The ride was quiet. Just the low hum of the engine and the occasional chirp of birds above the sky.The road curved into private land, the trees were well trimmed, hedges shaped to perfection with a marble statue standing tall. It was so quiet.And then, the Marris Estate came into view. One of the four great family houses in the nation. The kind of place that didn't whisper power but screamed it all out. Wide, gleaming windows with columns that reached for heaven. The gates themselves were sculpted iron.We came to a halt before the main courtyard, where expensive cars lined the curved driveway. Music and laughter spilled out from the open windows.Corwin off the engine. I stepped out of the car. I took in the sight of the people laughing, dancing, indulging in food and celebration. It was a celebration in full swing.The scene broke my heart. "It hadn't even been a year since Caleb died." "And this is what they call mourning?" I muttered."Should I head in, and bring the family head

Mrs. Grayson's blindness is no small matter. Because only someone truly blind could believe you were ever more excellent than Caleb."Luther shot up from his seat like a thunderclap. His chair scraped backward violently. His fists were clenched, his jaw locked, and fury carved deep into every line of his face.Murmurs exploded around the long table,"Did he just say Daniel?!""How dare he bring up that name here?""Who the hell is this guy? Is he begging to die?"The weight of their whispers was nothing to me. I kept my eyes locked on Luther.Cyrus, ever the loudmouth, jumped up next. "Damn it!" he barked, practically foaming at the mouth. "Does this bastard have a death wish? Get the hell out of this house!"Luther didn't say a word. He just stood there silent, seething like a fuse waiting to catch flame.I leaned in a little. "Then tell me, Luther... Can you say, right here, in front of all these people, how exactly Caleb died?"Silence blanketed the hall for a beat. And then Cyrus

Aron moved forward, each step deliberate. His boots struck the marble floor with a cold, unhurried rhythm, like a pendulum counting down to someone's death. His eyes, two shards of winter, locked on me with the unblinking certainty of a man who had already decided my fate.He stopped three feet away, head tilting slightly, his gaze drifting over my features like an appraiser measuring a priceless artifact before smashing it. Then he smiled—a thin, humorless curve of the lips that felt more like a knife than a gesture."You've got a sharp face," he said evenly. His voice was steady, detached, as if this was just another line in a job description.A faint shrug followed. "A shame, really… but I'm just doing a job. Everyone needs money."From behind me, I felt Reynold tense. His weight shifted forward, the telltale signal of a man about to draw steel or throw himself between me and danger."Corwin—" I snapped, without turning. My tone cut through the space like a blade. "Don't."He froz

The scent of blood still lingered in the air, mingling with dust and the sharp tang of broken glass. My boots crunched softly against the floor as I moved around the living room, gathering the scattered pieces.I cleaned slowly. The mess wasn't only physical. It was a reflection of everything I had left behind… and everything that had rotted in my absence.When I straightened up, my eyes caught the photograph on the wall.Smiling in a field of sunflowers, her arms outstretched toward a sky I had never seen with her.My feet carried me toward it before I realized. I froze, staring at that face—so familiar, yet still foreign.Ten years.Ten damn years without her.I stood there far too long, my chest tightening, before finally lifting the frame from the wall. My hands trembled as I held it. I didn't know if I was looking at my daughter… or at a stranger.With a breath that shook more than I wanted to admit, I set the picture gently beside the couch.The bottle waited where I had left it

The city thinned the further I drove.Buildings slumped with rust and rot, leaning like old drunks waiting for the end. The road cracked beneath the tires, groaning as if it didn't want to remember what had been driven over it before. Warehouses loomed like coffins, chained shut with links that hadn't rattled in years. The streetlights above were hollow glass bones—dead, unblinking.I pulled up beside a compound strangled by weeds and silence. The old cargo terminal. Pier 9.The place looked like a graveyard where secrets were buried shallow.I stepped out. Dust crunched beneath my boots. The stench of oil and damp steel seeped from the walls, crawling into my lungs. I didn't flinch. I'd smelled worse on the border, worse when the air itself seemed laced with death.Straight ahead stood a steel-plated door, sunk into the side of the building like a scar. No sign. No lights. Just two men out front, shadows with breath. One leaned against a rusted pole, a cigarette bleeding to its end b