"Look at him, Stella. He is actually shaking. Is it the cold, or is he just that pathetic?"Marcus Thorne did not wait for an answer. He reached into the pocket of his silk robe and pulled out a thick roll of bills held together by a gold clip. He peeled off a few hundreds with a flick of his thumb, his eyes never leaving Ethan’s dripping face."You delivered the food, kid. You did your job. Now, you need a tip, right? That is how this works?"Marcus let the bills flutter from his fingers. They did not land in Ethan’s hand. He watched them drift through the air and land on the wet, crimson carpet at Ethan’s feet, soaking up the rainwater that had pooled there."Pick it up," Marcus said, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with a cruel sort of playfulness. "That is more than you make in a week of pedaling that scrap metal bike around. Go on. Get on your knees and take it."Ethan looked down at the money, then back up at the man standing in the doorway of the suite. His vision was blurr

"Watching from the front row as I ruin their lives, Marcus. Make sure they have the best seats in the house for the end of their world."The man with the scar nodded once, his expression as hard as granite. He pulled the door shut, sealing Ethan into the quiet luxury of the Rolls Royce. Outside, the rain lashed against the windows, but inside, the only sound was the faint hum of the climate control and the rustle of silk."The suit is wool and silk blend, hand-stitched in London, Young Master," the stylist said, his voice hushed and respectful. He held up a charcoal jacket that seemed to absorb the light. "The shirt is Sea Island cotton. The shoes are bespoke calfskin. Please, let me help you."Ethan stripped off the soaked, yellow delivery poncho. He looked at the plastic garment, now a heap of trash on the floor of the million-dollar car. He thought about the thousands of miles he had pedaled in that poncho, the hundreds of insults he had swallowed while wearing it."Throw it away,"

The heavy mahogany doors of the Grand Imperial lobby didn't just open. They swung wide with a force that seemed to suck the air out of the room. Every head in the marble-lined brunch area turned at once. The soft clinking of silver against porcelain stopped dead.Ethan Avery stepped through the threshold. He wasn't the shivering, soaked boy in a yellow plastic poncho anymore. He wasn't the delivery driver who smelled of rain and cheap grease. He wore a charcoal grey suit that fit him with surgical precision, the fabric shimmering with the unmistakable dull glow of high-grade silk and wool. His hair was pushed back, revealing a face that was no longer clouded by exhaustion but sharpened by a cold, predatory intelligence. At a window-side table, the glass in Stella’s hand slipped. It didn't just tip, it fell straight down. The crystal shattered against the table edge, spraying expensive mimosa across her silk robe and the white linen cloth. She didn't even flinch at the wetness. Her m

"We crush them," Ethan finished, his voice echoing in the sudden silence of the boardroom.He didn't wait for Silas Thorne to find his breath. He turned his back on the man who had supposedly orchestrated his father's death and walked out the heavy mahogany doors. His security detail fell into step behind him immediately. Their footsteps were a rhythmic thunder against the polished floors of the Avery Tower.In the wide marble corridor just outside the executive wing, the chaos was already reaching a boiling point. Two police officers were struggling to move Marcus Thorne toward the elevators. Marcus was kicking and screaming, his face a mess of tears and snot. Behind them, Stella was being held back by a female guard. She looked like a shell of the woman who had been laughing in the hotel suite just hours ago."Ethan!" Stella screamed as soon as the boardroom doors swung open.She threw herself forward with a strength born of pure panic. She managed to slip past the guard's grip, her

"And you are just another item on the menu that needs to be cleared away, kid."The man with the white hair tightened his grip. Ethan felt his airway constrict, his boots scraping fruitlessly against the expensive carpet as he was lifted an inch off the floor. The red emergency lights from the wall monitors cast long, flickering shadows across the boardroom, making the assassin look like a marble statue carved from blood."Put him down, Cain. He cannot talk if he is dead, and I need him to see this."Clara stood by the obsidian table, her silhouette framed by the scrolling chaos of the cyber-attack. The man, Cain, let go abruptly. Ethan hit the ground hard, his knees buckling. He coughed, rubbing his throat as the air rushed back into his lungs like fire. He looked up at his supposed sister, his eyes narrowed in a mix of fury and calculation."Is this the family reunion you had planned, Clara? Hacking my accounts and hiring a hitman?""Hacking? No, Ethan. I am just taking back what yo