The limousine’s tires screeched as it halted before the Dawson family’s ancestral estate—an iron-wrought fortress of secrets and legacies long buried. Fog coiled around the gates like waiting phantoms. Derek stepped out in silence, his black coat billowing in the wind, his presence exuding command.It had been twenty-three years since these gates had last opened.Now, they groaned like unwilling servants returning to duty as the biometric scanner blinked green at the press of the Dawson heirloom ring.Max, his assistant and most loyal ally, shifted beside him. “Are you sure about this, sir? The moment you step inside that house, you won’t just be digging into family history—you’ll be walking into the Syndicate’s shadows.”“I’m counting on it,” Derek said grimly. “If I want to destroy them, I need to understand where I come from. I need to understand her.”The gates creaked open. Derek and Max walked in, their steps muffled by overgrown moss and broken cobblestone. The mansion loomed a

The air around Derek grew heavier with each passing day. Gone were the illusions of freedom that came with power. He was no longer just a man fighting to survive — he was a king sitting on a throne surrounded by daggers.The early morning sun bled gold across the skyline as Derek stood alone on the Dawson estate’s private terrace. Below, the grounds stretched out like a kingdom, but he couldn’t shake the hollowness in his chest. Power had returned his pride, but not his peace.His phone vibrated.Kellan: We’ve confirmed it. The footage was doctored.The message hit him like a bullet. The video that had ruined his reputation, cost him his marriage, and shattered his image as a father — was fake.His fists clenched. “They lied to me,” he muttered.Flashback to the betrayal.Months ago, Tahlia had received a video of Derek seemingly in bed with another woman — a woman who turned out to be a paid actress. She had walked out that day, her heart poisoned by what she believed she saw.But no

Derek’s boots echoed against the marble floors of the underground chamber—deep beneath the Dawson estate, where the whispers of the dynasty’s darkest secrets were buried. He had followed the coordinates from the decrypted flash drive, which had been tucked inside the gold pocket watch his grandfather left behind.At first glance, the chamber seemed abandoned—just cold stone walls, decaying bookshelves, and a shattered mirror leaning against the far side. But the moment he stepped past the threshold, the mirror shimmered—not with light, but with movement.A boy. No older than seven. Shackled to a steel chair, head bowed, a crude mask covering half of his face.Derek’s pulse froze.He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not yet.“Who—” Derek took a cautious step forward. “Who are you?”The boy lifted his head.And Derek saw it.His eyes.The same storm-gray irises that haunted Derek in the mirror every day. That same troubled, knowing glare—the one he had as a child.No.It couldn’t be.But the

The cold wind that swept through the gates of Valemont’s royal estate didn’t rattle Derek Dawson. Not anymore.He stood at the edge of the courtyard, drenched in sweat and silence, facing the towering oak doors that led into the Hall of Ancients. Inside that room lay the last official document that would crown him—not just metaphorically—but legally, financially, and publicly as the rightful heir to the Ashbourne legacy. But as he took a step forward, his phone buzzed.It was Blake.BLAKE: Don’t sign anything. They’ve tampered with the succession file. It’s a trap.Derek stopped mid-stride. His fingers tightened around the device as the reality sank like cold lead into his spine. Blake never dramatized anything—and if he was warning him to hold off, then something bigger was unfolding.He quickly replied.DEREK: What do you mean tampered? Who’s “they”?BLAKE: It’s Adrian’s father. Charles Bishop. He never left the dynasty. He’s pulling strings from behind the scenes. He planted a new

The flames devoured the southern wing of the Dawson estate like a beast unchained, and Derek Dawson stood still—his eyes reflecting the inferno, his mind miles away.Someone had betrayed him.Not just the system. Not just his enemies.Someone close.The fire wasn’t just a warning. It was a declaration. And whoever lit it knew exactly where to strike.The south wing wasn’t just part of the mansion. It held the family archives, the hidden vault his grandfather once called the cradle of the crown.Derek didn’t need to be told—it was gone.He barely noticed the blood trickling from his clenched fists. His jaw was tight. His phone buzzed on his hip, but he didn’t reach for it.He already knew.“You should’ve let me die poor,” he whispered under his breath, voice calm, deadly.Behind him, chaos reigned. Firefighters sprayed water over the crumbling structure, his security teams barked orders, and his assistant Michael stumbled toward him, ash covering his face.“Sir—sir! It wasn’t just the