Andrew picked up two packs of the premium ginseng and walked further into the store to get some other stuff . He scanned the aisles, picking up a small, ornate box of spring rose —a rare kind, meant to strengthen vitality. Just as he reached for a sprig of Red Sage, a sudden commotion at the entrance snapped him from his thoughts. The bell above the door gave a soft chime, but it was quickly drowned by the low murmur of voices rising in awe and astonishment . All gazes were focused on the figure who had just walked in . The shoppers , who’d been quietly scanning the aisles for what they wanted , now shifted to the sides of the store, creating a path as if royalty had walked in. Heads bowed slightly, murmurs drifted through the air, soft as leaves rustling in the wind. Andrew turned, his eyes narrowing , ‘Why the sudden change of atmosphere?’ he wondered Just then , an elderly man entered the store with slow, deliberate steps. He exuded an aura of power ,his silver ha

Andrew didn’t speak right away. For a second, his silence spoke louder than any words ever could. His eyes held the old man’s gaze—He could see the doubt cracking through the old man’s confidence. Not because he had said anything special. But because the old man was finally listening to his own body—and not the men trying hard to silence it. Andrew exhaled, slow and even. “You wake up every morning,” he said, “and the pain is worst just before you stand. It's sharp. Not dull. It comes in waves… but only after long periods of rest. Especially after lying on your left side. Am I right?” The old man’s lips parted, but no words came. He just nodded. Once. Andrew took a step closer. Not to intimidate. Just enough to close the space between them. Just enough for his voice to soften, like he was sharing something private. “You’ve lost weight in the last two weeks. Not too much. Just enough to make your clothes sit wrong. Your appetite’s gone. Everything tastes metallic. And you’ve

Silence fell again. Not the kind that fades with time. Heavy. Suffocating. Every man in the room could feel it coil around their chest. The herb doctor was the first to speak, and his voice was far too calm for someone who’d just been accused. “If it isn’t Ascado,” he said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “then what is it?” Andrew turned to face him. His voice low as ever . “You best know the answer to your question.” He didn’t even glance at the herb again. He didn’t need to. He had handled Ascado for years—ground it, brewed it, inhaled its scent in a hundred healing rooms. His body knew it like a second skin. This one—this thing—felt wrong the moment it touched his palm. The surface was waxy, too smooth. It carried no scent. It was dead. He could tell, even with his eyes closed. The old man's assistant, who had been surprisingly silent through the entire ordeal, suddenly stepped forward. His voice was low, dangerous. “Listen. It’s not too late to walk away. Go do som

The two glasses of water were placed carefully on the small coffee table at the center of the room, and for a moment, no one moved, no one spoke, and even the air itself seemed to stand still in anticipation of what Andrew was about to do. Without uttering a single word, Andrew reached forward, picked up the herb with steady fingers, and began to mix it into both glasses of water, his hands moving slowly and deliberately, every soul in the room held their breath and followed his actions in tense silence. He didn’t look at anyone. He didn’t need to. He knew they were watching him. He could feel their gazes—sharp, unsettled, trying to read him like a page that kept rewriting itself with every second. Slowly ,the liquid began to change color, a dull brown slowly spreading like ink in clear water. When the mixture was done, Andrew took both glasses in his hands. He walked forward slowly, like a man delivering fate itself to its rightful owners. His steps didn’t shake. But behind hi

The Ashton family dining room was filled with quiet whispers and disapproving looks.The air felt heavy, and everyone’s face was clouded with dissatisfaction. “He can’t even show up on time,” someone muttered, shaking their head. “How can he handle anything else?” Another voice added, “He’s not even married into the family yet, and he’s already misbehaving .” Aunt Monica clicked her tongue. “He’s dreaming if he thinks he’ll become part of the Roman family. Sooner or later, he’ll realize it’s impossible.” Morin, sitting comfortably at the table, smirked. He cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “Anastacia is mine,” he said confidently. “That fool will learn his place soon enough.” Some family members chuckled, nodding in agreement. Just then, the butler entered the room and bowed. “Mr. Andrew has arrived,” he announced. All eyes turned toward the door as Andrew stepped inside. He held a small gift bag in his hand, his expression calm. His gaze moved across the r