The mountains had no birthdays. No candles, no balloons, no frosting on lips. What Andrew found instead was silence, discipline, and the endless echo of his mother’s last breath. For weeks after Master Yuan carried him from that bloodstained clearing, Andrew beseeched himself to sleep with Richard beside him, whispering questions no child should ever have to ask. Where was his father? Why did his mother have to die? What was the tattoo? Each time, Yuan’s answer was as cold as stone yet as steady as truth: “To question an injustice before you're strong is to die before your destiny begins.” Andrew learned to stop asking. The days in Zhenlong Province were merciless. He woke before dawn and stood barefoot on frozen stones, lungs burning as mist clung to the mountain air. He balanced on poles above waterfalls until his knees buckled. He carried buckets filled with water, arms stretched so far the muscles screamed for release. He stumbled through combat drills until his skin split, then

The air inside the Rogers estate was suffocating long before the lawyer opened his briefcase. Andrew could feel the walls pressing in on him, painted with the sneers of ancestors who seemed to watch silently from their portraits, waiting to see how far he would fall. His father had been gone barely a week, yet the house had already shifted its loyalty. The corridors whispered with strange footsteps, the staff looked through him instead of at him, and everywhere he turned, Carina's shadow loomed, silk-wrapped and poisonous. Olivia trailed after her like a smirking echo, chewing gum while wearing black lace as though the funeral had been a stage play rather than a farewell. When Andrew stepped into the drawing room, his chest felt carved open. The mahogany table stretched like a gallows between him and them. Carina sat at the head, spine straight, lips blood red, every inch the grieving widow for an audience that wasn’t here. Olivia lounged at her side, flicking her hair back with delib

The training yard reeked of blood and sweat, and the sound of fists against flesh was louder than the gunfire cracking in the distance. Andrew stood in the middle of the dirt ring, shirt clinging to his back, knuckles split open, chest heaving as another body hit the ground. His vision swam, but he didn’t falter. He had no right to. Not here. Not under Edward Thorne’s eyes. It had only been a week since he’d been dragged into this world, and already he was unrecognizable, not just to others but to himself. He was Edward’s property now, the latest animal in a yard built to break men until they forgot what it meant to be human. “Again,” Victor barked, shoving another fighter into the ring. “This one bites harder. Let’s see if you still stand when he’s done with you.” Andrew didn’t even blink. The man lunged, but instinct moved faster than thought. A twist of the arm, a sharp crack, a groan collapsing to silence. Andrew stood over the crumpled figure, chest rising and falling, his breat

The storm gave them cover. Black clouds rolled heavy above, thunder cracking like warning drums, and the forest floor turned slick under the weight of rain. Andrew’s hand clutched Cynthia’s as if letting go meant death itself. Behind them loomed the estate—a fortress of steel, blood, and betrayal. Ahead, only shadows and the unknown. Her breath came ragged, yet she refused to slow. Andrew’s grip guided her over roots, across the uneven earth, through a darkness broken only by flashes of lightning. Every sound carried danger—the snap of a twig, the bark of a dog, the sudden slice of a searchlight stabbing the night. “Faster,” he urged. His voice was firm, not panicked, but Cynthia heard the strain in it. She knew this was no simple escape. It was defiance carved against a world that never forgave. Then it happened. A flare lit up the sky. Shouts echoed. Dogs barked, hungry and wild. “They’ve seen us,” she whispered, fear cracking her voice. Andrew didn’t answer. He scooped her off

The faint and sharp cry of a hawk pierced through the thick morning silence. Andrew stirred as a pain throbbed across his back. The roots beneath him had dug deep into his spine, and every bone in his body ached as if it had been trampled by a herd of elephants. Something was dragging him. Strong, gloved hands gripped both his arms tightly, and his bare feet scraped against the jagged path of stones, roots, and sticks as he was pulled through the wilderness. He couldn’t fight it. His limbs were weak, his body still groggy from whatever chemical Frank had stabbed into his skin.His eyes struggled to open, heavy like iron gates. Blinding sunlight stabbed into his pupils, forcing them to clamp shut again before he finally blinked his way into some sense of clarity. When he looked to his right, then to his left, confusion flooded his chest. The uniforms. The badges. The holstered weapons. Police. Actual police.What the hell was going on?Why were police officers dragging him through the f