“He’s leaving today...”The whispers slithered through the air like venomous snakes. They danced around steel bars and echoed off concrete walls, seeping into the ears of every soul trapped inside Fort-tight Maximum Prison—the very belly of the devil himself.The news was more than gossip. It was war.Twelve men stood in a straight line, like soldiers without a nation, each of them armed with makeshift weapons—a jagged pipe, a rusted blade, a thick chain wrapped tightly around knuckles swollen from bloodshed. Their eyes burned with desperation, pride, and foolish ambition.“He leaves today,” the tallest one growled, “and when he does, we will be remembered as the last men to challenge the Almighty Master Ethan Northstrum.”A wild murmur ran through the watching crowd. They were insane.Because just a few yards away, Ethan was sitting cross-legged at his usual corner—an isolated slab of concrete under the shadow of a crumbling wall. His eyes were closed, body still as stone, breathing

It began like a typical club scuffle. Just two big men dragging an unwilling woman to some dark corner where their boss waited, grinning like the serpent he was named after. She kicked, squirmed, and shouted, but her efforts were wasted against their iron grips. Her red dress shimmered under the neon lights, the heels of her Prada shoes scraping the marble floor with every attempted step. A spectacle… yet not a single soul dared intervene.Only one man did.Ethan.The two enforcers barely noticed him at first—a lanky figure standing calmly in their path. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t raise his voice. He simply spoke with a quiet command.“Put her down and walk away.”The first man paused, his lips curled into a smirk as he sized up Ethan.“Are you drunk?” he sneered. “Or just plain lost?”Ethan didn’t respond with anger. His eyes were ice. His stance, still. His tone, dangerous.“That wasn’t a suggestion.”A heavy silence dropped like lead in the room. Heads turned. Glasses froze mid-air.

Morning rays filtered lazily through the tinted windows of the Electric Viper nightclub, now a silent shell of the chaos it had witnessed the night before. The scent of stale alcohol and disinfectant hung heavy in the air, mingling with the iron tang of blood.Mela, the head waitress, paced the club’s wide interior, her eyes sharp and instructive. She barked orders at her younger colleagues as they scrubbed down tables and mopped the sticky, stained floor. Despite the club’s near-pristine design, a trail of red marked where Cobra and his men had bled. Broken glasses crunched under shoes. A shattered bottle of whiskey sat like a grave marker near the bar.Mela had been in this business for years. She’d seen fights. She’d seen gunmen. She’d even seen some street-level mafia bosses lose their temper. But last night… last night was something else entirely.“Move faster!” she ordered sharply. But even as she tried to focus, her ears couldn’t help catching the buzzing whispers of the staff

The air in Emma Robbins’ office was thick with tension, the scent of fresh coffee mingling with the sharp edge of designer perfume. The sleek lounge, with its glass table and cream leather sofa, felt like a courtroom, the three women—Emma, Stella, and Tracy—staring at Ethan Northstrum as if he were an intruder. Ethan’s brows lifted in slow realization—this woman in the tailored pantsuit, sharp eyes, and commanding presence… was her. The pretty lady from last night. The one he saved from Cobra and his men. Now turns out to be the same lady he spent the night with—the CEO, Emma Robbins.Emma, on the other hand, looked like her soul had just left her body.Her worst nightmare, standing tall and composed right in her office.“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, her voice tight with disbelief and dread.Her friends, Tracy and Stella, turned to her instantly. “You know him?” Tracy asked, puzzled.“Wait… Emma?” Stella chimed in. “Is he—?”Before Emma could respond, Jennifer the P

The black BMW pulled into the private lot of Luxe Vault, the most exclusive designer boutique in the city. Its clients were CEOs, celebrity wives, tech moguls, and high-ranking officials—people who knew their way around silk-threaded Italian blazers and six-figure heels.Ethan stepped out behind Emma and Jennifer, drawing attention the moment they entered. Not because of what he wore—his clothes were plain—but because of how he carried himself. Calm. Unbothered. As though he owned the place.The shopping began.Emma walked beside Ethan, scrolling on her phone while the store attendant guided them through suits. Ethan ran his fingers across a navy Armani tux. Sleek. Tailored. The kind of fabric that felt like status itself.“Perfect cut for your frame,” the attendant smiled. “This piece is limited edition. Forty thousand dollars.”Before Ethan could say a word, Jennifer stepped in.“Ah, no. That’s… too much. Bring us something cheap. Under ten grand,” she said with a tight, forced smil