The mountain air hung heavy with the scent of pine and earth, a crisp veil that did little to soothe the dread coiling in Derrick Voss’s chest as he stepped into his mother’s villa. The Seven-Star General, a towering figure whose name struck fear into the hearts of enemies, felt a tremor of unease at the thought of the conversation he’d been dodging for years. His mother’s voice, sharp as a blade and unyielding as iron, echoed in his mind: “You’ll have to find and protect the nanny’s daughter for eternity, starting with marriage. The brave nanny from many years ago, who died protecting you!”The villa’s main hall loomed before them, its vaulted ceiling adorned with chandeliers that cast prisms of light across polished mahogany floors. Mrs. Glen Voss, widow of the late God of War, moved with a saunter that belied her age, as if the weight of her past had no hold on her. Her white hair flowed like a cascade of moonlight, and her eyes, bright with a vitality drawn from the mountain’s sp

The air outside the Transcorp Imperial Hotel buzzed with opulence, the kind that clung to Ironspire’s elite like a second skin. Engines growled as luxury cars—a parade of Bentleys, Ferraris, and Rolls-Royces—converged on the grand entrance, their polished surfaces glinting under the midday sun. Anamika's supercar, a sleek black Maserati, sliced through the chaos with predatory grace, pulling up just as Derrick’s limousine rolled to a stop. The synchronicity was uncanny, as if fate had orchestrated their arrival to collide at this precise moment.Anamika’s heart pounded, not from the grandeur of the banquet awaiting them, but from the specter of Serena Vox, whose name clawed at her thoughts like a relentless beast. Earlier, when she’d convinced Derrick to leave her behind at the estate, she’d needed space to grapple with the storm brewing inside her. The revelation of Serena’s return—and her child—had cracked open a vault of fear and suspicion. As Derrick’s car had pulled away, Anam

The midday sun beat down mercilessly on the entrance of the Transcorp Imperial Hotel, its rays glinting off the polished cars and casting long shadows on the pavement where the excluded lingered. Cassandra had slipped away to arrange a discreet entry, leaving Warren alone amidst the restless crowd of high-society outcasts. He stood apart, a solitary figure in a sea of opulence, his dark suit sharp but unassuming, his demeanor calm yet distant. The air was thick with the murmurs of the elite— their kin—yet Warren knew none of them. They were strangers from a world he didn’t belong to, their faces unfamiliar, their conversations a distant hum. Bored, he pulled out his phone, scrolling aimlessly, his fingers moving with the indifference of someone accustomed to being overlooked.Anabella James, however, had no intention of letting him fade into the background. From across the crowded entrance, her sharp eyes locked onto him, her crimson dress catching the sunlight like a warning flare

Wherever Mr. Jack went, Lucas Gregory was his unyielding shadow. Public events, with their swirling crowds and veiled threats, demanded the presence of the burly ex-mercenary. Lucas loomed at Jack’s side, his granite-hard features and piercing gaze a silent warning to any who might dare approach with ill intent. His massive frame, clad in a black suit that seemed to strain against his coiled strength, was a fortress unto itself. Every step Jack took, Lucas mirrored, his senses attuned to the slightest shift in the air—a predator bound to his master by a bond forged in blood and loyalty. To Lucas, Jack wasn’t just a man to protect; he was the anchor of his purpose, a leader whose vision demanded his unwavering vigilance.In the banquet hall, the air thrummed with anticipation as Jack rose from his seat, his tailored suit catching the chandelier’s golden glow. He raised a hand, silencing the murmurs of the elite gathered around him. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he declared, his voice resonan

For a fleeting minute, the banquet hall hung in breathless suspense, the echo of the Saffron Order’s salute—“Welcome, Shadow King!”—still reverberating off the gilded walls. The elite guests craned their necks, eyes darting to the grand doors, expecting a towering figure to sweep in and claim the obsidian throne at the table’s head. But no one entered. Confusion rippled through the crowd, whispers rising like a tide. *Who were they greeting?* The tension was a living thing, coiling tighter with each passing second.At the hall’s edge, Anamika’s heart thundered as her gaze locked onto Warren, the so-called server still clutching his cheek from Derrick’s slap. Recognition hit her like a lightning bolt, searing through her carefully composed facade. This was no mere servant—this was *Warren*, the man who had humiliated the Crane family, setting off the catastrophic chain that led to her father Yul Crane’s death. Her blood boiled, her emerald gown, now stained with wine, a mocking reminde