The park is quiet in the afternoon light.Yesterday's rain left everything damp. Mabel sits on a bench under a gazebo, her hands folded so tightly in her lap that her knuckles are white. She's wearing a loose sweater despite the mild temperature. Hiding. Protecting.Ariel and John wait in the car parked probably like fifty meters away. Close enough to intervene if needed. Far enough to give privacy.John watches through the windshield. His posture is relaxed but his eyes miss nothing. Every detail catalogued. Every potential threat assessed.Ariel sits beside him, her hands gripping the steering wheel even though the engine is off. Nervous energy radiating from her."He'll understand," she says quietly. More to herself than John. "Marcus is a good man. He'll understand."John doesn't respond. He's learned that sometimes silence is better than false reassurance.The sound of a motorcycle cuts through the quiet. Both their heads turn toward the entrance.Marcus pulls in on a sleek blac

The Armstrong household runs on information. Everyone watching. Everyone reporting. It's how powerful families maintain control.Mr. Ken's face is stern as Marcus helps Mabel from the car. The motorcycle helmet dangles from Marcus's hand. His other arm supports Mabel's weight even though she doesn't really need it. It's simply instinct. Marcus sees Mr. Ken and immediately bows. Respectful. His training in proper etiquette showing through despite the circumstances."Mr. Armstrong." His voice doesn't waver. "I'm Marcus Jade. I want to marry your daughter. With or without my family approval. I love her and I won't abandon her or our child."The boldness of the statement surprises everyone. Even John's eyebrows raise slightly.This kid has spine. More than John gave him credit for.Mr. Ken studies Marcus for a long moment. His expression is unreadable. Reading the young man. Measuring him. Looking for deception or opportunism or weakness.What he finds must satisfy him because he gesture

John decides to investigate the break-in further.He finds Lawrence in the library. The butler is cataloging books. Making notes in a leather journal. "Lawrence. I need information."The butler looks up. Sets down his pen. "What kind of information, Mr. John?""Information brokers. People who deal in... less legitimate items. Rare medical artifacts. Ancient texts. That sort of thing."Lawrence's expression doesn't change but something shifts in his eyes. "That's dangerous territory, Mr. John.""I know."Lawrence is quiet for a moment. Considering. Then he moves to his desk. Pulls out a piece of paper. Writes an address in neat handwriting."The underworld of collectors and dealers is secretive. Populated by people who value profit over ethics." He hands John the paper. "They won't hesitate to betray you if the price is right. Be careful."John looks at the address. Commits it to memory. "What kind of place is this?""An antique bookstore. Or that's what it pretends to be during busin

John's POVI meet Marcus at the mansion's gym before dawn, when the sky is still dark and quiet. The air is cool and crisp, and I can hear my own breathing as I wait for him to arrive.He shows up right on time, looking nervous and uncertain. His shoulders are hunched and his eyes keep darting around the empty gym like he's not sure what he's gotten himself into.“As much as you came early, I thought you wouldn't show up.” I tell him as he starts settling in. “I made a promise, so I'm here to keep it.”I smirk. "We start with physical conditioning," I tell him as he sets down his gym bag. "A strong body supports a strong mind. The discipline you build here will translate directly to business.""I understand," Marcus says, nodding quickly. "Where do we start?""Stretches first, then cardio."We go through basic warm-up movements and I watch his form carefully. He's stiff and awkward, clearly unused to this kind of routine. After the stretches, I set him up on the treadmill."Twenty m

John's POVI wake before dawn, my body trained to rise early even when my mind wants more sleep. The mansion is silent around me as I make my way to the gym. These morning workouts have become ritual, a way to center myself before the chaos of the day begins, and I need that centering now more than ever with everything that's happening.I think about how different this is from my life just weeks ago. Waking in that cramped room at the Armstrong house, tiptoeing around so I wouldn't disturb anyone, eating scraps like a dog grateful for whatever was thrown my way. The contrast is stark enough to make me pause mid-step, almost disorienting my movement by its magnitude. I let out a soft chuckle. I run through forms my master taught me, movements flowing like water according to his teachings. My body remembers the patterns even when my mind is elsewhere, muscle memory taking over. I look at my reflection in the mirror, I still look the same physically, same height and build, same feature