All Chapters of A Man Called Revenge: Chapter 211
- Chapter 220
250 chapters
Chapter 207: Semmit
“Enough,” Miles said, voice low and calm. He didn’t threaten. He didn’t hiss. The sentence itself was the threat. He spoke like he owned the room. And perhaps, he did.Everyone saw the movement in full: the new kid who’d landed a dozen blows and left four men groaning, stepping in without bravado, without a sound. The hand that gripped Carson’s wrist was steady, unflinching. The eyes that looked up at Carson were a black lake that had swallowed fire. There was no shouting, no bravado—just a quiet, deliberate stillness that made parts of the crowd lean forward as if something sacred might be broken.Carson’s grin twitched, then snapped. “You…” he began, then tried to wrench his arm free. But Miles’ hand was like iron and the force of his grip was crushing Carson’s bones. “Get off me, you little—”Miles tightened his grip. He bent his head, close enough that Carson’s breath fogged his cheek. “You hit a girl,” he said. “You disgrace every person in this alley. You think your name gives
Chapter 208: No Crumbs Left
Miles took a breath, then stepped forward so it was just him and Mrs. Heather—close enough that what he said would land in her ears and not ricochet off the crowd. He kept his voice low and polite, the way his mother had taught him: ‘never raise your voice at an elder, even when they deserve it.’ Respect was a thing you kept like a mirror—clean, but fragile.“Ma’am,” he said, his accent soft against the consonants, “you slapped me when you walked in.” He didn’t snarl about it. He didn’t spit the word back like an accusation. He just said it like a fact. “I understand why you did it. You do what you’ve been taught—protect the image, smooth the mess.” He paused, watching her face for that tiny crack that might mean regret. “Yes—I hit them. I beat them like little kids. I have never been a politician’s son or a pretty-boy with shields. I do this sort of thing. I fight what hurts people. I fight evil. It is what I am known for.”He folded his hands, careful, small. “And Mrs. Heather—you
Chapter 209: A Drive To Yore
The convoy bombinated along Fifth Avenue, black SUVs gliding in perfect formation as if they’d rehearsed the route a hundred times. From inside the car, the city looked the same yet different—yellow cabs, flashing billboards, steam rising from manholes. But for Gary, it wasn’t just the same old New York. It was home.After four months in China—four months buried in the suffocating secrets of the Wang Island, with its laboratories and cages and experiments that haunted him even when he closed his eyes—this was what he’d longed for. A skyline that didn’t smell like antiseptic and blood. A street where people shouted because they were late for work, not because they were begging not to be dissected.Gary leaned his elbow on the window frame, his eyes roaming over the blur of city life. He whispered, almost to himself, “I missed this place.”Serena shifted beside him. Her tablet rested across her knees, a dozen notifications blinking, but for once she wasn’t scrolling. She’d been watchin
Chapter 210: The Loser Returns
Times Square never slept. Even in daylight, the neon glare of billboards fought for dominance—perfume ads, streaming services, stock tickers crawling endlessly. Street performers juggled, breakdancers twisted on the pavement, tourists gawked with cameras. And into that chaos rolled Gary’s convoy, sleek and untouchable.There were a few homeless people who were rude to you if you dropped anything less than a dollar. Though the media never showed.The SUVs slowed, engines rumbling, tinted windows reflecting the screens above. People noticed. They always noticed. Phones whipped out, fingers pointing, whispers rising.“Who is it?”“Some celebrity?”“Government official maybe?”No one guessed the truth—that inside the middle car sat the hidden emperor of the Wang Empire, the man who had toppled fortunes and shattered empires in silence.Gary, however, didn’t care. He was used to the stares. His identity was still safe behind his mask—an elegantly designed piece that shadowed half his face,
Chapter 211: A Bolshie Tiler
Gary let the silence hang for a moment after his first question. His voice had been even, steady, but the gum‑chewing receptionist at the counter clearly didn’t care. Gary gently tapped the counter, “Hello, lady. Do you see me?”She tilted her head, snapped her gum louder, and gave him a look that cut across the room like a bad perfume.“Sir, I already said..” she dragged out the word like it was a chore, “...you’re not welcome here. You may go away.”Gary’s brows twitched, though his face remained composed. He repeated himself, slower this time, his tone crisp with authority. “Is your CEO in her office?”The receptionist, perhaps twenty‑four at most, leaned back in her chair, her cheap bangles clinking as she folded her arms. She sized him up from head to toe. True, he didn’t look poor—his coat was cut too well, his shoes were too sharp, his presence too commanding. But names carried heavier weight than fabric, and to her, this was the same loser ex‑husband the Lancaster whispers ha
Chapter 212: A Monster
The receptionist froze as Serena Voss stepped into the room. Her gum nearly fell out of her mouth, her once-relaxed posture stiffening. She stood abruptly, almost bowing. “M-Ma’am, to what do we owe the pleasure? Seeing you here is… you know what, let me put a call through to my boss right now and inform him you’re here.”Serena frowned, staring at the shards of proclean and the broken vase at the other end of the counter. “What is….”“Oh, Ma’am,” the receptionist cut her off with a wave of her hand, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “This… thing here—” she pointed directly at Gary with painted nails, “—he doesn’t belong here. I’ll have the security guards kick him out before he contaminates your air.”A hush fell over the workers nearby. No one dared to speak, but their eyes betrayed the truth: they knew this wasn’t wise. Serena Voss wasn’t just anyone; she was the personal assistant to the most mysterious and feared CEO in the modern world. The Wang Empire’s shadow, and she ca
Chapter 213: "Arrest The Orphan!"
