The night after the Dawson anniversary gala was quiet—too quiet for Ethan’s liking.Mia had barely spoken a word since they got home. She moved around their small apartment with a stiffness that made Ethan’s chest tighten. She wasn’t angry… at least not entirely. It was something worse.She was confused.The way the mysterious man at the gala had bowed to Ethan—calling him Young Master—had shattered everything she thought she knew.Now, she couldn’t look at him the same.Ethan stood by the window, watching the dark street below, the weight of Mia’s silence heavier than any threat he’d ever faced.Finally, she spoke.“Ethan…” Her voice was soft. Careful. “What happened tonight? Who was that man? And why did he—why did he act like he knew you?”Ethan didn’t turn around. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.This was exactly what he’d tried to avoid.“Mia,” he said quietly, “there are things I never wanted to bring into your life.”“That’s what scares me,” she whispered.Before he

The alley felt too small for the war about to erupt.Two armed factions—one masked, one suited—tightened their circles around Ethan and Mia. Every rifle barrel, every sharpened gaze pointed toward them as if he were the center of a storm neither side dared underestimate.Mia clung to the fire escape railing, trembling. Ethan’s blood dripped from his side, staining the pavement in dark, steady drops. Yet he stood tall, shoulders squared, gaze burning with a dangerous calm that made both groups hesitate.The suited man who had spoken earlier—sharp jaw, immaculate suit—took a single step forward.“Young Master,” he said, voice steady, “we’re under strict orders. If you refuse to return, the situation escalates beyond our control. Your wife—”“Say her name.” Ethan’s voice dropped into something lethal. “Go on. Try.”The man swallowed. “Mia Dawson.”Mia stiffened.The sound of her name in the mouth of this stranger made something cold settle in her stomach.“You are her husband, Young Mast

The chamber pulsed with dim red light, each beat echoing Ethan’s shaky breaths. Mia held him desperately, feeling the unnatural heat radiating off his skin. His eyes still shimmered faintly with red—the last traces of whatever the Blood Oath had awakened inside him.Jordan stood nearby, perfectly composed, though a flicker of awe betrayed him.“Congratulations, Young Master. The Patriarch will be pleased you finally accepted your lineage.”Ethan didn’t answer. His silence was a shield—weak but unbroken.Jordan gestured to the guards.“Escort them to the Upper Wing. Separate—”“She stays,” Ethan rasped.“Young Master, the Patriarch specifically—”Ethan lifted his head. His eyes flashed. The air trembled.“She stays.”Jordan swallowed and nodded stiffly. “Very well.”Ethan leaned heavily against Mia as they walked down the metallic corridor. Every step drained him. His pulse throbbed beneath her fingers, his breaths shallow.“What did they do to you?” Mia whispered.He didn’t answer. Co

The morning broke with a chill that clung stubbornly to the air, as if the world itself sensed that Ethan Rose was walking toward something he might not return from.He left the small safehouse before dawn, the sky painted with pale bruises of purple and blue. His bruised knuckles throbbed with each step, but pain was the last thing he cared about. What mattered was the envelope he carried—sealed, creased, and stolen from his father’s old study the night before.Mia had begged him not to go back there.But he had.And now he knew why his father died.Ethan’s mind raced as he made his way down the cracked pavement toward the abandoned warehouse at East Block—once the headquarters of the Crimson Vow, now the hideout of the only man who could confirm the truth:His father hadn’t betrayed anyone.He had been betrayed.Inside the warehouse, dust floated like silent ghosts in the windowless gloom. Wooden crates were scattered about, and the metal beams overhead creaked as if remembering a t

Ethan’s boots pounded against the cracked pavement, each step driving the burning fury deeper into his bones. The city slept, unaware of the storm about to descend. Every instinct screamed caution, but every heartbeat demanded speed. Mia’s voice, trembling and terrified in her last texts, burned in his mind.They’ll hurt her. I can’t let that happen.The alley behind the warehouse district was dark, littered with trash and broken crates. Ethan dropped into the shadows, chest heaving, eyes scanning every flicker of movement. His father’s lessons—the silent hours of training he’d thought pointless as a boy—now guided him instinctively. Every sound, every vibration of the street, every smell of oil and iron was a warning. He could feel it all.Ahead, a low hum and faint red light glimmered through a cracked steel door.The Observation Wing.He crouched lower, moving like a shadow. The faint click of surveillance cameras echoed in his mind. They’re watching. Ethan smiled grimly. Let them