As the final toast was raised and the event drew to a close, the guests began to disperse with a lingering air of awe and unease. Whispers followed Ethan wherever he walked, many eyes tracking him with renewed respect—or hidden resentment. He adjusted his cufflinks, calm as ever, weaving through the thinning crowd toward the grand exit. “Ethan!” A soft voice called out. He turned slightly. Alice approached quickly, her steps careful but eager. Her peach-toned gown shimmered under the chandeliers as she smiled sweetly. “I was thinking… now that everything’s calmed down, maybe we could grab a bite? Just the two of us. It’s been a while since we talked, and I—” “No.” Ethan’s answer came swiftly, leaving no room for interpretation. She blinked, taken aback. “But… why?” “I’m not interested,” he said plainly. “Let’s not pretend there’s something worth reviving. Have a good evening.” He didn’t wait for her response. She stood frozen, her smile dropping as he walked away wi

Gasps tore through the room the moment Ethan moved. He was a blur—swift, calculated, lethal. One guard lunged forward, but Ethan ducked low, driving his elbow into the man’s ribs with a sharp crack that echoed across the marble floor. The next came from behind—Ethan flipped him effortlessly over his shoulder like he was weightless. “Wh-What the hell?!” one of the guards stammered, staggering backward. Ethan’s face remained unreadable. He sidestepped a wild punch, countered with a precise strike to the throat, and sent the attacker crashing into a champagne table. Glass shattered. Screams rang out as guests stumbled over themselves to get clear—but no one moved to interfere. In less than thirty seconds, six of Carl Irving’s personal guards lay groaning on the floor—some unconscious, others writhing, broken. Silence fell. A chilling, stunned silence. Even Sierra’s mouth had fallen open, her smug grin long gone—replaced by stark horror. “What… what is he?” she whispered, inching b

Ethan watched from the shadows as Alice’s car disappeared through the gates of the Morgan estate. His face was unreadable, but his fingers curled slowly into fists. The moment he had stepped out of that ballroom with her, he knew this wasn’t over. Before parting, she had clutched his hand tightly, eyes wild with fear. “Promise me,” she whispered. “Promise me you’ll keep your head down.” “I’ll handle it,” Ethan had replied, voice low and sure. “Don’t worry.” But Alice did worry. She returned to her family estate like a lamb walking into a den of wolves, trying to hold herself together. At the entrance, she straightened her shoulders, wiped the sweat from her palms, and rehearsed the line again in her head: I landed a fifty-million-dollar deal. That had to mean something. Inside the opulent Morgan mansion, her family sat in the drawing room, dressed in their usual layers of judgment and expectation. Her father, Lawrence Morgan, barely looked up from his cigar. Her mother sipp

The gangsters had gathered around Ethan, thinking they had him cornered. Their laughter echoed through the quiet street, but it was more than just the thrill of the moment. To them, capturing Ethan would mean glory, and possibly a high position under Martin Irving’s command. They could already taste the rewards—the power, the wealth, and the status. The leader of the group, the one with the scarred face, couldn’t contain his glee. “You think you’re so tough, huh? Well, here’s your chance to prove it!” He grinned, his voice dripping with malicious amusement. “We already got the woman who hurt Young Master Carl. Now it’s your turn.” Ethan’s jaw clenched at the mention of Alice. His eyes narrowed into cold slits, his voice low but dangerous. “Alice,” he demanded, his fists tightening. “Where is she?” The men smirked, enjoying his obvious discomfort. The lanky thug with the crooked nose, who had been standing a little farther back, sauntered forward, his grin wide. “Oh, she’s already be

The moment Ethan stepped outside with Alice cradled in his arms, a shadow moved near the stairwell. “Stop—wait!” a voice rasped. Ethan pivoted on instinct, shielding Alice behind him with one arm and drawing his weapon with the other. A young man stumbled into view, his face pale, body bruised and bloodied, barely standing on his own two feet. Ethan narrowed his eyes. “Who the hell are you?” The young man raised both trembling hands. “I’m not your enemy. Please… did you… did you kill them? All of them?” “Yeah,” Ethan said flatly, his tone icy. “Including Martin. And of course I welcome anyone who wants to avenge that scumbag.” The words struck like thunder. The young man’s knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, trembling violently. Then—unexpectedly—he burst into tears, covering his face with his bruised hands. “I have to see it. I have to see for myself!” Ethan frowned as the man bolted past him and into the house. Seconds later, guttural screams echoed from i