Ethan kept stealing quick glances at Alice as they walked side by side. Each time, something new caught his attention—a flicker in her eyes, a subtle smile that didn’t quite reach her lips. He shook his head slightly, amused at himself.The more he got to know Alice, the more he liked her—for she was a pure, genuine woman beneath all the Morgan steel. Even broken, she was fire. And now, free of her toxic family, she was more herself than ever.But Alice was struggling too. She felt a pull toward Ethan, an undeniable attraction simmering beneath her skin. Yet frustration gnawed at her because, try as she might, she couldn’t place him. Who was he? Why did her memory stubbornly refuse to surface any clear answers? She cursed herself for it—this foggy mind of hers that made her feel both vulnerable and annoyed. Still, deep down, she knew one thing without question: Ethan was a good man. The kind who stood by her when her family turned their backs and spat insults. That loyalty alone mad

By the time Ethan finished handling everything—the calls, the encrypted messages, the shifting pieces on the board—it was well past midnight. He stood outside the apartment door for a long moment, staring at it, the steel in his eyes softening.Inside, Alice had fallen asleep on the couch again, her legs tucked beneath her, the book still loosely gripped in one hand. Her head jerked up the second the door clicked shut behind him.“Oh,” she blinked, trying to hide that she’d dozed off. “You’re back.”Ethan walked over slowly, his voice low. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”“You didn’t.” She yawned despite herself and sat up straighter, setting the book aside. “Is everything okay?”He paused, eyes searching her face. She looked tired, but beautiful in that soft, vulnerable way that made something in his chest clench. “Handled,” he replied simply. “Nothing for you to worry about.”She nodded slowly, watching him as he shrugged off his coat. Then, a small hesitation crept into her voice.“Um… s

The man walking toward them wasn’t just an ex. He was a storm wrapped in silence—tall, dangerous, and not a trace of hesitation in his steps. Marcus sat up straighter, his hand brushing toward the inside of his suit jacket—out of instinct. “Shit,” he muttered. “It’s him.” Ethan didn’t blink as he approached. His eyes stayed locked on Sierra, like he hadn’t even seen Marcus yet. His posture was relaxed, casual even, but there was no mistaking the threat rolling off him in slow waves. Sierra exhaled sharply, as if snapping out of a trance. Her fear vanished behind a veneer of cool disdain. She crossed one long leg over the other, swirling her wine with a now-steady hand. “Well, well,” she purred. “If it isn’t the stray dog who got lucky.” Ethan stopped just a few feet from them, hands in his pockets. His voice came low, calm, and razor-sharp. “I was invited. You weren’t.” Sierra smirked. “Oh, darling. When you’re backed by real names, you don’t need invitations. Places l

Sierra shot up from her seat, the hem of her silk jacket flaring as her chair screeched back against the polished marble floor. Her voice cracked like a whip across the lounge, sharp enough to slice through the low hum of murmured conversations. “Do you people even know who that thing is?” Heads turned. Glasses froze mid-air. Conversations fell silent, like someone had flipped a switch. She jabbed a manicured finger toward the tall glass doors that Ethan had just strode through a moment earlier. “That man is a nobody! A thug! Crismon’s pet dog!” she shouted, her voice rising with each word. “And he just waltzes in here like he owns the place while Marcus Lang—Lang, a direct ally of Irving—is sitting here, completely ignored?” Murmurs rose again, tentative and uneasy. Some glanced toward Marcus. Most looked away. “Are you all insane?” she snapped. Her heels clicked furiously as she spun to face Marcus, who was now trying very hard to look invisible in his chair. He flinched as s

Despite the tension thick in the air, Ethan finally moved. Not toward Sierra, not in defense or confrontation—but past her. His footsteps were silent, deliberate as he walked around the long oval table and came to a stop beside a tall man seated near the end. Knox. Knox looked up and immediately rose to his feet, a rare gesture that drew a few murmurs. His sharp suit barely rustled as he stood with military precision, eyes filled with something far deeper than respect. Reverence. “Master," Knox said, voice clear and firm. “Your seat is ready.” Without hesitation, Ethan nodded and took the chair beside him, completely unfazed by the eyes boring into his back. Knox remained standing for another beat, as if daring anyone to comment, then sat beside him with a look of pride. Across the table, a man with slicked-back hair and an ostentatious Irving crest on his lapel leaned forward, frowning. “Excuse me,” he said, directing the question to Knox. “Who exactly is this young man?” His