The ride back to the Silvercrest Manor was silent. Amelia sat in the back seat beside Ethan, her hand clasped tightly in his, her head resting on his shoulder. She hadn't let go since they'd stepped off the cargo ship. Every few minutes, she would shiver, and Ethan would squeeze her hand, reminding her that she was safe. That it was over. That they had made it. Trevor sat across from them, staring out the window at the city lights blurring past. His face was pale beneath the bruises, his eyes hollow. He hadn't spoken since the rescue. He hadn't looked at Ethan. He just sat there, his hands folded in his lap, his jaw tight with guilt and exhaustion. Yuki had called twice during the drive. The first time, she'd been crying with relief. The second time, she'd demanded to speak to Trevor, and when he'd taken the phone, she'd whispered something in Japanese that had made his eyes glisten. He hadn't repeated it. But Ethan had seen the way his grip tightened around the phone, the way his

The safehouse was a forgotten apartment on the edge of the industrial district, its windows boarded, its hallways reeking of mildew and rot. The kind of place where men like Ferdinando Marcelino went to die quietly, far from the gleaming towers and manicured estates of the people who had hired them. Lord Marcus walked through the dim corridor with the practiced confidence of a man who owned everything he touched. Damien followed a step behind, his expression tense. And trailing after them both, his thin face pale with anxiety, came Voss the fixer. "He's been holed up here since the shooting," Voss said quietly. "The wound from the bodyguard, Sable Cross, nearly killed him. He's been bleeding in that room for days." "Then he'll be in a foul mood," Marcus replied, his voice light. "Good. I prefer my failures desperate." They stopped at a door marked with faded numbers. Voss knocked twice, then three times, then once. The door opened a crack, revealing a single bloodshot eye. "

The hospital room was chaos. Doctors and nurses swarmed around Donald's bed, their voices sharp and urgent as they checked vitals, adjusted equipment, and barked orders at each other. The heart monitor beeped frantically, its rhythm erratic but strong. Ethan stood pressed against the wall, his hands trembling, his eyes fixed on the man who had been his anchor for months. He's awake, Ethan thought, the words repeating in his mind like a prayer. He's awake. He's actually awake. A nurse appeared at his elbow, her expression professional but firm. "Sir, I need you to step outside. We need space to work." "But he's awake. He said something, I need to..." "You can see him once he's stabilized. Right now, the doctor needs room to assess his condition." She gently but firmly guided him toward the door. "Please. Wait in the family lounge. We'll update you as soon as we can." Ethan resisted for a moment, his eyes still locked on Donald's face. The butler's lips were moving again, forming w

The Silvercrest Manor was quiet in the way that only came after a storm. The ballroom had been restored to its former elegance, the bloodstains scrubbed away, the shattered glass replaced, the trampled flowers swept into dustbins and forgotten. The servants moved through the halls with their usual quiet efficiency, but there was a tension in their steps, a wariness in their eyes. The family had been attacked. The heir had nearly been killed. And even though the immediate danger had passed, the memory lingered like a ghost in every corner. Trevor woke early that morning, his body still aching from the bruises that hadn't fully healed. He lay in bed for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant sounds of the manor coming to life. Then he turned his head and saw Yuki asleep in the chair beside his bed. She had refused to leave him since the rescue. Every night, she curled up in that chair, wrapped in a blanket, her dark hair spilling over the armrest. Every morni

Ethan didn't go to Sable. Not yet. Instead, he went straight to the Silvercrest Manor, his car cutting through the evening traffic with reckless urgency. The city blurred past the windows, but Ethan barely noticed. His mind was consumed with a single thought: Marcus. Marcus. Marcus. The name echoed in his skull like a drumbeat, fueling the cold fury that had been building since the moment he'd watched Donald fall. He had tried to be patient. He had tried to play by the rules. He had tried to be the kind of heir his father would be proud of. But Marcus had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. He had tried to have Ethan killed. He had shot Donald. He had brought war to the Silvercrest family's doorstep. And now, finally, Ethan had proof. The car pulled through the manor gates and came to a stop in front of the grand entrance. Ethan stepped out, his jaw tight, his hands clenched at his sides. The servants scattered before him like leaves before a storm. He didn't see them.