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Chapter hundred and Twenty five
The drive to Mama Racheal’s house took longer than usual that day. Elvis sat stiffly in the back seat of the yellow cab, his shoulders tense, his gaze fixed on the river of red brake lights stretching endlessly ahead. Manhattan traffic moved like a wounded animal—slow, irritated, unpredictable. Taxi horns blared in sharp bursts. A delivery truck blocked half the lane while a cyclist shouted something unintelligible as he sped past. Elvis leaned forward slightly, his reflection catching in the rearview mirror. “Can you increase your speed!” he ordered the cab driver, his voice tight. The driver, a middle-aged man with tired eyes and both hands firm on the steering wheel, glanced at him briefly through the mirror. “This is the highest I can go, sir. Anything higher than this might lead to a disaster,” the man replied politely, gesturing toward the traffic jam swallowing the avenue. Elvis sank back into the seat but his body refused to relax. His knee bounced impatiently, the
chapter hundred and twenty four
Sophia Modudu sat for almost an hour, her sharp gaze fixed on Victor with a look that held nothing but cold annoyance. Her eyes did not soften, not even for a moment. They burned with a mix of disappointment and clear disgust. Finally she spoke, her voice calm but cutting. "I do not remember asking you to involve anyone, and even if I wanted someone, it would never be this disgrace of a doctor," she said bluntly. Doctor Preston shifted uncomfortably on his seat. His hands twitched slightly, and he pressed his lips together as if trying to keep from speaking. He knew he had walked into a storm. The tension around him was heavy enough to crush him. Victor let out a long breath and rolled his eyes. The movement was small, but Sophia caught it. He wanted to challenge her. His chest rose as he held back a sharp reply. For a moment, anger flashed across his face. But the two soldiers standing behind Sophia reminded him to stay quiet. He forced his shoulders to relax and looked down.
Chapter Hundred and twenty three
Dr. Preston stopped beside the heavy black gate of the Escobar mansion, his fingers firm on the steering wheel. He stepped out of his car, the gravel crunching softly beneath his shoes. The gate creaked open as if it had been expecting him.Victor Escobar stood at the pavement, dressed in a dark suit that fit him like authority itself. “I thought you wouldn’t honor my invitation,” Victor said with a faint smile. “Since your little ordeal with the Johnsons, you’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”Atleast Dr Preston was one of the few people who respects him and would be a good allie for the war goddess wish.Preston forced a polite laugh. “I wasn’t avoiding you, Victor. I was saving you—and myself—from further harm.”Victor’s brow lifted slightly, amused. “Further harm?”He turned and gestured toward the house. “Come. Let’s discuss this inside.”“Champagne,” Victor said to a maid at the corner without looking at her. “Two glasses.”She nodded and disappeared toward the kitchen.Th
Chapter One hundred and twenty two
The butler, stood motionless for a while at the foot of the staircase, his wrinkled hands trembling slightly. He could still feel the sting of the slap on his face, but it wasn’t the pain that unsettled him — it was fear. Not for himself, but for the young master.He turned away slowly and walked toward his chamber at the east wing. Every step echoed softly against the floor. Inside, the dim yellow glow of a lantern cast long, uneasy shadows on the walls.He sat heavily on the edge of his bed, pressing his fingers to his temples. Something isn’t right, he thought. Jeremy isn’t just being arrogant — he’s plotting something.He had known Jeremy since he was a boy — a spoiled, cunning child who grew up with a father who knows how to manipulate people like chess pieces. And the way he had spoken today — the venom in his voice, the coldness in his laughter — felt darker than that of his father.Jeremy was becoming worse than his father.The old butler sighed, staring at the small wooden b
Chapter Hundred and twenty one
The butler was still whispering to Elvis when a sharp, commanding voice thundered from upstairs.“Old man! Old man! Come here immediately!” The butler’s head snapped up toward the staircase, and his entire body went stiff. The sound of Jeremy’s voice echoed through the mansion like a warning bell.Elvis frowned deeply. “This guy is really, really rude,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “I think the best thing we can do is put him in his place.”The butler turned quickly, panic flashing in his eyes. “Please, young master,” he said as he dropped to his knees, his voice trembling. “Please, don’t do anything. Don’t confront him. I’ll handle it, I promise. Please.”“But he’s out of line,” Elvis said, his voice low but heavy with controlled anger. “You can’t just let him—”“Please, Elvis,” the butler cut in again, lowering his head. “Please, don’t worry. I’ve dealt with worse. I’ll put up with him, no matter how he behaves. Just let me handle this.”Elvis clenched his jaw an
chapter Hundred and twenty
Elvis leaned back on the chair, his eyes fixed on the butler. There was a quiet storm behind his calm expression—confusion, curiosity, and a tinge of disappointment. The silence between them stretched long enough to be felt, broken only by the soft ticking of the wall clock.Finally, Elvis spoke, his tone quiet but edged with emotion. “You seem like someone who’s afraid of him,” he said, tilting his head slightly toward the stairs where Jeremy had gone. “I’ve never seen you feel fear in the presence of anyone before. I’ve only ever known you as a strong, composed man… someone who knows how to handle every situation.” His eyes narrowed a little, searching the butler’s face. “So why does someone like him—someone whose father left home years ago—send so much fear into you?”The butler exhaled deeply, his shoulders sagging. He sat down slowly on the chair beside Elvis, folding his hands together. His voice was calm but carried a tremor of something deeper. “Young master,” he said softly,
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