The storm over the Harrington estate had not yet broken, but the air was thick with its promise. Heavy clouds dragged across the evening sky, blotting out the last traces of sunlight.Inside the estate’s vast hall, chandeliers threw harsh golden light over polished marble floors, over portraits of stern ancestors whose painted eyes seemed to judge everyone below. And in the middle of that grandeur, Redington stood like a shadow out of place.His clothes were simple, far too plain for the opulence around him. His posture, however, had changed. Days ago he had bowed, head lowered, shoulders bent beneath humiliation. But now there was a quiet firmness in him.His eyes, sharper, clearer, burned with a fire even he did not fully understand. Every insult, every beating, every degrading word the Harringtons had hurled at him clung to his memory, but tonight something was different. The weight no longer crushed him, it forged him.Across the hall, Victor Harrington, the patriarch, lounged in

The Harrington estate had descended into a nightmare. Gunfire crackled through the halls, screams ricocheted off marble walls, and the storm outside roared like a beast awakened.Redington’s pulse hammered in his ears as Daniel yanked him into the narrow service passage that cut behind the grand dining hall. “Move!” Daniel hissed, voice shaking but urgent. “They’ll cut us off if we don’t!”Redington stumbled after him, clutching the heavy brass candelabrum still slick with blood. His knuckles whitened around it every step he took felt heavier not from exhaustion, but from the weight of what he had just heard, Son, heir, bloodline.The words refused to release him. “Daniel!” Eleanor’s voice shrieked from somewhere behind, swallowed by gunfire. “Get back here! You’ll”The sentence was cut short by a strangled cry. Redington’s chest tightened, but Daniel didn’t stop. He shoved open a narrow door at the end of the passage, pulling Redington through. They spilled into a dim corridor lined

Gunfire tore the night apart. The storm’s fury was nothing compared to the violence unfolding in the Harrington gardens. Lightning lit up the estate like a stage, every flash revealing chaos masked intruders firing from the hedges.Victor’s private army advancing from SUVs, and in the center of it all, Redington standing motionless in the rain, Daniel clutching at his arm. Victor’s words still hung in the air, heavy as stone “Bring me my son!”Redington’s body locked up, He couldn’t breathe. The candelabrum slipped from his hand, landing in the mud with a dull thud. Blood seeped down his arm from the graze, rain washing it into red rivulets. Son not housekeeper, not heir, not stray, son but how?The claim hit him harder than the bullet wound. “Redington!” Daniel’s voice cracked with terror. He pulled at him, trying to drag him toward the shadows of the garden wall. “We can’t stay here! They’ll kill us both!”But Redington’s feet felt rooted, as though the earth itself held him captive

The Carmichael estate no longer hummed with wealth and poise it seethed with paranoia. The grand chandeliers flickered against the high ceilings of the strategy chamber, shadows crawling along polished marble floors.Around the oak table, the heirs sat like wolves sharpening their teeth, each scheming, each hungry, each afraid of losing what little grip they still had.Victor Carmichael leaned forward, his knuckles pressed against the wood, his voice carrying the steel edge of command. “We move tonight. Jonathan Hale has returned, and with him chaos. If we allow him and that servant to join forces, we’re finished.”Isabella twirled her wine glass with delicate fingers, her painted lips curling into a cold smile. “And yet,” she said, voice dripping with mockery, “I cannot help but notice that the servant has already made you all tremble.A housekeeper Imagine the scandal when society learns we let our empire be threatened by one of our own staff.” Her words stung, and that was her inte

The night reeled sideways, the world shrank to sound and fire. Redington’s knees hit the stone, his breath catching in ragged bursts. Blood ran hot through his fingers as he clutched his side, his skin clammy, his vision splitting between smoke and stars.He could hear voices but couldn’t place them Jonathan shouting, Isabella laughing, Victor cursing, Samuel screaming apologies. All blurred together.Through the haze, a hand grabbed him iron-strong, pulling him upright. Jonathan’s face appeared inches away, wild, unmasked, his voice rough with fury.Jonathan: “Stay with me do you hear me? Don’t you dare give them the satisfaction!”Redington (weakly): “Let me go.”Jonathan: “Never you’re mine, and I don’t lose what’s mine.”The Courtyard Turns. Above, the Carmichaels argued furiously.Victor (snarling): “Samuel, you idiot! You shot the wrong man!”Isabella (mocking): “Or the right one. Look how Hale trembles when his little pawn bleeds.”Marcus (coldly): “Doesn’t matter he’s down. Fi