as I say.” “Your brother is working with his friend from Los Angeles. You’ll open the mining agreement in Vancouver for them.”Jasmine fork slipped from her hand and clattered against the plate.“Father, this is wrong. If you hand the mine over to those people, Vancouver will lose everything. Our revenues will collapse.”“That isn’t our concern,” Alfred snapped. “Just follow my orders. They’ve promised Charles thirty percent of the profits—without us lifting a finger.”“Father,” Jasmine pleaded, “without them, Vancouver’s government still keeps fifty percent of the profit—money that belongs to the people.”“If you give the mine away, Charles may take thirty, but his friends will steal another twenty. The people

Inside the study, Alfred was deep in conversation with Doctor Harris when his phone suddenly buzzed against the polished desk.“Father,” Charles’s voice came through the loudspeaker, ragged, breathless. “The rebels opened fire on us. I’m hit.”Alfred shot up from his chair, panic cutting through his usual iron composure. “Son! Are you alright? Tell me where you’re hurt!”Charles gave a short, shaky laugh.“It’s nothing—just bruises on my arms. Kelly shoved me too hard when she pushed me down. She still needs to be taught a lesson—you should punish her later. But my girlfriend… she’s bleeding bad.”His eyes dropped to the tiny, bloody cut running down her arm. Honestly, most villagers would just spit on it, slap some dirt over, and call it “Done.”But the way she carried on, you’d think she was nine months pregnant and about to deliver triplets in the middle of the street.Suddenly this little scratch had become a full-blown emergency, complete with “rush me to the hospital, I’m dying”

General Mark sat in the temporary command room overlooking Los Angeles, certain the night would end without trouble.He had a thousand soldiers under his command. The rebels? Maybe two or three hundred.Their target was eight thousand ragged, starving people scattered across the streets—bodies thin, hungry, and unarmed.To Mark, they were nothing. A thousand rifles would erase them easily.“Hey—what’s happening? Our link’s gone!” one of the comms men suddenly shouted.Another soldier raised his head, pale. “Same here, sir. We’re dead on this side too.”“Is the L.A. communications team taking our connection down too?” Mark’s voice cut through the room.“Get someone over there—now. Tell them to bring the feed back online.”As the soldier hurried out, Mark waved his hand. “We still have military landlines and radios. Bring them up for now.”The man on radio duty worked the controls. “Sir, the frequencies are jammed—we’re getting nothing.”General Mark yawned, “Don’t worry. Our soldiers w