“Will it really?” Jackson’s voice dropped, smooth but venomous. “Stock prices have already tumbled twenty percent. Investors are pulling out. Public trust is bleeding out. And Helen’s solution is… what?” He spread his hands mockingly. “Charity galas. PR campaigns. Bandages on a corpse or damage control?” The words cut through the silence like a blade. A few directors shifted uneasily, their eyes betraying the doubt they had tried to bury. Jackson leaned back, his smirk widening. “Tell me something, when a ship is sinking, do you clap for the captain’s speeches, or do you look for the man who actually knows where the lifeboats are?” Director Vasquez, sharp-tongued and unafraid, narrowed her eyes. “And you, Jackson? You’re claiming to know where the lifeboats are? You forget—you’re just adopted. You don’t carry the Milton blood in you, how could you even think you have the right to sit here and address us?” A ripple of tension followed her words. The old wound reopened, they w

The boardroom air was thick, like smoke lingering after a fire. No one dared to move too quickly, as though the wrong gesture might expose where their loyalties lay. Helen sat with her back straight, eyes steady, a cool and dignified presence. Jackson stood, pacing like a wolf in a cage, his hand brushing the polished surface of the table as he prowled. “Gentlemen,” Jackson began again, his voice sharpened by frustration, “this vote is not merely about leadership. It’s about survival. The company needs new blood... strong blood to take it into the next era. Helen clings to the past, to Father’s shadow. I—” he struck his chest with a fist, “I offer the future.” Murmurs rose. Some directors nodded, others shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Helen tilted her head, lips curling into a faint smile. “And what future is that, Jackson?” she said with calculated poise. “One where Milton Corporation is dragged into reckless ventures? One where whispers of… impropriety alre

The meeting adjourned with unease lingering in the air, but the outcome was undeniable: Steven had taken his seat. The President’s chair was no longer empty and the Council had no excuse to doubt the legitimacy of their order, not when the insignia and the key to the files had confirmed it. Outside, Luisa placed a hand on Steven’s shoulder. “You did well.” He exhaled slowly, his chest still tight from the weight of the confrontation. “Did I?” She smirked faintly. “You didn’t back down. That’s what matters. Leadership isn’t about pleasing them—it’s about commanding them. And tonight, you showed them that the boy they underestimated has teeth! I am sure Elias Smith would be proud of you, if he were here today." Steven stared out at the night sky, the weight of his new reality pressing down on him. He was no longer just Steven. No longer just Kahuna, the name whispered by a Matron long gone. He was something more... something dangerous. And this world, well it is not goin

Meanwhile, miles away from the geographical location of Riverage City is a countryside, Alaska. The sky above Alaska stretched vast and merciless, one of white and gray clouds that kissed the peaks of the mountains. The cold was sharp, biting, a reminder that men who came here had to be made of sterner nature. Finn Guler was such a man! Broad-shouldered, his breath fogging as he tightened the strap of his parachute, he looked out across the glacier valley below with the calm detachment of a hunter about to leap into the unknown. Beside him, Harry Milton was less calm. His lips moved in a mutter as if calculating risks, costs, and perhaps the absurdity of skydiving at his age. But he couldn’t show weakness not here, not now, and definitely not in front of Finn Guler, the man whose favor he needed. “Six months in this frozen wasteland, and you still haven’t gotten used to the cold?” Finn asked, his voice carrying both amusement and challenge. Harry pulled his goggles

Jackson's car engine, purred to life as he drove farther away from the villa, away from the guarded walls and the expectations pressing down on Dianna’s shoulders. Inside the car, silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was thick and somewhat charged with old feelings and unspoken truths. Finally, Dianna spoke, her voice quiet, almost fragile. “Why now, Jackson?” He kept his eyes on the road, though his jaw tightened. “Because I can’t lose you again. I’ve lost the company. Helen has that in her grip. And Steven…” He paused, letting the name settle like smoke. “…Steven’s gone.” Her head turned sharply. “Gone?” “Yes,” Jackson said, his tone low, almost reverent. “I’ve been told he’s dead. And when I heard… when I knew… the first thought that came to me wasn’t triumph. It wasn’t relief. It was you.” Her heart thudded painfully. Steven’s death was news that should have crushed her, he was her fiance but strangely, she didn’t crumble. Instead, her chest tighten