The Luricor lobby was a full-blown circus. Reginald was still shouting like a madman, jabbing his finger toward Abigail and Kai. “They bribed him! That’s how they stole my project!” he roared. “This is slander! I worked for that deal!” People gathered, murmurs swelling. “Isn’t that the guy from the wedding scandal?” “Same one. The fiancée who got beat up and the fake gift drama...” “Now he’s crying corruption? The irony’s too much.” As the whispers grew louder, the elevator dinged. The noise dropped instantly. Thane Jackson stepped out, surrounded by assistants and two suited security guards. His expression was cold, razor-sharp, like a man used to cutting heads without lifting a blade. The moment he saw the scene, he didn’t even blink. “Call the police,” he told the secretary beside him. “Now.” Reginald’s roar died in his throat. Thane pointed straight at him. “I just got the internal report. Reginald Thompson. It was your company that conspired with Conrad Lin

(THIS IS AN EXPLICIT SCENE, PLEASE MOVE TO THE NEXT CHAPTER IF YOU CAN'T HANDLE IT, THANKS.) The room reeked of alcohol and sin. Abigail's head throbbed. Her limbs were heavy, her vision blurred. Something was wrong. Her throat was dry like sandpaper, and the heat crawling under her skin wasn’t natural. She struggled to sit up, but her body refused to obey. Across the room, laughter. Conrad Lin. He wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t high. He was waiting. Her family had collapsed one by one, slumped over the table or against plush leather couches, unconscious from the drug-laced wine he had poured with fake smiles and false sincerity. Abigail had taken only a few sips, but it was enough to dull her defenses. Now she was cornered. Conrad stood in front of her, tie loose, breath heavy. The grin on his face wasn’t amused anymore. It was hungry. "Tch," he clicked his tongue, looking over the passed-out bodies. "Useless lot. Wasn't after them anyway." He turned to Abigail. She tr

Abigail was trembling, panic bursting in her chest as she stared at the chaos. She couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t stop screaming his name. “Kai...please! Please stop! You’ll kill them!” But he wasn’t listening. He couldn’t. Kai stood in front of the crumpled bodies of Conrad and Reginald, his fists soaked in blood, his chest rising and falling like a caged beast. His entire body radiated heat...violent, unstable heat. His veins glowed faintly under his skin, and the air around him was vibrating. She could see it. Feel it. The burn in her palm still stung. He was gone. Whatever part of him was still human… was buried under the madness. Kai could hear her...her sobs, her pleas but it was distant, like echoes inside a dark tunnel. The bloodlust, the pain, the humiliation they had caused... it surged through him, adding fuel to a fire that refused to burn out. Conrad whimpered, barely conscious, his hand dragging feebly on the floor. Reginald was slumped against the wall,

Kai gradually regained control over his body, the overwhelming surge of energy that had once threatened to rip him apart now simmered, calming down. The searing heat in his veins faded into a distant throb, and the sharp pain that had pulsed behind his right eye dulled into a manageable ache. He still felt drained, like someone had wrung every cell dry but at least he could sit upright without feeling like the world would collapse around him.Abigail was by his side instantly, slipping an arm behind his back and helping him sit up.“You okay, now?” she asked gently.Kai gave a slow nod.He didn't speak. He hadn’t said much since waking up. His thoughts were tangled, his body ached in ways he couldn't explain, and the strange surge that had overtaken him last night still throbe through every nerve. He was focused on that. Only that.The door creaked open, and the attending doctor stepped in with a clipboard in hand. His brows lifted the second he saw Kai awake.“You’re conscious?” th

Inside the cold, gray walls of the prison, Conrad Lin and Reginald Thompson stumbled forward like two deflated balloons, dragged by the warden who looked more bored than bothered. Their designer suits had been replaced with dull orange uniforms that hung on them like shame itself, and their faces… Well, their faces looked like punching bags had finally found something to hit back."Cell 9," the warden grunted, unlocking the gate. "Maybe you two will last longer here than you did in Cell 6."Reginald’s lip was still bleeding from a tooth that had met its untimely end hours ago. Conrad’s left eye looked like it was carrying a ripe plum. Neither of them spoke. Their egos were as bruised as their faces.The heavy door creaked open.Inside, seven men sat on benches, eating, flexing, or doing absolutely nothing but doing it in the most intimidating way possible. These weren’t just inmates. These were the kind of men who could arm-wrestle a bull and still have time for yoga after.Reginald a