Damian Hale replayed Liora’s words over and over—each one slicing into him, as he drove, repeating like a cruel melody that refused to fade.There was only one man that caught her attention right now.And that man was Antonio Morris.Antonio Morris.The name itself grated like sandpaper against Damian’s nerves. His jaw tightened as he sped past a line of cars, ignoring honking horns and startled drivers. Jealousy—hot, sharp, and humiliating—prickled beneath his skin.How dare she?How dare Liora Ortega—someone he, Damian Hale, had been willing to “accept” into his life—reject him for a nobody? For a man with no pedigree, no lineage, no dynasty behind him?“Who is he?” Damian muttered under his breath, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage. “Who does she think he is? Who exactly is this Antonio Morris that she prefers over me?”His anger surged, and he slammed his palm against the steering wheel. The sharp thud echoed painfully inside the car. Liora’s rejection wasn’t j

Damian chuckled, a low, self‑satisfied sound that slithered through the room like cold smoke, making Liora shiver involuntarily. The laugh wasn’t loud, nor was it meant to be; it carried the quiet confidence of a man who believed he owned everything within his reach—including her. “So,” he said as he stepped forward, the soles of his shoes making a soft, controlled thud against the floor, “aren't you the infamous Liora Ortega?” He said her name as though tasting it, savoring it, and mocking it. His eyes glinted with a mixture of amusement and menace, two emotions twisting together into something cruel. His gaze swept over her slowly, with the precision of a predator studying prey—her posture, her stiff shoulders, her narrowed, fiery eyes that refused to lower despite the fear tightening her chest. “I must say,” he continued, tilting his head, “I expected less courage. Less… foolishness. How dare you refuse me? How dare you speak of loving some nobody, some Antonio Morris, w

Damian’s face twisted with rage. For a single heartbeat, Liora thought he might walk away, that he might try to argue again or sneer another threat. But the shift in his eyes told her otherwise.His fury was instantaneous.He moved before she even had time to breathe.The slap cracked across her cheek like a gunshot.The force whipped her head violently to the side, her neck twisting with the impact. Pain exploded across her face.She gasped, the air punched out of her lungs, and the chair beneath her wobbled precariously. Her balance tilted, and she nearly fell off before slamming her shoulder against the chair’s wooden side to catch herself.The sting spread like fire, overwhelming her senses.Her skin throbbed and her jaw ached. Blood filled her mouth.A small, shaken cry broke from her throat before she could stop it.Her hands, still bound tightly in front of her, trembled uncontrollably. She curled slightly forward, as much as the restraints allowed, cradling her cheek again

For a moment, Antonio froze, the cup of tea in his hand trembling slightly. Liora Ortega. Her name alone sent a jolt through him—sharp, immediate, and alarmingly visceral. He knew her only on the surface.The idea of her in danger struck him harder than he expected. Before the man in front of him could even speak again, Antonio ended the call and shot to his feet.The house erupted into motion.“Get everyone ready,” Antonio ordered, moving swiftly through the hallway. “All available units—drivers, flyers, surveillance. Liora Ortega is missing. We’re finding her.”His voice was steady, but the urgency beneath it was unmistakable. His men scattered instantly, well trained and accustomed to the clipped efficiency of his commands. Within minutes, the estate buzzed like a command center.By nightfall, Antonio’s entire network had mobilized across the city. Drivers swept through major routes, drones monitored rooftops and alleyways, and informants were pressed for information. Anto

Just then, the man the scarred leader had signaled lunged at Antonio with alarming speed. He shot out of the shadows like a striking serpent, his arm swinging a heavy metal rod aimed directly at Antonio’s head. The swing was meant to kill, or at least incapacitate.But Antonio, as always, reacted with the precision of a man trained to anticipate violence before it even fully appeared.He sidestepped, his movement fluid and instinctive, the metal rod slicing through the air where his skull had been just seconds earlier. The impact of the failed swing vibrated through the air. With a swift pivot of his hips, Antonio grabbed the attacker’s arm mid-swing, twisting it at an angle that forced the bone and muscle to turn the wrong way. Using the man’s own momentum, he sent him crashing to the ground with a bone-jarring thud. The pavement shook. The air echoed with the loud, painful crack of impact, and the man let out a guttural groan as he rolled onto his side, stunned, helpless, and