The ride to the police station was humiliating. Miles was dragged like a criminal, shoved into the back of the police van with his wrists bound, while Mrs. Heather sat smugly in the front seat, muttering the whole way.“Serves you right, you little rat,” she spat, glancing back at him as if he were filth. “You’ll sleep in a cell tonight and learn your lesson. Maybe then you’ll understand this isn’t China where you can just swing your fists like some kung-fu movie. This is America. You don’t mess with people here. And you definitely don’t touch Mr. Carter’s son.”Miles said nothing. He leaned back against the hard metal of the van, eyes half-lidded, his breathing steady. The cuffs dug into his wrists, but they might as well have been thread. He could snap them off in seconds. But what good would that do? This was beneath him. He wasn’t about to destroy his chance at a normal life. He was a Wang. These petty tricks, these cuffs, these insults—they were shadows of a world too small for h
Chapter 214: SPLAT
Dorcas inhaled deeply. She looked at him, really looked. The boy’s calmness, the sadness laced in his eyes—it was familiar. Too familiar. She’d been bullied once too, years ago. She recognized the weight behind his words. And somehow, she believed him.“So you’re saying,” she asked slowly, “that you fought those boys because they were bullies?”Miles didn’t reply. He simply tilted his head, the faintest nod. That was enough.Dorcas felt her gut shift. This wasn’t just another hotheaded student swinging fists. Something about him was different. Good, even. And she wasn’t going to let Heather twist it without proof.She studied him for a long beat, her arms folded across her chest. Miles didn’t fidget like most kids his age would under this kind of pressure. He wasn’t spitting excuses, pointing fingers, or trying to win her sympathy. He just stood there — cuffs biting into his wrists, eyes calm, like the storm outside didn’t matter. That alone unsettled her.And then Miles went silent.
Chapter 215: 看來有人在找死
Soon, the officers grabbed Miles’ arm and tried to yank him away, but for some mysterious reason, this young lad was as still as stone. He was practically immovable. No matter how they pulled or jerked, it felt like trying to drag a statue bolted into the ground.“I wish to call my lawyer.” Miles finally called out to the chief officer, his voice calm, even dignified.The room stiffened. The chief, a bulky man with a belly hanging over his belt and eyes that squinted with arrogance, turned around slowly. His gaze locked on Miles, expecting fear, but what he saw instead unsettled him. Miles stood firm, back straight, eyes calm, like he wasn’t the one in handcuffs at all.“The Fifth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution gives everyone the right to remain silent,” Miles said, his voice low but carrying across the station. “But I was forced to answer questions against my will. You broke the law. And when the law is broken, there’s a price to pay.”Gasps filled the room. Officers exchanged co
Chapter 216: "Don't Play The Hero"
The room fell into a tense silence after Miles ended the call. He lowered the receiver with deliberate calm, as if the world outside those walls did not matter. His wrists were still bound by the handcuffs, but his posture radiated something immovable, like a mountain set against the tide. His head tilted slightly, his expression unreadable, but his dark eyes glimmered with a quiet defiance.Nothing happened.No phone rang on Banks’ desk. No urgent call came rushing through the radios strapped to the officers’ belts. Like in Urban stories. No door burst open to reveal the cavalry. Instead, only the humming buzz of the old fluorescent lights filled the space, mingled with the nervous breaths of those watching.Then Banks threw his head back and laughed. It was the kind of laugh that came not from humor but from cruelty, a mocking thunder that rattled through the room. “That’s it? That’s the call?” he sneered, patting his stomach as if to steady himself from laughter. “This little fool