They summoned him like a defendant to sentencing.Adrian descended the stairs to find the entire Thornton family assembled in the living room. Margaret perched on the center sofa like a queen on her throne. Isabella beside her, freshly showered, Brandon's arm draped possessively across her shoulders.Kyle sprawled in the armchair, phone already recording. And in the corner, nearly invisible—Richard Thornton, Isabella's father, the only one who'd ever spoken to Adrian without venom in his voice. Now he just stared at the floor."Sit." Margaret pointed to the ottoman. Not the chairs. Not the sofa. The ottoman where they made the dog sit during family photos.Adrian remained standing."Fine. Stand like the help you are." Margaret lifted a manila folder from the coffee table. "We're here to discuss your future. Or rather, your lack of one in this family."Old man Thornton wheezed from his wheelchair by the window. Gerald Thornton—the patriarch, the man who'd built Thornton Enterprises fro

Adrian's fist hit the desk. The mahogany edge cracked under his knuckles, splintering like his composure."Sir—" Ryker stepped forward, but Adrian raised his other hand. Stop."DNA confirmed?" Adrian's voice came out flat. Dead."Two months pregnant. Timeline makes it impossible to be yours, given your... circumstances with her."Five years of marriage. Five years of sleeping on the floor while Isabella occupied their bed. Five years of her telling him his presence disgusted her, that she couldn't bear to be touched by someone so worthless."She never let me near her," Adrian said. "Not once. Not in Five years."Ryker's jaw worked. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "Sir, give me one phone call. Just one. I'll destroy them tonight. Every asset seized, every account frozen, every door in this city slammed in their faces.""No.""Sir—""Slow, Ryker. Methodical." Adrian turned from the window, and something in his eyes made Ryker step back. "They need to feel every ounce of what I

Brandon's finger hovered over his phone screen, frozen between defiance and terror. "Embezzling? You're insane! I'm a senior VP at Sterling Industries! My family built that company!"Adrian nodded to Ryker. The tablet screen went dark, then blazed to life again—but this time projecting onto the massive glass wall behind Adrian, turning the city view into a canvas for Brandon's crimes.Transaction records filled the glass. Dates, amounts, routing numbers. Money flowing from Sterling Industries accounts into a web of offshore companies. Two million dollars over eighteen months, broken into chunks small enough to avoid triggering automatic audits but large enough to fund Brandon's lifestyle.Brandon's face drained of color until he looked like a corpse. "How... where did you even get those? Those accounts are encrypted. Triple-layered security. There's no way—""I told you I own the bank you used." Adrian's voice was casual, like discussing the weather. "Providence International. My subs

The Ferrari LaFerrari was blood-red and cost more than most houses.It pulled up to Apex Tower at noon, drawing stares from everyone on the street. The scissor door lifted, and a woman emerged in Chanel from head to toe—not the kind you bought off the rack, but the kind that required three fittings in Paris and a personal relationship with the creative director.Ryker appeared at Adrian's desk within seconds. "Sir, Sophia Laurent is here. She's requesting to see you."Adrian's pen stopped mid-signature. For the first time since the dinner with the Thorntons, something like actual emotion crossed his face. "Sophia? Here?""Should I send her up?"Adrian stood, straightened his tie, ran a hand through his hair. Small gestures he hadn't made in days. "Yes. Immediately."The elevator opened three minutes later. Sophia Laurent stepped out, and Adrian felt something in his chest unclench—a tension he hadn't realized he'd been carrying. She was exactly as he remembered: sharp cheekbones, dark

The concrete pillar behind Adrian exploded as the first gunshot cracked through the underground garage. Dust and fragments rained down, but Adrian didn't flinch. He stood perfectly still, that small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as if someone had just told him a mildly amusing joke.Twenty armed men tightened their formation around him, their weapons gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Professional killers, every one of them—the kind you hired when you needed a problem erased completely. Their leader, the one with the scar running down his jaw, had already taken the safety off his weapon."Mr. Kane," the scarred man said, his voice professionally detached. "Nothing personal. But we need your head. It costs quite a fortune."Margaret Thornton stood behind them, her designer heels clicking frantically against the garage floor as she pushed forward. Her face had transformed into something almost unrecognizable—twisted with desperate rage, eyes wild with the kind of madness