The tension in the Sullivan family estate had reached a boiling point.Daniel Tian stood in the center of the hall, his aura oppressive, his expression twisted in contempt. He looked down at George and Jack as if daring them to defy him again.“This is Eastridge City,” Daniel snapped. “Not Carson. Not your playground. You may be powerful over there, but here, I make the rules.”Jack stepped forward beside his father, calm and composed, his eyes locked onto Daniel’s.“We’re not here to challenge your territory,” Jack said. “But don’t make the mistake of thinking we’re beneath you. Try to control the Sullivan family, and you’ll find out just how far my reach really goes.”Daniel barked out a laugh. “Your reach? Boy, I’m not one of your Carson street thugs. I run this city. No outsider tells me what to do.”The air turned heavy.Even the elders of the Sullivan family leaned back in their chairs, unsure of what would happen next. Chad grinned like a child hiding behind his father’s legs.

The Sullivan estate had fallen into reverent silence.Moments ago, Jack Sullivan had become the most powerful man in the River Region, backed by Carson City, Westlake, and North Harbor. But even now, amid bowed heads and shaken hearts, one man still clung to defiance like a drowning man to driftwood.Nathan Sullivan.He stood trembling with rage, his eyes bloodshot, his voice hoarse.“I don’t care who kneels to you. You’re still just a broken heir! The Sullivan family head position is mine! I earned it when your father lost everything!”Chad stepped forward, shoulders squared in his usual arrogance. “That’s right! Do you think Shaw Group will stay silent? President Shaw will crush you, Jack. You’ll regret every decision you made tonight!”Jack didn’t even blink.He looked at Chad, then at Nathan, then back at Chad.And shook his head.“You’ve spoken enough,” Jack said, cold and emotionless. “It’s meaningless for you to keep living.”A shiver went down everyone's spine.Wendy gasped so

The Sullivan estate trembled in silence.Jack stood tall, calm as ever, while blood dripped from Andrew Shaw’s broken mouth. David Chang, still bandaged from their last encounter, tried to help him up—only for Jack to hurl a chair across the hall.CRACK!The wooden frame shattered against David’s shoulder, sending him crashing to the floor like a fly swatted mid-air.Gasps exploded.One woman screamed. An elder nearly fainted.Even Jack’s own relatives looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.“Jack, what are you doing?!” someone shouted.“That’s enough!” cried Aunt Patricia, trembling. “You’ve gone mad!”But Jack remained unmoved, his voice sharp like steel against bone.“So now we fear surnames?” he asked coldly, scanning the crowd. “Shaw? Sullivan? These names mean nothing if they’re attached to cowards and parasites.”His words stung.Andrew tried to crawl toward the exit, blood leaking from his nose and lips. “Y-You’re dead. My sister… my father… They’ll end you…”Jack’s gaze sharp

The golden lights of the Sullivan estate shimmered in the night, laughter echoing faintly from the grand banquet hall. The Harvest Festival was in full swing, with music and toasts celebrating George Sullivan’s reinstatement as the rightful head of the family.Jack, however, was absent—just as he preferred. He had already made his statement. The power he wielded tonight needed no audience, no speech. Just respect, which he now had in abundance.Earlier, he had made a simple request, standing before the elders and relatives:“What happened today… stays here. Frederick Shaw may have knelt, but he was once a soldier who bled for this country. I don’t want his shame used as gossip fodder. Anyone who spreads word of this… will answer to me.”No one argued. Not even Samuel. Not after what they had seen.They nodded, lips sealed tighter than vaults.In a quiet corner of the estate, away from the banquet’s fanfare, Philip Sullivan sat under the lantern-lit oak tree behind the guest villa. His

The television flickered softly in the Sullivan living room, casting warm light across the polished hardwood floors. Jack sat casually on the couch, remote in hand, flipping through channels with the calmness of a man who had just crushed three cities underfoot.Across from him, Wendy Sullivan peeled apples with surprising precision for someone who had once threatened a billionaire with a kitchen knife. George, her husband, sipped tea like the world outside no longer mattered.This was peace.This was the home Jack had fought for.But Lisa Johnson, Jack’s wife, sat at the edge of the couch like a stranger in her own story. Her hands were folded tightly in her lap, her eyes flickering between Jack and his parents.We smile in public. We act like a couple. But inside... it’s all hollow.She cleared her throat once.No one noticed.Jack was too busy laughing at a cooking show where a celebrity chef set her omelet on fire.Lisa’s heart thudded.She tried again. “Ahem…”Still nothing.So s