Six men in black suits cut through the Eastmere International Airport like a blade through cloth. Travellers pulled their luggage aside. A woman scooped her child off the floor. Security guards at the checkpoint reached for their radios, then looked at each other and decided against it. The leader of the squad, a tall man with a scar running from his left ear to his jaw, stopped at the information desk and flashed a photograph. The girl behind the counter pointed toward the east exit with a trembling finger. He found Marcus Kane sitting on a metal bench outside the terminal, one leg crossed over the other, a cigarette burning between his fingers. No luggage. No phone in his hand. Just a man in a wrinkled shirt watching the smoke curl into the evening sky like he had nowhere in the world to be. "Young Master Kane." Marcus didn't look up. "Young Master, your father sent us. He wants you home. He misses you." Marcus took a long drag and let the smoke leak from his nose. His eyes

"Truly, Quinn. An outstanding husband. Grandfather must be so proud…..” The slap came before anyone saw it move. Marcus's open palm connected with Alexander's cheek so hard it snapped the younger man's head sideways, sending him stumbling into the stone railing of the courtyard. The sound cracked across the silence like a gunshot. Quinn flinched. Alexander caught himself on the railing, his fingers scraping against cold stone. He touched his face. His fingers came away clean, but the skin was already swelling, already turning a deep, angry red that spread from his jaw to his ear. He stared at Marcus with his mouth open. Like a man who had just been bitten by something he thought was dead. "You." Alexander's voice shook. Not with fear. With the kind of rage that belongs to people who have never been hit in their lives. "You filthy, worthless, street crawling piece of garbage. You actually put your hands on me?" He lunged. His fist came fast, aimed at Marcus's jaw, thrown with

Sebastian Sterling arrived at Victor's house at half past six in the evening, unannounced, the way he always arrived, because a man who built an empire doesn't knock on doors he paid for. Victor met him in the foyer with a glass of scotch already poured. Alexander was in the study, his broken wrist propped on a cushion, scrolling through emails with his good hand and pretending to look busy. Sebastian walked past Victor without taking the drink and went straight to the study. He sat down in the leather chair across from Alexander and placed both hands on the head of his cane. "The Voss contract. Where do we stand?" Alexander didn't look up from his phone right away. He needed the extra second to arrange his face, to smooth out the humiliation and the rage and replace them with something that looked like confidence. "I went to Voss Group this afternoon. Met with the receptionist, spoke to Mr. Voss's office. He was tied up in meetings all day, some internal restructuring issue, bu