Upon hearing Tina’s words—that she had finally found her dream man—Antonio felt a sudden tightness settle in his chest, as though an invisible hand had gently but firmly closed around his heart. The warmth that had accompanied their earlier laughter dimmed slightly, replaced by a familiar weight he recognized all too well. He cleared his throat softly, a habit he had developed over the years whenever he needed to steady himself before speaking difficult truths. His gaze drifted briefly to the window beside them, where sunlight filtered through the glass in lazy streaks, illuminating dust motes suspended in the air. For a moment, he focused on that simple, ordinary sight before returning his attention to Tina’s hopeful eyes.“Tina,” he began carefully, his voice calm but firm, measured in the way of a man who had learned the cost of careless words, “there’s something you need to know.”She tilted her head slightly, still smiling, though a flicker of curiosity passed across her face. Th

Tina held the phone tightly in her hand, her nails pressing into the smooth surface as the call ended. She exhaled slowly, a dangerous smile spreading across her lips. “I’ll get him,” she whispered to herself, the words low but unwavering. “No matter what it takes, Antonio will be mine again.” The declaration wasn’t idle; it carried the weight of years spent longing, of plans deferred, and of the fire she had kept hidden in the quiet spaces of her life. It was a vow, a personal war she was determined to wage with patience, cunning, and precision. She didn’t care about obstacles, about anyone standing in her way, or about the fragments of the past she had lost. Her goal was clear: Antonio. And she would take him back, step by step, without hesitation.That evening, Tina began her work with methodical intent. Her phone buzzed constantly, messages flowing in from trusted contacts scattered throughout Gelrith’s elite circles. She moved with quiet precision, cross-referencing sightings, so

Antonio sat back in his chair, running a hand slowly across his face. Tina had just left, the door closing softly behind her, yet the room still felt crowded—with her presence, her words, her certainty. Silence settled around him, but it did nothing to quiet his thoughts. Her promises echoed relentlessly in his mind, looping over and over like a riddle he could not yet solve. They weren’t vague reassurances or emotional pleas. They were precise. Calculated. Almost impossibly strategic.Protection. Vengeance. Uncovering hidden enemies. Safeguarding his empire.Any one of those would have been enough to unsettle him. But there was one part—one single thread in everything she said—that made his breath catch and his thoughts derail completely.The missing scrolls.The creature.The next realm of power.Antonio stared at the far wall, his jaw tightening.He had never spoken those things aloud. Not fully. Not clearly. Not to anyone. The journey into that otherworldly realm—the tests, the bl

Tina, still standing in the room, spoke again, her tone calm and unwavering. “Antonio, everything I’ve told you is true. I have no ulterior motives. You’re questioning me because it sounds impossible that anyone could know all these things… but didn’t you tell me yourself? Isn’t it your own revelations that gave me this knowledge? Was it you who told me about the creature? Was it you who told me about your mother’s death and your search for the killer? Was it you who told me about the seven missing scrolls?”Antonio’s jaw clenched, tension rippling across his face. “Yes… I told you those things. But that doesn’t mean I can trust you completely. Knowing these things doesn’t make you trustworthy. It only makes you knowledgeable—and knowledge can be used for good or ill.”Tina smiled faintly, a spark of mischief and reason intertwining in her expression. “Antonio, think about it logically. If I know all these details, there’s a reason. I’ve pieced it together from your experiences, from

Antonio stood in the middle of the living room, unmoving, the phone still glowing in his hand. Cynthia’s image remained frozen on the screen, her smile caught mid-laughter, her posture relaxed, almost careless. It felt less like a photograph and more like an accusation—silent, unrelenting, refusing to fade no matter how hard he stared at it. The longer he looked, the heavier it became. The laughter captured in the image echoed in his mind, distorted and repetitive, mocking him, daring him to deny what his eyes had already registered. It wasn’t just the smile. It was the ease of it. The familiarity. The way she looked like she belonged exactly where she was. “This can’t be real,” he murmured. The words left his mouth automatically, a reflex rather than a conviction. He had said them to anchor himself, to push back against the slow unraveling taking place in his chest. But even as he spoke, he knew the certainty behind the statement was gone. The image was too clear. Too precise. T