Everything turned into chaos.Police shouted, people scattered, and reporters chased like a pack of hungry dogs.Adam ran with all his might, cutting through narrow alleys behind the buildings, his breathing ragged, his eyes wild.In his mind, there was only one word: survive.This couldn't be happening.It wasn't fair.He, Adam Smith, was supposed to be immune to all this.He was supposed to be above the law, above the world.Sweat poured down his forehead as he kept running without direction.Arkanza watched the chase unfold from a small screen in his hand.He knew Adam would run.He had predicted it.Arkanza had no intention of stopping him now.There was still the final act to play.Calmly, he closed his phone, put on his jacket, and stepped out of the café into the cold night.Adam could run as far as he wanted.But he could never escape the truth.In a filthy corner of the city, Adam finally stopped, gasping, his body trembling.He leaned against a brick wall, his eyes searching

The Smith residence had changed. The house, once known as a place of power, luxury, and pride, had now become a house of mourning. Every room was filled with sorrow that haunted every corner. Everyone who had known Arkanza felt an overwhelming sense of loss, and tears flowed uncontrollably.The coffin placed in the center of the living room became the focal point. Arkanza’s body lay stiff inside, his once vibrant face now appearing calm, though marred with wounds. Maria, his mother, sat beside the coffin, wearing the last outfit Arkanza had worn, as if unwilling to let her son go.Around the coffin, Arkanza’s friends gathered—those who had once been part of his life, who had shared countless moments with him, now stood with bowed heads. Milan, Albert, Vikram, Barak, Valerie, Lilian, Norman, Amber, and many other relatives came to pay their final respects.Milan stood in a corner of the room, his tears streaming endlessly. There were no words he could say. His hands, usually steady and