Laura’s eyes narrowed dangerously. She could feel her temper rising at the audacity, at the subtle attempt to control her. “Meet up?” she said slowly, her tone sharp. “No. I don’t… I want the pictures. Send them now. I don’t need to—” “No, Laura,” the leader interrupted, his tone steady but not harsh. “Pictures don’t do justice. You need to see it. You need to know he knows who sent you. That’s the message. Don’t argue. Just… come.” Laura’s fingers drummed against the couch’s armrest, her mind flashing through scenarios of confrontation, of strategy, of power plays. “I… I don’t know. I really don’t think—” “You always think,” her friend cut in, voice sharp but teasing. “And half the time, you overthink things so much that the opportunity disappears. Remember last week? You hesitated, and poof—gone.” Laura’s jaw tightened. “That was different. That—” “Different, shmnifferent,” her friend waved dismissively. “Look, he’s giving you the advantage. Face-to-face. You want him scared, ri

The gold-chain thug laughed, a rough, guttural sound that echoed in the misty lot. “Oh, you heard right. He beat us… all three of us. And because of that, we… well, let’s just say we’re collecting what’s owed.” His swollen jaw twitched as he took a slow step forward. Laura’s eyes widened. She glanced at her friend, who looked just as confused. Her pulse quickened, pounding in her ears like a drum. “What… what do you mean, collecting?” she demanded, trying to steady her trembling voice. “You were paid already. I gave you money. The deal was—” “The deal?” The scar-faced thug interrupted with a twisted grin. His split lip bled as he sneered. “The deal was that we beat him down, humiliate him, maybe rough him up. Instead, he humiliated us. Made us look like fools. You think we’d just walk away after that?” “That’s not my problem!” Laura snapped, her voice shriller than she intended. She tried to sound commanding, but the fear cracked through. “You failed. That’s on you, not me.” Th

The scar-faced thug snorted. “Oh, we’re underestimating you, alright. But we’re also teaching you a lesson. Do you know how much fun that is, huh? Standing there, acting all high and mighty, while we—” He gestured at his broken, bruised limbs, “—take the power back. That’s what tonight’s about. Power. And you? You handed it over like a gift.” Laura shook her head, desperation creeping in. “No… no, this isn’t fair. You agreed to a payment. You agreed—” “Agreed?” the limping thug spat. “Agreed? You think agreements matter when a man shows you who’s stronger? You think rules, contracts, payments, all that paper crap… it matters now? No, lady. Now it’s about respect. And you—” He leaned in, voice low, harsh, “you disrespected us.” Laura’s pulse hammered against her temples. She opened her mouth, trying to think, trying to negotiate, but her words faltered. “I… I can… I can give you more money. I can call my contacts—” Laura’s voice cracked as she shouted, “Stop! This isn’t—you sho

The late afternoon, Dylan leaned back in the taxi’s worn leather seat, his hand resting against the cool glass of the window as the city blurred past. His jaw was tight, his sharp eyes focused but distant. He had been out for days, moving silently through the city, watching from the shadows, waiting for the right moment to settle matters on his own terms. The taxi rattled to a stop at the entrance of the villa’s gated community. The iron gates loomed tall and black, polished enough to reflect faint shards of sunlight. Two security guards in crisp navy uniforms stood at their posts, their caps tilted low, their arms folded as though the world outside their watch was beneath them. Dylan stepped out of the car. His boots hit the pavement with a calm, measured weight. He pulled a few bills from his pocket, handed them to the driver, and the taxi rolled away, leaving a faint puff of exhaust in the cool air. Dylan adjusted his jacket, brushed the dust from his sleeves, and turned toward

The older guard narrowed his eyes. “Dangerous? Who said we were afraid of a man who can’t even carry himself properly? You walked here like you’re some kind of prince lost in the streets.”Dylan’s thin smirk widened imperceptibly. “Prince, huh?” He let the word hang in the air. “Interesting. So, let me get this straight: my taxi ride is your measure of status? My mode of transportation decides my worth?”The younger one snorted. “That’s right. That, and the fact you’re standing here thinking you belong.”Dylan leaned just slightly forward, letting the movement ripple across his body like the tightening of a spring. “And what if I do belong? What if every step I take, every breath I draw, is closer to proving it? Does that scare you, boys?”The older guard took a step back instinctively. “Scare us? Don’t be ridiculous. We’re trained. You think a little theatrics will faze us? Hah. You’re delusional.”“Trained,” Dylan repeated, letting the word roll off his tongue slowly, savoring it. “