Ethan's thumb mashed the callback button, but the number dissolved into static. No signal. No trace. Just dead air where his sister's scream still echoed. He hurled the phone across the command center, watched it shatter against a monitor that now showed nothing but the relentless countdown.21:59:43. 21:59:42.Elena hadn't moved, her body rigid with the kind of fear that came from knowing you'd outlived your usefulness. "Ethan, you need to listen—""Did you know?" His voice was a blade pressed against her throat. "Did you know Emma was alive?""No." She held his gaze, unblinking. "I swear on my commission. My orders were to assess your stability, not to monitor hostages.""Then what was the assessment?""That you were losing yourself." She stepped closer, ignoring the danger."That the Ethan Cole who became Supreme Commander was disappearing inside the garbage collector you pretended to be. My handler&mdas

**Chapter 20: The Devil's Counteroffer**The mattress was thinner than Marcus Wellington's patience, which was saying something. Three weeks in federal lockup and he'd learned that hell wasn't fire and brimstone—it was a six-by-eight cell that smelled of industrial disinfectant and another man's piss, where the walls sweated in summer and the concrete floor sucked the heat from your bones in winter. They'd stuck him in a "white-collar" wing, as if that made a difference when your cellmate was a Ponzi schemer who sobbed through the night and used his Armani tie to hang himself on day nine.Marcus had watched the man kick, watched the guards cut him down, watched the indifferent medical examiner declare it a tragedy before lunch. He hadn't felt a thing. Not horror, not sympathy, not even satisfaction. He'd just thought: *That's one less person ahead of me for the phone.*That was the thing about falling from a billion-dollar penthouse to a concrete box: you learned real quick that statu

The stench of rot clung to Ethan Cole's uniform as he hoisted another black bag into the compactor truck, the hydraulic crusher grinding with a sound like bones breaking. Three weeks since the Gala. Two since he'd watched his mother walk out of his penthouse. One since he'd learned his entire life was a lie written in his father's handwriting. And yet here he was, back in the role that had started it all—because sometimes the only way to see the board clearly was to stand where nobody looked.The Harrison Hills neighborhood was a different kind of prison than the one his mother had built in glass and steel. Here, the mansions were just as big, the lawns just as manicured, but the people carried a different scent: old tobacco money mixed with desperation. These were the families who'd watched the Wellington scandal on the news and thanked God they'd only been spectators. They hadn't realized the show was just getting started."Hey! Garbage man!" The voice cut through the morning air l

"Already on it. But Commander..." She showed him another screen. "Sophia's at the courthouse. She's trying to file a restraining order against Marcus. Claims he's been threatening her.""She's waiving her anonymity. Going public.""Yes."That changed things. A woman who'd once chosen status over safety was now choosing confrontation over comfort. The test subject was rewriting the experiment."Send a protection detail," Ethan ordered. "Discreet. Not Dragon Guards. Civilians. People who blend.""And if she sees them?""She won't." He looked out at the city passing by. "She's learning to see what matters. That's a harder skill than it looks."The SUV stopped at a light. Outside, a newsstand displayed the morning papers. The headline screamed: **WELLINGTON SCION TO WALK FREE? EX-WIFE FEARS FOR SAFETY.**There was a photo of Sophia, looking tired but determined, leaving the courthouse. In the background, barely visible, was Ethan's garbage truck.The irony wasn't lost on him.His phone ra