Elena…”The name left Marcus’s lips as little more than a breath. Elena’s fingers went cold, and her champagne glass slipped from her hand.CRASH!The glass shattered against the marble floor, but she didn't even notice. She couldn't. She was staring at the man standing at the entrance of the ballroom. Her heart stopped. It couldn't be him. She blinked rapidly, once, twice, but he remained. His clothes were torn, his shirt was bloodstained, and dirt covered his face but those eyes were unmistakable.“Elena?” Ryan asked, his voice pulling her back.She grabbed his arm so hard her fingernails dug into his skin. “That’s him,” she whispered.Ryan frowned. “Who?”“Marcus,” she replied, her lips trembling.The moment Ryan saw marcus approaching them, the confidence on his face disappeared. For one brief second, genuine terror flashed across his eyes before he masked it. “How is that possible?” Ryan whispered.Elena didn't answer. Her mind was drowning in memories—Marcus on the floor, his

BANG!The massive ballroom doors flew open, and every conversation died instantly. A formation of men in black entered, their footsteps synchronized, heavy, measured, and cold. They moved in perfect order, filling the entrance until the space felt cramped with their presence.The atmosphere shifted. Guests began moving backward, pressing themselves against the walls to create a wide path through the center of the ballroom. Even some of the older members of the Zhao family retreated instinctively. Lion Claws had arrived.Richard’s expression finally relaxed, and he looked toward Marcus with a smile. “You're finished,” he stated.Marcus didn't answer. He simply stood in the center of the room, his head slightly raised and his fists tightening. Suddenly, a memory flashed through his mind—not his own, but something much older. He saw a man standing beneath an ancient tree. The face was unfamiliar, yet Marcus felt a strange recognition. It was one of his ancestors. The vision shifted, show

Chapter 15“What did we just watch?” someone finally whispered, the question echoing against the high ceilings.“Is he some kind of god?” another asked, staring at the pile of men.“How does one man have that kind of strength?”An older man, one who had prided himself on his knowledge of the world’s elite, stared at Marcus in open disbelief. “No drug can do this,” he said, his voice barely audible. “This has never happened before. This... this defies everything we know about combat.”“Who is this man?” a guest asked again, the question rippling through the room like a fever.Richard Zhao stood frozen. The confidence that had defined his life, the arrogance of a man who believed he owned the world, had evaporated. He stared at the battlefield, his best security organization—the force that had made him the most powerful man in the city—defeated by a man who didn't even look winded.Elena stood among the elite, her mind racing. *This isn't Marcus,* she thought, a cold sweat breaking acro

Chapter 17BANG!The massive ballroom doors shook violently. Every conversation died in an instant. The hundreds of guests inside the hall turned toward the entrance, their faces pale. Marcus stood in the center of the ballroom, surrounded by the wreckage of the night. More than three hundred Lion Claws fighters were scattered across the floor in varying states of injury. Not one had managed to land a clean blow on him. Ryan was barely conscious, Elena was frozen in a trance of shock, and Daniel watched from the sidelines, speechless.Richard Zhao still held the small, metallic bell in his trembling hand.Then came the sound again.BANG!The doors shook harder, rattling in their frames. A strange, heavy pressure filled the ballroom, making it difficult for the guests to draw a full breath.“Wait…” someone whispered.“Who is coming?” another asked, his voice barely audible.An elderly guest suddenly stood up, his face drained of all color. “No…” he wheezed.“What is it?” someone asked.

Marcus had barely walked a few blocks away from the Zhao family estate when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He stopped, pulling it out with a steady hand. A message from St. Mary’s Hospital flashed on the screen: *Mr. Marcus Hale, your mother's treatment requires an immediate payment of $1,000. If payment is not made, we will be forced to suspend further treatment.*Marcus’s expression hardened. For a moment, the roar of the night—the fight, the humiliation, the revelation of his own power—faded into a dull background noise. Everything else ceased to exist except for the woman lying in that sterile room. He remembered the promise he had made her weeks ago, back when he still believed in the hollow integrity of his former partners. He had promised that once QuantumTrade was officially recognized, the first thing he would do was settle her medical bills. He had believed he would finally have enough to give her a life without constant struggle. Instead, they had stolen his work, framed