Overwhelmed, Sarah’s legs gave out. She began to sink to her knees, her eyes filling with tears, ready to fall at his feet in gratitude. But before her knees could touch the gravel, Lance’s strong hands caught her, lifting her back up with effortless grace."There is no need for that," he said firmly. "You are not a servant. You are a friend."Sarah began to weep openly, her sobs racking her small frame. "What have I done to deserve this? You saved me from that monster... You fought through thousands of mercenaries for me... You brought my son back to my arms. I will be indebted to you for a thousand lifetimes.""You already paid the debt five years ago," Lance replied quietly.A sleek, black armored SUV pulled up beside them. Two elite guards opened the doors. Sarah gave Lance one last, tearful look of thanks before she and her son climbed into the vehicle's luxury. As the SUV sped away toward their new life, Lance watched them go, a small weight lifting from his chest.Lance turned

It was a cage designed to be a palace.Standing by the edge of the large bed was a small, four-year-old boy.He was the spitting image of a younger Lance, the same jawline, the same defiant posture, but he had Isabelle’s hauntingly beautiful eyes.The boy didn't scream. He didn't hide under the bed.He stood his ground, looking at the giant man covered in the dust of battle with a look of intense curiosity. He had the "General’s blood" in his veins. Even in the face of a terrifying stranger, he did not cry.The cold, murderous fire in Lance’s eyes vanished instantly. His shoulders slumped.He walked toward the child and slowly dropped to one knee, making himself level with the boy.Tears, hot and thick, welled up in Lance’s eyes. He reached out a hand, hovering it near the boy’s cheek."Hey, what's your name?""Hen... Henry" The boy replied slowly."I am your father," Lance whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.The boy’s eyes went wide. He stood frozen, his small heart racing. D

Darren let out a frantic, jagged laugh. He wiped his brow with a silk handkerchief, his eyes wild. "Are you serious, Georgia? Are you going to listen to a child coached by a lunatic? Look at Lance! He’s a psychiatric patient!""He’s been living in your basement like a rat for five years! He probably found this kid in an alley and promised him candy to say these things. It’s a show! A cheap, desperate trick to stop this wedding!"He turned to the family, his voice rising in fake outrage. "Why would you believe a broken man over me? I am Darren! I have given this family everything! Lance is just spitting madness because he can’t handle losing Isabelle to a real man!"The Sinclairs looked back and forth, their minds spinning. The confusion in the room was like a physical weight until the heavy oak doors at the top of the staircase creaked open.Isabelle stood there. She was in a simple silk robe, her face pale. Her gaze swept the room until it landed on the small figure standing next to

"I will never marry you, you cunning bastard!" Isabelle screamed, her voice filled with agony she had suppressed for five years."You took my son away! You stripped a mother of her own joy and used my own flesh and blood as a weapon against me! You are wicked, Darren. You are a monster in a suit, and I want nothing to do with you!"Darren stumbled back, his hand clutching his face. He looked at her with wide, shocked eyes—the leverage he had held over her.He had nothing left to threaten her with.Isabelle turned away from the coward and walked toward Lance. She stood in front of him, her eyes searching his face, her tears falling freely now."My husband," she choked out, her voice breaking. "I am so sorry. I am so sorry for everything that happened. I am sorry for betraying you in front of everyone. I was so scared... I was only trying to protect our son."Lance didn't hesitate. He reached out and pulled her into a powerful, protective embrace, shielding her from her family's glares.

Darren sat in the darkened corner of his study, the only light coming from the fireplace.A half-empty bottle of expensive whiskey sat on the desk.His hand trembled slightly as he poured another glass.The image of his ruined villa, the smoking wreckage, was burned into his mind.He slammed the glass down and snatched his phone. He dialed a number from his contact list."I have a name," Darren growled into the receiver. "Lance Colton. He’s been hiding behind the Sinclair family for five years. But today, he moved like a professional killer and called in a military strike. I want to know who he really is. I want his background, his records, anything you can find about him.""It will cost you, Darren," a cold voice replied on the other end."I don't care about the cost!" Darren screamed, sweeping the whiskey bottle off the desk. It shattered against the floor. "Just find out how a psychiatric patient has the power to burn my world to the ground!"The following morning, the sun rose ove