"You're lying," the commander said again. "There's no way a man like you gets anywhere near the Eagle Syndicate's ranks."Laughter rippled through the group, the kind of laughter men used to convince themselves they weren't afraid."Does he actually think he's strong enough to lace our boots, let alone hold a gun against us?" One of them sneered, adjusting his grip on his rifle. "Pressure does strange things to a man's mind, makes him brag about things he knows it's impossible to do.” another muttered, shaking his head. ""He should start saying his last prayers," a third added, and a few of them chuckled again.The commander raised his hand, and the laughter died instantly. He pulled the pistol back from Dennis's forehead, though the fury in his eyes hadn't cooled off."Tie him up," he said to his men. "I know a slower way to kill someone like him."One of the mercenaries stepped forward with a length of rope coiled tight in his fist, confident and careless.He reached for Dennis's

The restaurant glowed with warm light, tables draped in white cloth, a banner stretched across the entrance boldly written Happy Birthday Daniella in gold cursive letters. Guests filled the room, laughter drifting between tables as waiters wove through with trays of champagne. Doris recognised a few faces from her old school years, though most had grown into strangers wearing expensive clothes.Daniella spotted them the moment they walked through the door and rushed over with arms wide. "You made it!" She pulled Doris into a tight hug, then turned to accept the wrapped painting from Dennis's hands. "Happy birthday. This is just a little token to celebrate you.""Thank you, Doris. I'm so glad you came." Daniella's smile was warm, untouched by the money and status swirling around the room."Happy birthday. Best wishes to you," Dennis said, as he shook her and her husband's hands with an easy nod before he and Doris made their way toward an open table near the back.They'd barely settle

The old man’s name carried weight the moment he whispered it aloud. Professor Alistair Winfield. He’d appeared on television more times than anyone in that room could count, an authority on classical art whose opinion could make or break a private auction house overnight.Patricia, mind reeling from his offer, shook her head stubbornly. “It’s fake,” she insisted. “There’s no way that thing is worth anything close to what he’s claiming.”“You’re too dumb to tell the difference between a real painting and a fake,” Dennis said flatly, Her husband shot up from his seat, chest puffed with offended pride. “Watch your mouth. Don’t call my wife dumb.”“He’s right to say it,” Doris cut in before her husband could respond. “She’s spent the entire evening insulting us. She can handle being called out once.”Professor Winfield climbed onto the small stage, lifting the painting carefully into better light, tilting it, running his fingers along the edge of the frame with practised precision. Dani

“Yes, everything is fine,” Gerald said, barely convincing even himself.He took a step away from the table and pulled out his phone. This time, to contact the president. He forced himself to breathe.She picked up on the second ring, and he spoke in a low tone while scanning the area.“It’s me. I have a problem. My card’s been declined twice, and my banking app shows the account frozen. Can you tell me what’s happening?”There was a pause on the other end.“Gerald, I take it you haven’t seen the notification yet. Let me give you some advice instead of an explanation. One of our biggest clients threatened to pull his funds today, a wealthy one, not someone ordinary. The board stepped in immediately to smooth things over.” She exhaled sharply. “Whatever mess you’ve made for yourself, don’t drag me into it. Go apologise to whomever you’ve offended.”“What are you talking about?” Gerald’s voice cracked, confusion ta

Doris walked through the lobby of Derrick Corporation in a deep blue gown, her file pressed tight against her chest. She took a deep breath as she ambled forward. She wasn't a stranger to buildings like this. She'd once run numbers and closed deals worth millions for her own family's business before Camilla had stripped it all away and handed her seat to Victor and Ethan without a second thought.She kept her chin level, ignoring the whispers rippling between employees clustered near the reception desk, and stepped into the elevator alone. The doors slid shut, and for a moment, she let herself breathe, gathering every scrap of composure she had left before the doors opened onto the executive floor.An assistant led her into a spacious corner office. Behind the desk sat Richardson Dowman, a man who'd married into the Charleston fortune rather than earned his way there, his smile a little too wide, a little too eager as he rose to greet her."Mrs… Doris Brennan." He paused, extending h