Damian’s povThe skyline of Chicago rose before me like the jaws of a beast I'd once called home. Three years. Three years of war, blood, and conquest. Three years of becoming something more… and less—than human."My Lord, we've arrived," Serena said from beside me, her hand never straying far from the hilt of her blade.I didn’t reply. Words felt hollow in my throat as the car rolled through streets I'd walked as a child. Everything looked smaller now. Dirtier. Or perhaps I was the one who'd changed.The cemetery sat on the city's edge, swallowed by weed and neglect. As our vehicle approached, I saw them—five men in cheap suits clustered around two weathered tombstones. My parents' graves.And there, a small figure in a tattered dress stood between the thugs and the stones, arms spread wide like a sparrow trying to shield its nest from wolves."Stop the car."Before Serena could fully brake, I was out, my boots crunching on gravel. The scene crystallized with brutal clarity—sledgeham

Mila’s home was a testament to suffering—cracked walls, a sagging roof, furniture held together by hope and desperation. This was what loyalty to my family had cost them."Father! Father, he's here!" Mila pushed through the door, her voice bright with emotion. "Young Master Damian came back!"I followed her inside, Serena silent at my shoulder. The room was dim, lit by a single weak bulb. And there, in a battered wheelchair by the window, sat Benjamin Everett .Time had ravaged him. White hair, hollow cheeks, trembling hands. But when his eyes met mine, recognition flared like a dying ember suddenly fed oxygen."Young Master?" His voice cracked. "Young Master Damian? Is it truly you?""It's me, Uncle Benjamin." I crossed the room and knelt before him. "I'm home."The old steward's composure shattered. Tears carved paths down his weathered face as he reached for me with shaking hands. "You survived. Heaven be praised, you survived."I took his hands—so frail now, so cold—and my gaze fe

The silence that followed Charles's last boast felt heavy, oppressive. Then Mila's voice cut through it, small and desperate."Young Master... Father needs his painkillers. He takes them every six hours just to function." Her hands twisted together anxiously. "If the Reed family cuts off his supply, he'll—he'll suffer terribly. The pain from his shattered legs is unbearable without medication."Benjamin reached for her hand weakly. "Mila, don't—""She's right to worry," Charles interrupted, his confidence surging back now that he'd regained some composure. His swollen face twisted into something grotesque—a leer that made my skin crawl. "Old man Benjamin's going to be screaming in agony by tomorrow morning. Begging for relief that will never come.""You monster," Milawhispered."Monster?" Charles laughed, examining his nails casually. "I prefer 'pragmatic businessman.' But you know what? I'm feeling generous today. Despite being assaulted—" He touched his bruised cheek dramatically. "

The Peninsula Hotel stood like a monument to wealth and power, its white marble facade gleaming in the morning sun. Red carpets cascaded down the entrance steps. Luxury vehicles lined the circular driveway, each one worth more than most people earned in a lifetime.The wedding of Rostella Baker and Preson Baldwin. The event of the season."My Lord, the security is extensive," Serena observed quietly as our car pulled to a stop several blocks away. "At least fifty guards, multiple checkpoints, facial recognition at the entrance.""I noticed." I studied the building through the tinted window. "Wait here with the squad. I'm going in alone.""My Lord—""If I need you, I'll signal." I met her concerned gaze. "Trust me, Serena."She bowed her head reluctantly. "As you command, War God."I slipped out of the vehicle and melted into the crowd of guests making their way toward the hotel. The guards checked invitations meticulously, but guards only see what they expect to see. A slight adjustme