The boutique’s entrance chimed softly as Javier stepped inside, the kind of restrained, elegant chime overly expensive stores loved to use—delicate, pretentious, whispering you probably can’t afford anything here.Three sales associates glanced up.Then their expressions darkened, synchronized perfectly—raised brows, curled lips, a quick exchange of mocking looks.The shortest one, with fiery red lipstick and a permanently curled smirk, leaned toward her colleague.“Another window shopper,” she muttered openly, not even attempting to hide it.Her colleague—tall, bony, wearing glasses purely for aesthetic—snorted.“He looks like he came in here by accident. Maybe he got lost on the way to the food court.”Javier didn’t react. His face remained unreadable, his posture calm, almost relaxed.He walked deeper into the store, eyes scanning the displays of luxury men’s wristwatches—limited editions, rare metals, custom engravings. He was here for a reason.But the staff clearly didn’t care.

By the time Javier Everhart stepped out of the boutique, the staff still scrambling behind him to pack every limited-edition timepiece, the entire building seemed to hold its breath. Even the security guards stood stick-straight, eyes down, as if afraid that one wrong movement might draw his attention.The three disgraced employees—Red-Lipstick, Glasses, and Slicked-Back—were kneeling on the floor, openly crying. Not a single person spared them pity. Customers edged away from them like they were contagious.And outside the glass doors—The crowd had already formed.Phones were out.Whispers surged like electricity.“That’s him.”“Everhart.”“I heard he bought the entire store.”“No—he fired the staff just by existing.”“He never even raised his voice…”Javier ignored them all, walking with calm, controlled steps. His expression didn’t change. If anything, the city’s fear rolled past him like wind.But behind him…The moment he disappeared from view, the boutique erupted.The manager c

Javier walked farther into the lobby, letting the sting of the guard’s mockery slide off him like dust. His gaze remained steady, but his jaw tightened—a subtle tick that only those who truly observed him would notice. Most people never looked long enough. They dismissed him too quickly.Exactly like now.“Sir,” the young receptionist said, stepping forward with a strained smile. “I believe there has been a misunderstanding.”Javier raised an eyebrow. Here it comes.The receptionist cleared her throat. “This elevator—” she gestured to the private lift behind her, “—is reserved for executives, board members, and high-profile guests. You should use the public elevator on the west wing.”The guard from earlier snickered loudly. “Yeah, buddy. Don’t make her repeat herself. This one ain’t for… whatever you are.”A few employees passing by glanced at Javier, whispering behind poorly hidden hands.“Is he lost?”“Probably some courier delivered to the wrong floor.”“His clothes look cheap.”C

The boardroom lay split in half—one side drowned in silence, the other in a quiet, trembling panic. Marcus Blackthorne hadn’t moved since Javier’s fingers left his collar. His breath came in short, ragged bursts, like a man who had just seen death and wasn’t sure it had left yet.Javier’s expression, however, remained unreadable.Too calm.Too silent.Too dangerous.He returned to his seat at the head of the table with the same unhurried stride he used whether entering a boardroom or walking past men plotting his downfall. He sat, adjusted his cuffs, and the room collectively recoiled—because even that tiny gesture carried threat.“Shall we continue?” Javier asked.His tone was soft.Soft enough to terrify.Executives exchanged frantic glances, but no one dared break the silence. Marcus flinched when Javier’s gaze slid past him, but Javier didn’t look at him again.Not yet.He had other threats to address.His eyes shifted—cold, steady, calculating—to the man sitting near the far end

Javier Everhart stood frozen in the middle of the ballroom, even though soft music and the clinking of glasses filled the air. It all felt dim and muted in his ears. His eyes stared straight ahead, toward a group of young men who had just laughed while mentioning his name.Or more precisely—mocking him.“Did you see his face earlier?” one of them, a man in a dark blue suit, nudged his friend. “Honestly… I thought the Everhart Family had high standards. Turns out all the rumors were true. He’s just a big name without any ability.”Laughter erupted.Some of the other guests only glanced briefly, some held back smiles, others acted as if they didn’t hear. But Javier knew: they all heard.And they intentionally let it happen.Javier clenched his hand behind his back. The joints in his fingers tightened. His throat felt hot—not from embarrassment, but from anger. Yet he remained silent. His posture remained straight. His gaze remained steady.“He can’t even open his mouth to defend himself