The room felt heavy, charged with unspoken bitterness that clung to the air like smoke after a fire. Barbara’s frail frame trembled, but her voice carried enough steel to pierce through Charlotte’s defenses.“That’swhy I said that you're tge cause of my depression!” Barbara said, her eyes flashing with a mix of pain and anger. “You never see things the right way. You never listen. Always caught up in your own emotions, your own stubbornness. And it kills me—kills me—to watch you make choices that drag this family further into ruin.”Charlotte stiffened. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Her chest constricted as though invisible hands were squeezing the air from her lungs. She wanted to argue, to tell her mother she was wrong, but the words wouldn’t come fast enough.Barbara’s voice, though trembling, cut through like a sharpened knife. “Logan… that man. From all indications, he has been nothing but a curse to us instead of a blessing. Have you not seen it? Since he came into you

Charlotte’s wrists were raw, the skin broken and rubbed into a burning sting from hours of thrashing against the coarse rope. Each twist of her arms sent jolts of agony shooting down to her fingertips, but she couldn’t stop herself. Her body kept fighting long after her strength had drained, as if the instinct to break free refused to surrender even when her mind whispered that escape was impossible. The rope was thick, fibers rough as barbed wire, each strand biting into her skin until it felt like fire crawling beneath her flesh. Every time she jerked, the friction stripped more of her, and still she pulled.The warehouse swallowed her cries. It was a cavern of shadows and rust, the walls lined with pipes that clung like dead veins, leaking condensation. Droplets fell rhythmically, plinking against the concrete in a steady beat that mocked her uneven breaths. The air was damp and foul, thick with mold and the metallic tang of old machinery. It clung to her lungs no matter how sh

The cool night air struck Logan’s face as soon as he stepped out of the house. It wrapped around him like a cold sheet, sharp enough to make him clench his teeth. For a long moment, he lingered in the doorway, half in the light of the porch, half in the shadow of the street. The square of light spilling from inside the house framed his silhouette, while beyond him stretched the vast silence of the neighborhood, dimly lit by tired streetlamps.His hand gripped the strap of the leather bag slung across his shoulder. He could feel the rough texture digging into his palm as though it were a reminder that he was still anchored to reality. But in his head, Barbara’s words echoed relentlessly—sharp, bitter, dismissive. Since you came into this family, everything has gone wrong.First John’s death, and now Charlotte gone. You are nothing but a curse.He shut his eyes briefly, trying to push the memory aside. He clenched his jaw so tightly that a dull ache spread up the sides of his face.

Logan advanced closer to the bed where Mart hovered over Charlotte, his voice steady but filled with the force of restrained fury.“Get up from her,” he ordered, each word cutting like steel. “Leave her alone. Now.”The command was not just spoken—it thundered through the dimly lit room like a judgment long overdue. His chest rose and fell with deep, controlled breaths, but the fire in his eyes betrayed the storm raging inside.Charlotte lay beneath Mart, trembling, her wrists raw from the ropes, her breath broken by sobs she was too exhausted to suppress. Her wide eyes darted to Logan, clinging to the sudden light of hope that had burst into her prison. She had prayed for rescue, whispered desperate pleas into the dark, and now he stood before her like an avenging force.But Mart and his men were not cowed. Fury twisted their faces. One of them, the one holding the knife at the edge of the bed, stepped forward. His expression carried both madness and arrogance as he raised the blad

Logan arrived in front of the Minister of Security’s residence.He was immediately led to a grand hall. The grand hall shimmered with light, the chandeliers raining golden brilliance down on the gathering of men who shaped the country from behind the curtains. Their suits were dark, their expressions unreadable, their whispers soft but sharp as blades. Every move in that hall carried meaning. Every glance was political.He had been summoned, guided, and tested. Now, at last, he had been chosen.The Minister of Security himself rose from his place near the dais, a tall figure with a presence that silenced the murmurs around him. He held a polished wooden case in his hands, simple but regal. The moment stretched, each second echoing in Logan’s chest like a war drum.“Logan,” the Minister said, his voice deep and resonant, “through years of precision, loyalty, and ruthlessness when necessary, you have been deemed worthy of what so very few in our history have carried. Tonight, we besto