The entire restaurant froze.“What’s he doing?” a diner muttered. “Is he.. blindfolding himself?”Another burst into laughter. “That’s ridiculous! He can’t even see what he’s cutting!”“That’s not even the right cut for consommé!” someone else added.Warren laughed loudest of all. “See? The clown’s putting on a show. He doesn’t even know what the fuck he’s doing!”But Adrian said nothing. He placed his palm on the steak, feeling the texture, the muscle fibers beneath his fingertips. Then, with a single breath, he tossed the meat lightly into the air.And he did something that no one would believe. The knife flashed in front of everyone’s eyes.Once. Twice.Then again and again and angin – faster and faster — until it became a blur. The sound of the blade slicing through air was pawky and rhythmic, like a song only he could hear. Twenty precise strokes in less than three seconds.When the steak landed back on the board with a soft thud, the room burst into laughter.“He’s lost his mind

Mr. Lin’s stomach dropped. His wrinkled hands trembled around the edge of the counter. The sweat on his brow wasn’t just from the heat anymore — it was fear. His livelihood, his life, everything he’d built in thirty years of honest labor could go up in flames because of one arrogant customer.The scent of Adrian’s broth hung faintly in the air — clean, fragrant — but Lin barely noticed it. His mind was spiraling.He leaned close to Adrian, his voice breaking. “My boy, I… I thank you for what you’ve done,” he said shakily. “You’ve tried your best, I know you did. But it’s no use now. You’ve seen who he is. The man has power, money, connections. Please, don’t make it worse. Just… stop.”Adrian’s expression didn’t change. His hands continued their slow rhythm — stirring, skimming, tasting — like he hadn’t heard a word. “Please,” Lin pressed, voice cracking. “I gambled this restaurant on trust, and maybe that was my mistake. I should’ve known better than to believe miracles still happen.

The clatter of cutlery and the soft vibrating sound of the dining-room light filled the small apartment. Vanessa’s mother, Clara Lang, was in unusually high spirits. She carved a piece of chicken and smiled across the table at her daughter.“My goodness, Vanessa,” Clara said, eyes sparkling. “You look like a magazine cover. That new hairdo suits you, it softens your face. Perfect for tomorrow’s banquet. You’ll make them all stare.”Vanessa laughed lightly, pretending to be modest. “Oh, Mom, stop it.”But she enjoyed it—the warmth, the admiration. For once, she wasn’t the woman who had been divorced by a nobody. She was the woman who was about to become somebody.Across the table, Bobby leaned back in his chair, his designer shirt catching the light. His gold wristwatch glinted like a trophy, of course, it was intentional. He made sure to flaunt his wealth wherever he went.. Clara noticed and gasped.“Bobby, that watch —it’s stunning!”Bobby turned his wrist so she could get a better l

Margaret stood frozen for a long moment, her trembling hands pressed against her mouth in shock and horror. The air in the room was thick, heavy with the sterile scent of disinfectant and death and fear, fear from Ethan. Her eyes, wide with disbelief, darted from John’s still body to the unplugged cord dangling from Ethan’s fingers.Then, slowly—too slowly—she reached behind her and shut the door. The soft click of the latch echoed like a gunshot.Ethan’s heart skipped. His body stiffened. “Aunt Margaret… what are.. What are you doing here?” he began, voice low and uneven.She didn’t answer. Her heels clicked softly against the tile as she walked toward the bed, her gaze locked on her brother’s face. When she reached him, she touched his cheek —gently, almost tenderly. He was dead indeed.Ethan’s mind spun. What now? He could fix this. He had to fix this. He must fix this. His eyes darted to the tray beside the bed. The surgical scalpel gleamed under the light. It would be quick, cl

Ethan’s fingers flexed. His head filled with pictures he had heard whispered—this thing that sounded both petty and massive: cousins disinherited, small farms sold under pressure, relatives offered sinecures, quiet humiliation for those who resisted. Margaret kept talking, and the past unfurled like an old map. He was still young to have understood everything that was going on back then. But hearing his aunt now, it all seemed to make sense.“Once John had that first contract,” she said, “he reshaped the family. He replaced us with hired confidants who would not look at him as family. He set up trusts, named his own sons to boards, and married the right woman to close the loop. At every turn, he made sure our mouths were shut with small kindnesses: a comfortable pension, a yearly dinner, a story. But each story came with a condition.”“What condition?” Ethan asked. “Agree publicly and you might keep your friendly roof.” she responded. “Object and you would find yourself shamed, poor,