The principal stood frozen, his face pale and beads of sweat dotting his forehead. Lawrence Bryant's ultimatum echoed sharply through the room, leaving everyone in a stunned silence.“Professor Bryant, surely we don’t need to be so drastic…” The principal stammered, anxiously adjusting his tie. "We can discuss—"Lawrence interrupted fiercely, his aged eyes blazing. “Discuss what exactly? Your utter incompetence or Greg Kent’s intolerable arrogance? Either Jack Sullivan stays, or you lose me—permanently.”The principal swallowed visibly, glancing nervously between Lawrence and Greg, who stood arrogantly to the side, smugness plastered across his face.“I…understand, Professor Bryant. Sullivan stays, of course,” the principal quickly surrendered, nodding anxiously.Greg’s smug expression cracked instantly. “What? But Principal Evans, you can’t just—”“Oh, and another thing,” Lawrence raised his hand, silencing Greg immediately. “If Carson University wishes to maintain my presence, then

Tina stood silently, her head bowed as the sharp sting of Stella Shaw’s slap echoed through the grand living room of the Shaw estate."Useless," Stella snapped coldly, wiping her fingers with a silk handkerchief as if touching Tina had soiled her. "From now on, you speak only when spoken to. Do I make myself clear?""Y-yes, Miss Shaw," Tina murmured, clutching her cheek.Stella’s icy glare deepened. "Not ‘Miss Shaw.’ Call me ma’am. Sophie might have tolerated your incompetence, but I won’t."Tina nodded quickly, blinking back the tears. Inside, she was screaming — but with Stella, resistance meant punishment.Stella turned and strutted across the room in stilettos that clicked like the ticking of a countdown. “Prepare my itinerary. I want a meeting with Shaw Group’s board tomorrow, and have someone track Jack Sullivan.”"Track him, ma’am?" Tina asked hesitantly.Stella turned sharply, eyes blazing. “Yes. I don’t intend to repeat my pathetic sister’s mistakes. If Jack Sullivan won’t co

Brett's massive frame cast a shadow over the parking lot as he flexed his muscles, the fabric of his shirt straining against his enormous chest. The late afternoon sun glinted off his skin, which seemed to have an almost metallic sheen—a testament to the rumors about his bulletproof body."Last chance, Sullivan," Brett growled, rolling his shoulders until they cracked like breaking timber. "Kneel down, beg for mercy, and maybe I'll make your death quick."Jack stood perfectly still, his hands relaxed at his sides, seemingly unbothered by the three-meter giant looming over him. His calm demeanor only seemed to infuriate Brett further."Fiona," Jack said casually, turning toward the car where she sat with wide, terrified eyes, "did you bring your ear scoop?"The question hung in the air like a bizarre joke. Derek Stevens blinked rapidly, certain he had misheard. Even Fiona looked confused, her hand instinctively moving to her purse."My... my ear scoop?" she stammered. "I think so, but

The Roman French Restaurant exuded elegance with its crystal chandeliers casting warm, golden light across mahogany tables draped in pristine white linen. The gentle clink of silverware against fine china mixed with the soft murmur of cultured conversation, creating an atmosphere of refined luxury that perfectly matched its reputation as Carson City's most exclusive dining establishment."Good evening, Miss Quinn," the maître d' greeted with a respectful bow as they approached the entrance. "Your family's VIP status ensures you'll have our finest table tonight."Fiona smiled graciously, though Jack could see the tension still lingering in her shoulders from their earlier conversation about Phillip Fisher. "Thank you, Henri. Just something quiet, please."They were escorted to a secluded corner table with a view of the restaurant's garden, where soft lighting illuminated carefully manicured roses and flowing fountains. The privacy was exactly what they needed after the chaos of the aft

The restaurant's atmosphere crackled with tension as Harold Quinn and Richard Quinn's hired thugs closed in on Jack's table. Crystal glasses trembled on nearby tables from the heavy footsteps, and several patrons had already fled toward the exits, leaving their meals half-finished in their haste to escape what appeared to be an inevitable bloodbath.Quinn Shaw watched from across the dining room with barely contained glee, his phone still recording as he anticipated Jack Sullivan's humiliation. Phillip Fisher stood with his arms crossed, a satisfied smirk playing across his handsome features as he prepared to watch this nobody get what he deserved."Finally," Phillip muttered to Yale Miller. "Time to show this peasant what happens when he crosses his betters."But just as the first thug reached Jack's table, Harold Quinn's voice cut through the restaurant like a whip crack."Stop! Everyone stop right now!"The hired men froze mid-step, confusion written across their faces as they turn