The Wilson Group headquarters transformed into a glittering palace of New Year's celebration. Crystal chandeliers cascaded from impossibly high ceilings, reflecting off marble floors like a thousand tiny stars. Wealthy guests in designer suits and sparkling gowns mingled, their conversations a soft murmur of success and privilege. Jack Parker stood out immediately. His attire was simple—dark jeans, a well-worn leather jacket, and boots that had clearly traveled far. While others wore thousand-dollar outfits, Jack looked like he'd just stepped off a long journey. Yet there was something about him that made the doorman hesitate before stepping aside. Wealth isn't always about clothes, Jack thought, sometimes it's in how you carry yourself. The buffet stretched like a culinary landscape. Silver trays laden with exotic delicacies beckoned. Jack approached with the hunger of someone who'd spent hours on a plane. He filled a plate with precision—smoked salmon, caviar, miniature quiches,

Jack's hands clenched slightly at his sides. The contempt from Emily's family burned through him—not because of pride, but because of the promise his grandfather had made. Years of training with Old Joe had taught him patience, but there were limits. They have no idea, he thought, what I'm truly capable of. Emily stepped forward, her voice cutting through the tension. "Enough," she said to her parents. "This is neither the time nor the place." Turning to Jack, she spoke with calculated coldness. "My grandfather is currently overseas receiving medical treatment. We will discuss this contract later." Her eyes swept over his simple clothing, a hint of disdain in her gaze. "You may stay and eat," she added, "but do not—under any circumstances—embarrass my family in front of our guests." With a dismissive gesture, she threw the contract back at Jack and turned to walk away. Ryan Brooks, standing nearby, couldn't resist a parting shot. "Look at you," he sneered. "You don't belong here."

Emily stood frozen, her world suddenly turned upside down. The man she'd dismissed, the fiancé she'd rejected, was now being honored by Harmonfield's most feared family. William looked around the room, his message crystal clear. "Mr. Parker is under our protection," he announced. "Remember that." The ballroom fell into an absolute silence so profound that the subtle clink of champagne glasses seemed to echo like thunderclaps. William Thompson's words hung in the air, a heavy promise of potential destruction that suffocated every breath. Michael Wilson's collapse was not graceful. He tumbled into a nearby chair, his expensive suit wrinkling, his face turning a sickly shade of pale gray. Sweat beaded on his forehead, droplets catching the crystal chandelier's light. Emily stood beside him, frozen—her perfect posture suddenly fragile, her designer dress seeming to lose its luster. How could everything change so quickly? she thought, her mind spinning faster than the room around her.

Ryan Brooks noticed Emily's gaze lingering on the window long after the Thompson cars had disappeared into the night. Her fingers gripped the champagne flute too tightly, her knuckles white against the crystal."Don't look so worried," Ryan said, stepping closer. His cheek still bore the red mark of Jack's hand, but his confidence had returned—bolstered by alcohol and anger. "The Eastvale Project isn't lost yet."Emily turned to him, her eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"Ryan smiled, straightening his tie with practiced casualness. "My father had a meeting with Olivia West last week. From Alphacrest Group."Emily's breath caught. "Olivia West? You're not serious.""Dead serious," Ryan replied, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "They're considering a ten-billion-dollar stake in the project. And my father wants to give the Wilson family thirty percent of our share."The name Olivia West sent a ripple of excitement through Emily. Everyone in Harmonfield's business circles knew her s

Morning light filtered through the clouds, casting a silver sheen over Eastvale’s skyline. Jack Parker stood by the Thompson villa’s entrance, wearing a black suit that clung to his broad frame. Sarah walked up beside him in a flowing cream dress, her steps slow, uncertain.Lisa, the poised Thompson assistant, stood behind them, holding a leather folder. “The meeting’s set for ten sharp at Violetcrest Club. Olivia’s hosting it herself,” she said with quiet urgency.Jack nodded once. “Let’s get it over with.”As the sleek Mercedes glided through the gates and onto the private road, Sarah glanced at Jack. “You sure about this? The people there… they aren’t like the ones we dealt with yesterday. These ones smile while stabbing you.”Jack didn’t respond right away. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the car’s armrest. “Let them try. Smiles or knives—I know how to handle both.”Sarah exhaled, half-impressed, half-worried. “You always act like nothing scares you.”“I’ve seen worse,” Ja