Still inside the car, sweat beaded on Damian's forehead, rolling down the side of his face like the slow drip of impending doom, even as the AC blasted at full speed.He didn’t even wipe it away because his mind was too clouded with thoughts of what awaited him.His fingers were now gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white as his father’s words, "Consider yourself disowned. You are no longer my son," echoed in his mind.The weight of humiliation settled deep in his chest because he knew that his father's decision was absolute.He had never known a life without wealth, without privilege. He had always been his father’s son—untouchable, respected, feared. Now? Now he was nothing—it was being stripped away like a filthy rag. The thought alone sent a wave of panic crashing over him.The sleek interior of his Maserati felt suffocating now, like a luxurious coffin."Fuck!" he shouted, voice cracking."This can’t be happening. This can’t be real," he muttered, lo

The tension in the air was sharp enough to slice through skin. Slowly, Damian turned to face his father, just like everyone else was doing. The company security bowed respectfully to his father.His father stood a few feet away, flanked by two stiff-looking guards in suits, his expression unreadable but his eyes full of disgust—locked right on Damian.But Damian didn’t care about any of that. He tried to take a step forward, hoping to silently plead with him.Only, he didn’t even get that far, as his father’s eyes stopped him cold, followed by his voice—icy and filled with disdain—as he pointed at him like he was something rotten.“I told you, didn’t I? Stay away from anything that carries the Hayes name,” his father snapped, loud enough for the whole crowd to hear.The reporters froze for a moment—then chaos as cameras flashed like lightning and gasps echoed through the crowd. They rushed past the barricade, desperate to catch every second of the disaster unraveling right in front

The dim lights of the bar cast a warm glow across the wooden counter.It was nearly empty, just the way Ethan liked it.Soft jazz played through the speakers, blending with the quiet clink of ice in glasses and the low murmur of a few scattered conversations.In the corner, the bartender lazily wiped down glasses, clearly not interested in anything past the edge of the bar.Ethan sat alone in a booth, one hand wrapped around a glass of whiskey, the other holding his phone.He took a slow sip, eyes locked on the screen as one of the trending videos of Damian's father officially cutting ties with his own son played.Ethan had seen it more times than he could count, but it still made him grin.“From this day forward, I no longer recognize him as my son.”As the words echoed through the speakers, his grin grew wider.Then, he let out a small chuckle, tilting the glass as he muttered under his breath, “Good.”He knew Damian's father's decision was a strategy in order to protect the company

The voices of Vanessa's family and the soft clinking of the cutlery in the spacious dining room felt distant, like they were happening in another world as Vanessa barely touched her food.She sat quietly, picking at the grilled chicken on her plate as her thoughts spun wildly.She wasn’t there—not really. Her mind was stuck on the look on Damian’s face—the way shock hit him when the cameras caught the exact moment his dad publicly disowned him."Did he even have anywhere to go now that his father had disowned him?" Her chest ached just thinking about it.Her phone lay beside her, screen dark; still no response from him. She had called too many times already.“He could at least answer my calls.” Frustrated, she let her fork drop onto the plate, the soft clink cutting through the noise around her."What if he’s breaking down right now and I’m just here… eating? How is he handling everything? Does he have anyone with him?" Her brows pulled together as the troubling thoughts swirled in he

Ethan sat on the chair inside the chamber, his fingers rubbing his temple in slow circles, trying to chase away the dull headache that had become a regular visitor as the weight of what his father called "destiny" pressed down on him like an invisible force.Each day that passed, his strength drained a little more.This morning had been the worst yet. When he had tried to get out of bed, his legs had felt like they were filled with lead rather than bone and muscle. He couldn't even stand up. For hours, he had lain there, staring at the ceiling as sunlight crept across his bedroom wall, waiting for enough strength to return so he could at least walk to the bathroom."What's happening to me?" he whispered to the empty room.The weakness was spreading—starting from his extremities and working its way toward his core, like some invisible parasite feeding on his life force.The ring on his finger—once warm and alive with power—now felt cold and heavy. The surge of strength that had allowed