CHAPTER ONE: The clatter of cutlery against porcelain echoed in the Jones family’s dining room. It was a polished room, chandelier lights catching on the silverware, but the atmosphere was anything but elegant. At the far end of the table, Lucas Jones leaned back in his chair, his gold wristwatch glinting as he carved his steak.“Billy,” Lucas said casually, not even looking at him. “Since you’re sitting here rent-free, the least you can do is fetch me another glass of wine. Quickly.”Billy Anderson’s hand tightened around his own fork. He said nothing, stood up, and walked toward the kitchen. His broad shoulders, once symbols of confidence when he still owned his company, now looked like burdens he carried for everyone else.“Look at him,” Alice Jones muttered, loud enough for the whole table to hear. Tyla’s mother never bothered to hide her contempt. “My daughter could have married any number of wealthy suitors. And here she is, stuck with a bankrupt husband who can’t even provide.

Chapter Three: The Jones household had always been Lucas’s stage. His voice carried like a whip crack, his footsteps owned every hallway. But lately, the air felt different—thicker somehow, as though another presence had slipped into the house and was quietly claiming space.Billy didn’t speak much, but silence can be louder than words when wielded right. And Billy’s silence was starting to sting.It began in small ways. At the dinner table, where Lucas usually dominated the conversation, Billy no longer looked away when Lucas boasted about his latest deal or mocked him for fumbling with a fork. Instead, Billy’s gaze lingered—steady, unblinking. Lucas would find his throat dry mid-sentence, the laughter of his own stories ringing hollow.One evening, Alice—Billy’s mother-in-law—tried to draw him out, her voice bright but brittle. “Billy, you’ve hardly touched your stew. Is it not to your liking?”Billy set down his spoon deliberately, the scrape against the bowl sharp in the hush. “

Chapter Five :The Jones mansion glowed beneath a canopy of chandeliers, the kind of glow that could trick outsiders into thinking peace lived here. From the outside, its towering walls and gilded windows suggested harmony, wealth, and refinement. But inside, the air was heavy, thick with unspoken resentments and grudges sharpened by years of rivalry. The dining table was no longer a place of nourishment—it was a battlefield waiting for its first strike.Billy sat at the far end, shoulders squared, posture rigid with quiet defiance. His face gave little away, but inside, he could feel the tension coil like a spring. Across from him lounged Lucas, the heir who thought himself untouchable, his lips curled in disdain. Lucas’s fingers tapped lightly against the polished mahogany table. Every tap was a warning, a rhythm of dominance, a reminder that in his mind, Billy was still the outcast—the poor son-in-law who had no right to sit here.The silence cracked when the sound of heels echoed

Chapter Seven: The morning air was sharp, cold enough to bite through the thin fabric of Billy’s shirt. The streets were quiet, washed in that pale gray light that comes just before the rain. He sat on the front steps of the workshop where he once spent whole days fixing engines—machines that always made sense to him in a way people rarely did. His hands were stained with old grease, though he hadn’t touched a wrench in weeks. The smell lingered—oil, rust, and smoke—a reminder of a past that was simpler, but never truly safe.Through the grimy window he caught his own reflection: hollow eyes, a jaw clenched too tight, a man who looked older than his years. The reflection seemed to sneer at him, as though mocking the illusion of peace he had tried to build.A soft knock broke the silence. Billy didn’t move at first, but the sound came again, gentle but insistent.“Billy?”He turned. Evelyn leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, her hair tied back loosely so a few strands framed h

Chapter Nine: Rain had left the city slick, the streets gleaming like black glass under the flickering streetlights. Billy and Evelyn moved silently, the echoes of their boots lost in the hum of the storm. Each step carried the weight of the night before, and the whispers of the shadows that had followed them since dusk.“They know more than we think,” Billy said, his voice low, a barely audible growl beneath the downpour. He paused under the dim light of a cracked lamp post, scanning every alley, every rooftop edge. “Whoever sent that man is organized. Too organized to be just Liam.”Evelyn’s eyes darted around, sharp and calculating. “So, we’re talking about a network. Someone at the top pulling strings. Someone who knows your father’s past better than we do.”Billy nodded, jaw tight. Memories of his father’s last days—the Luoshen, the threats, the whispered warnings—pressed down on him like a physical weight. The man they’d just encountered was only a fragment of the machinery tha