“No,” Yvonne said instantly. “We’re going straight to the Xavier mansion.”Margaret blinked. “Right now?”“I can’t wait,” Yvonne replied, voice full of hunger. “I want to tell him while that faithful night is still fresh in his mind.” She turned toward her mother. “And I want the staff to see me. I want the guards to remember my face.”Margaret’s smile returned. “You want to plant yourself into the house,” she said, approving.“Exactly,” Yvonne replied. “A woman doesn’t beg her way into a dynasty. She enters like she belongs.”The drive took about thirty minutes, and the city slowly changed from noisy streets to clean, guarded roads.Yvonne watched the gates rise ahead like a challenge built for ordinary people. High walls, cameras, silent men with weapons, and a calm that felt expensive. Even the air looked controlled.The SUV slowed at the entrance, and a guard stepped forward with a tablet in his hand. His face was blank, professional. “State your reason for visiting,” he said.Yvo

Andres stopped mid-step.His eyes flicked toward Yvonne, fast and careful, like a man who had just heard a dangerous name. His face stayed controlled, but the pause betrayed him. He knew her.Joaquin turned slowly, his gaze moving from Yvonne to Andres, then back. “You know him?” Joaquin asked, calm but alert.Margaret’s smile faded. “Yvonne,” she said, confused now. “Why are you calling a guard ‘Andres’?”Yvonne couldn’t answer.She stared at the gun on Andres’s hip, at the uniform on his chest, at the estate behind him that swallowed sound and truth. Her hand stayed on her stomach, but the pride she carried a minute ago began to crack.Because if Andres was standing here as security…Then who, exactly, had she spent that night with?Yvonne didn’t look at her mother. Her eyes stayed locked on Andres. “Don’t play games with me,” she said. “That night, you were announced. You stood before the elites. You were celebrated like a king.”Andres swallowed. His gaze flicked to Joaquin for a

The picture hit the screen and made the room go quiet.It wasn’t a dramatic photo. It was grainy, taken from a distance at Westmar Port. A man in plain clothes stood between a bribe and a rifle, calm enough to look annoying. Yet something in his posture felt wrong, like the camera had caught a predator pretending to be harmless.Brigadier general Darius Herold, son of General Marcus Herold leaned back in his chair and stared at it without blinking. The Verdanis skyline glowed behind him through the glass wall of his penthouse office, but he didn’t look at the city. He looked at the man.His aide, captain Lorne, stood across the desk with a tablet clutched in both hands. “He triggered a federal audit,” Lorne said. “It happened fast. Helicopters. A port-wide lock. The supervisor panicked.”Darius’s voice was soft. “A nobody did that?”Lorne hesitated. “That’s the thing, sir. The port inspectors tried to detain him. They were ready to kill him. He broke two of them down like they were tr

The first thing Ethan noticed at the gas station was the mood. It wasn’t just the long line or the tired faces. It was the way people spoke in half-voices, like the air itself could report them. Cars were stacked in a crooked snake, engines idling, drivers watching the pumps the way people watched a scoreboard. Ethan eased his Bugatti Veyron into the line without forcing his way. The attendant near the front glanced at him once, then looked away too quickly, like eye contact was a risk. A man in a dusty sedan behind him muttered, “Hey man, money doesn’t buy speed here.” Ethan checked his mirror and answered calmly, “I’m not trying to buy speed. I’m waiting like everyone.” The man blinked, then nodded like he didn’t expect that. Two cars ahead, someone complained loudly, “Two hours. For gas. Is this place serious?” A woman snapped back, “If you shout, will the pump run faster?” The argument died as quickly as it started. Then the sound arrived. It wasn’t a normal

The engine’s roar cut through the gas station like a gunshot.For a split second, nobody understood what Ethan was doing. Then the Bugatti Veyron lunged forward, and understanding came too late. Metal shrieked as the first motorcycle was smashed sideways, its rider thrown hard across the concrete. Another bike toppled into it, then another, with the row collapsing in a violent chain reaction.“Move!” someone screamed.Bikers scattered in panic. Some dove out of the way. Others froze and paid for it, knocked down by flying steel and falling weight. Helmets bounced across the ground. A man cried out as his leg was pinned beneath a bike.“Oh my God!” a woman shouted. “He’s actually doing it!”Ethan didn’t stop. His hands were steady on the wheel, jaw locked, eyes cold. He drove straight through the line, shoving bikes aside like obstacles that never mattered. When he finally slammed the brakes, the station looked nothing like it had a minute ago.Alarms wailed. Smoke hissed from damaged