The storm had not stopped since the night Ethan Archer declared war.Rain lashed against the city, relentless, like it carried the echoes of everything he’d lost. From his penthouse window, he watched lightning crawl across the skyline, painting the glass towers in silver and shadow. The city was trembling, but not half as much as the people who’d once mocked his name.Varis stood behind him, silent but restless. The screens on the far wall glowed with surveillance feeds — every port, every border, every safe house flagged. They were tracking Leo Harrison and Evelyn Veyne, the two names now branded as traitors in Ethan’s ledger.He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t even tried.When the door opened, Clara stepped in quietly, holding two cups of coffee. She placed one near him, untouched. “You’re not eating. You’re not sleeping.”Ethan didn’t turn. “I can rest when this ends.”“You said that three days ago.”“Because it hasn’t ended.”The words were low, sharp, and final. But Clara didn’t back awa

The morning after the storm, the city was washed clean, but nothing about Ethan Archer felt new.He stood on the helipad of Archer Tower, the wind tugging at his black coat as the sun tried to pierce through low, bruised clouds. Below him, the city glittered like a kingdom he’d conquered—cold, obedient, and his.A convoy of black cars idled nearby. One of them gleamed differently from the rest—a rare Aston Martin Valour, dark emerald, the kind of machine that spoke in silence. The last one of its kind. Five million dollars, paid in full within an hour of its release.Varis waited by the driver’s side, holding a small velvet box.“Sir,” he said. “It’s ready.”Ethan turned slightly. “The ring?”Varis nodded. “Custom design. Solid gold. Hand-cut sapphire crest. Just like you requested.”Ethan took it, studying the object that shimmered against the morning light. It wasn’t a ring meant for love or sentiment—it was a symbol, forged for the next phase of his war.Clara appeared behind him,