Meantime, the air in Rachel’s room was heavy with the scent of lavender and conspiracy. The soft glow of a single oil lamp cast flickering shadows across the walls, illuminating the delicate tapestries and the stern faces of Rachel and her mother, Lady Eddy, as they sat across from one another at a small, ornate table. The room, though elegant, felt like a war council chamber, the weight of their shared intent pressing against the silence.Rachel sat rigidly at the polished mahogany table, her slender fingers tracing the delicate rim of a porcelain teacup, its floral pattern mocking the turmoil churning within her. Her auburn hair, usually cascading in soft waves, was pulled back into a severe bun, each strand pinned with precision, as if to restrain the storm of emotions threatening to unravel her composure. Her emerald eyes, once bright with dreams of a perfect future, now glinted with a cold, calculating resolve, their warmth replaced by a smoldering fury. “Warren must die,” she de

Victor Crane’s dimly lit room reeked of antiseptic and bitter herbs, the air sharp enough to cut. He sat on the edge of his cot, his busted arm wrapped tight in bandages, throbbing like a bad memory that wouldn’t quit. The Crane family’s doc, a twitchy little guy named Halvors, had just split, leaving a vial of cloudy liquid and orders to rest. Rest? Screw that. Victor’s mind was a warzone, and rest wasn’t even on the map.His blood was a furnace, burning hotter than a wildfire. Warren. That lowlife prick hadn’t just shamed the Crane name—he’d left Victor eating dirt in front of a laughing ironspire City elites, like some nobody thug. The memory was a blade in his chest: the jeers, the crack of his arm breaking, the weight of his family’s honor ground into the mud. He clenched his good fist, knuckles white as chalk. “You’re gonna pay, Warren,” he growled, voice low, a promise to the dark. “I’ll rip your damn heart out and take back what’s mine, even if I gotta carve it from your corps

The Veyris estate’s grand hall was a cavern of wealth and lies, its polished marble floors reflecting the dim glow of chandeliers. The air was thick with tension, the kind that chokes you, as Kael stood in the center, his tattered clothes dripping rain, his amulet pulsing like a heartbeat against his chest. Victor Crane’s consciousness, fused with Kael’s, burned with a shared fury, their souls split but locked in purpose. The Veyris elder, Torren, a grizzled man with a voice like gravel, stepped forward, his presence heavy with authority. His eyes narrowed, glinting with suspicion.“Explain yourself, Kael,” Torren demanded, his tone cutting through the murmurs of the gathered Veyris elite. “What the hell happened out there? You show up like a ghost, claiming betrayal. Speak, or I’ll have you dragged out.”Kael’s voice was steady, cold as a blade. “Your hitmen came for me, Torren. Four of them, in the forest. They beat me, stabbed me, left me to die. But I’m here. I survived your betr

The bell rang, and Joran came in swinging, fast and brutal, his fists a blur of power. Each punch was meant to break, to bury Kael where he stood. The crowd roared, expecting a quick knockout. But Kael was no longer the weak link. His reborn body moved like a storm, dodging Joran’s blows with a grace he’d never had. His senses were sharp, every movement precise, his muscles coiled with a strength that felt like it could shatter stone.Joran’s fist grazed Kael’s cheek, but Kael countered, his own punch slamming into Joran’s ribs with a crack that echoed through the arena. The crowd’s jeers faltered, replaced by gasps. Joran swung again, harder, but Kael sidestepped, driving a fist into Joran’s jaw, sending him staggering. The champ’s smug grin vanished, replaced by shock as Kael’s hits landed—hard, relentless, like a machine built for destruction.“You’re nothing!” Joran spat, blood trickling from his lip, his swings growing wild. “You can’t fight! You’re a failure, Kael! Always will

The news of Victor Crane’s death spread quickly across media outlets and social platforms, shaking a city already grappling with the Crane family’s recent scandal. Victor, heir to the Crane empire, was reported dead, only for a shocking revelation to follow: he had returned, alive, under mysterious circumstances.The timing was brutal, coming hours after a public spectacle at the Transcorp Imperial Hotel. What was meant to be a lavish wedding had unraveled into chaos, sparked by an ex-convict—rumored to be a powerful underworld figure—who disrupted the event. The confrontation, witnessed by elite guests, saw the Crane family’s reputation take a severe hit, with social media amplifying every moment. Hashtags like #CraneCollapse trended as videos circulated, capturing the stunned reactions of Yul Crane, the family patriarch, and the crowd’s shift from awe to fascination.Victor’s reported death, attributed to an unexplained cause, fueled speculation of foul play. The news hit Yul hard;