“Pierce, what the hell did you and your family build here?” he silently muttered under his breath. A mix of dread and curiosity throbbed in his soul as he adjusted his flashlight and began his descent. The further he went, the colder it became. The walls, roughly carved from rock, seemed to close in on him. Water dripped rhythmically from somewhere above, each drop magnified in the oppressive silence. Halfway down, a rusted pipe ran along the wall, leaking tiny streams that pooled around the lower steps. A faint electrical hum vibrated through the air, hinting that something—or someone—had been there recently. Aaron paused, wiping his palm across the wet railing, and continued cautiously. When he finally reached the bottom, the staircase opened into a large underground chamber dimly lit by a flickering bulb. This place looked nothing like a simple escape route to him; instead, he concluded in his mind that it was more akin to a hidden military vault. Rows of steel crates li

"Arrghh!" Elijah hissed in annoyance as persistent knocks on his door echoed through the room. "I don't understand what you guys wanted to tell me that couldn't wait until I'm ready to go outside," he bellowed, zipping up his coat as he walked to the door. "You'd bring down the whole building if I let you keep this up." With a frustrated yank, he pulled the door open, ready to give the person on the other side a piece of his mind. However, his words caught in his throat when he saw that it was his father. "Dad?" he sputtered. "I didn't know it was you, sir. I thought it was..." "Good morning! How was your night?" Schwarzenger interrupted with a mild smile, cutting him off before he could finish. "I'm fine, Dad." He sighed in relief before turning to walk back into the room. "I hope you're not angry at me for making you wait at the door for so long." He paused when he noticed Schwarzenger still standing at the entrance, not following him inside. "What are you doing, Dad?" He chuck

It's some minutes to 12pm at Kawnar city elite's outdoors event center. The flowing curtains billowed gently, draped in white and gold, as if the air itself had decided to embrace a calm atmosphere. Rows of guests sat in hushed anticipation, their murmurs fading into silence as the music began to rise. At the altar, Benjamin Warren stood impossibly still, his hands folded, his eyes scanning the entire area. Across from him, his fiancée, Ruthila Kerr, looked radiant—not because of her dress or the flowers, but because peace had finally settled in her eyes. The Bishop, a man with a kind and weathered face, cleared his throat, his voice warm and resonant. "We are gathered here today to witness and celebrate the union of Benjamin and Ruthila in holy matrimony," he began. He spoke about love, commitment, and partnership, weaving a tapestry of hope with his words. "At the groom's request," the Bishop announced with a small smile, "we shall keep the proceedings brief, for the heart is eag

“You’re speaking to the President of the republic,” the voice snapped, trembling with rage. “The father of the man you murdered.”Logan kept the phone close to his ear, his eyes narrowed as the weight of the voice on the other end sank in.“President Luther?” he repeated, confused. “Why the hell are you calling me? I didn’t kill your son.”There was silence for about a minute. Then the voice returned, laced with more anger.“You’re not even worth interrupting my sleep for, Logan. But I’m making an exception.” the president paused for a second before continuing. “You’ll show up tomorrow at Lutheriux Lounge. Don’t be late.”Logan blinked. “Lutheriux Lounge? Where’s that?”A bitter chuckle came through the line. “You really are just a novice, aren’t you? A special assassin breed… you even sound like a teenager! You better not be.”Logan frowned. “What the stink is that supposed to mean, Mr. President sir?”“How can a full-time killer not know the biggest name lounge in all of Brixton me

Elijah leaned lazily against the polished mahogany counter, phone in hand as his thumbs glided across the glowing screen. The salesgirl’s cheap vanilla perfume tried to mask the exhaustion that clung faintly to the air while his detached reflection shimmered in the glass countertop. The double glass doors separating the waiting room and the main boutique parted, and Bartholomew strode in with measured confidence. Behind him, two guards pushed chrome trolleys piled high with garment bags and boxes, the branded luxury logos shouting money. "My lord," Bartholomew’s proud tone carried caution as he halted a few feet away. "Do you love these… or should we pick other ones?" Elijah slid his phone into his inner pocket and turned, his icing gaze flying to the trolleys. "Hmmm. I can’t come all the way from San Dicevey to the capital just for scraps. The most important thing is Naomi. Did you get a gown? Exactly her size and beautiful enough for her that she will love?" Bartholomew’s lips