The weekend arrived faster than Logan expected.He had tried to decline the lady’s invitation to her birthday party because of Chloe.She needed his attention, especially during weekends.Though her health had improved considerably, the doctors had said she still had a few complications that needed constant monitoring. Logan had made it his duty to check on her daily, ensuring she lacked nothing. Ever since she’d been in that hospital bed, he hadn’t truly rested.So when the elegant woman — Ambassador Voss — invited him to her upcoming birthday gala, his first instinct was to politely refuse.“Miss Voss,” Logan said, his tone even, “I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t think I’ll be able to make it. Someone very close to me is still recovering at the hospital, and I intend to spend the weekend with her.”Elara, however, had a way of speaking that left people little room for refusal. Her voice was calm, persuasive, almost soothing, and her eyes gleamed with an assertive confidence t

“Ralph, stop this madness!” Elara shouted, though her voice cracked under strain. “You can’t keep doing this!” Ralph only laughed, a sound that was more of a snarl than amusement. “Can’t I? You keep thinking you can turn me down and hide behind your money, your guards, your fancy titles. You think I’ll stop coming because of your uniformed toys?” He threw the bottle against the wall, where it exploded into glittering shards. Logan’s eyes narrowed. He remembered the name. Ralph Stinton — a wealthy businessman with a history of violent behavior that always got buried beneath influence and bribes. He’d heard rumors that the Ambassador had rejected his proposals — both professional and personal. But he hadn’t known the harassment ran this deep. As Ralph barked another order, several rough-looking men stepped out from the shadows behind him — his thugs, clearly drunk on both liquor and power. They were already closing in on Elara. The moment the first hand lifted, the room f

The tension that had once ruled the grand hall slowly began to dissolve into whispers and murmurs. The chaos that had erupted minutes ago—when Ralph and his thugs had invaded the party—now felt like a distant nightmare.The guests, though visibly shaken, began to gather themselves. But as soon as their eyes caught sight of Logan, the quiet man who had singlehandedly ended the assault, conversations broke out like sparks. People couldn’t stop staring at him.“He took them all down,” someone whispered, the disbelief heavy in their tone.“Who is he?” another asked, leaning closer to their companion.“Did you see how fast he moved? Those men didn’t stand a chance.”“He’s not just anyone. He must be trained… or something more.”The murmurs spread across the room like a wave of awe. Logan, however, remained calm and unbothered. He stood a little apart from the crowd, his expression unreadable, his posture relaxed yet alert. The very presence of him demanded attention—even without words

Logan glanced at the ivory-colored envelope Charlotte had just handed him.The faint shimmer of gold tracing its edges hinted at something grand—something that reeked of old money, legacy, and the kind of prestige that always made him uncomfortable. His brows furrowed slightly as he turned it over in his hand. The Sullivan family crest—an embossed lion standing on its hind legs—caught the light.“What’s this for?” he asked, his tone calm but tinged with curiosity.Charlotte smiled faintly, though her voice carried the careful formality she used whenever family was involved. “It’s an invitation,” she said, walking closer to where he sat. “Aunt Joyce is hosting her eighty-sixth birthday celebration this weekend.”“Joyce?” Logan repeated, unfamiliar with the name.“Yes,” Charlotte said, lowering herself onto the couch beside him. “Grandma Sullivan’s elder sister. She’s been standing in for Grandma since she passed away. The family considers her the matriarch now.”Logan set the envelo

The chandeliers above the grand Sullivan Hall glittered like a constellation of stars suspended in gold. Their warm light washed over the polished marble floors, reflecting off crystal glasses and silver cutlery in dazzling ripples. The air smelled faintly of jasmine, aged wine, and expensive perfume—a mingling of grace and excess that defined the Sullivans.The celebration was winding down now. The orchestra played softer melodies, their violins sighing in harmony with the fading laughter and clinking glasses. Most guests had drifted from lively chatter to the slow contentment that followed hours of indulgence—some dancing, others murmuring quietly in corners, their champagne glasses half-empty.At the head of the table sat Joyce Sullivan, poised like a queen presiding over her court. At eighty-six, she carried herself with the authority of someone who had ruled both her home and her bloodline for decades. Her posture was perfect, her expression carefully composed, and when she raise