Outside Winston Mansion The night air stirred as a matte-black Cadillac Escalade rolled up the driveway of the Winston Mansion. The engine gave a low growl as it came to a stop near the front entrance, the headlights casting long shadows on the red carpet.The back door opened.A heavy boot hit the ground.And then came the man himself — Mr. Stanwell Wood.Clad in a custom-fitted dark coat stretched over broad shoulders, Stanwell was built like a war tank. His eyes were sharp, his jawline carved from granite, and that signature smirk sat on his face like he owned the entire damn city.Behind him, three massive bouncers stepped out, dressed in sleek black and moving like shadows.The head of security near the door froze for a second — then lit up like a kid at a concert.“Oh my God… Sir! Mr. Stanwell!” the security guy gushed, almost tripping over his words. “It’s an honor—man, it’s such an honor. I watched every match you had. That one in Mexico—where you broke that guy’s jaw and col

The tension in the hall was thick enough to choke on. Glasses clinked quietly, music had died down, and people were no longer pretending to enjoy the party. They were watching. Waiting.Jaden and Stanwell stood across from each other like two lit fuses.Stanwell’s eyes didn’t blink. His hands were already flexing, shoulders squared, like he was seconds from swinging. “You’re dead, you hear me?” he growled, stepping forward.“Gentlemen,” a calm voice cut in from the side, breaking the stare-down.It was Donald Winston, walking slowly toward them. He wasn’t shouting. He wasn’t panicking. Just calm, measured, and serious.“Come on now,” Donald said, glancing at both men with the kind of smile you wear when you’re trying to stop a brawl without embarrassing anyone. “Let’s not do this here.”Stanwell didn’t say anything at first, just kept his eyes locked on Jaden. But he didn’t throw a punch either. That alone was progress.Donald stopped between them. “I know both of you. I respect both

The hall had turned electric again. Laughter buzzed like static, and a hundred stares locked onto Jaden as if he were the villain in some grand drama.Stanwell’s smile had twisted into something darker now — less polished, more primal. He took a step closer to Jaden, towering.“How dare you call my present worth fifty million fake?” Stanwell asked again, voice sharp and cold.Jaden didn’t even blink. “Because it is.”A collective gasp ran through the guests like a wave. Wine glasses paused mid-air. Someone whispered, “Did he just say fake?”"This guy got some guts, not only did he brought a worthless gift wrapped in a rag, he's calling a gift worth fifty million fake?""where did Hannah even met him?"Stanwell's eyes flared. “Watch your mouth.”Jaden tilted his head slightly, still calm. “I’m watching it just fine. You’re the one selling illusions.”“You better have proof,” Stanwell growled. “Or I swear—”“Enough!” Hannah’s voice cut in, firm but anxious. She stepped between them, her

The room trembled.No longer with laughter—now with stunned disbelief.Mouths hung open. Glasses lowered mid-sip. All eyes locked on the jade figurine glowing faintly beneath the overhead chandeliers.Stanwell's throat bobbed. He took a step closer, eyes twitching between the artifact and Jaden.“This is a trick,” he barked suddenly, the edge of panic bleeding into his voice. “It has to be fake! There’s no way someone like him could get his hands on something this rare!”Donald turned, his tone sharp enough to cut steel. “Impossible.”He stepped beside the display, eyes never leaving the piece. “The weight, the sheen, the cut—this is Verdant-era craftsmanship. See that mark?” He pointed. “That's an emerald seal etched with the Spiral Bloom technique—lost for over three centuries. There are only seven in existence. I personally know five of the owners.”He looked at Jaden with a mix of disbelief and admiration.“You brought the sixth.”The hall went dead quiet.A heavy silence smothere

The next day. Jaden sat calmly at a quiet rooftop café overlooking Ravenmoor. The chaos from last night hadn’t touched him. He sipped tea like nothing had happened—until a man with one arm slowly walked up to him and bowed deeply. It was Bob. His face was pale, lips chapped, and his coat couldn’t hide the fresh bandages where his left arm used to be. “Boss,” Bob said, eyes low. “I failed. I couldn’t protect her.” Jaden didn’t speak immediately. He set his tea down, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a sleek, black titanium card—the same one he took from Stanwell the night before. He held it out. Bob stared at it. “That’s worth a hundred million,” Jaden said plainly. “You lost your arm saving Julie. You obeyed my orders. That’s more than most can say.” Bob’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Boss, I—” “Use it. Start over. Somewhere peaceful,” Jaden interrupted. “You’ve done enough.” Bob bowed again, but this time tears mixed with his voice. “Then let me do one last thing befor