From Ex-con To Supreme God Of War

Chapter 4. The Wedding Confrontation

"Call the police and tell them a lunatic ex-con is trying to ruin my sister’s wedding reception." Edward roared, his face flushing as he pointed a trembling finger at Thomas standing at the entrance of the Grand Valmoria Hotel.

The two bodyguards stationed by the glass doors instantly stepped forward, pulling thick iron batons from their waistbands with sinister grins.

"You heard Mr. Johnson, boy. You picked the wrong night to play a tragic hero in front of high society."

Thomas did not even blink.

He took a single, slow step forward, his heavy leather boots crushing the wet gravel as he stepped directly onto the stairs leading into the lobby.

"I told you your time was coming, Edward," Thomas said, his voice quiet, steady, cold, and cutting through the damp night air like a razor.

The guard on the right swung his iron baton with full, brutal force, aiming directly for Thomas’s temple to put him down instantly.

Thomas did not dodge backward or flinch.

He stepped straight into the swing, caught the guard’s thick wrist with a hand and twisted it inward with a sharp jerk.

A sickening crack echoed across the place as the guard’s wrist shattered instantly, dropping the heavy weapon to the floor.

Before the second guard could react or raise his weapon, Thomas shoved the first guard backward, driving both men down the steps in a tangled and groaning heap.

Edward’s color drained completely from his face, leaving his skin pale.

He stumbled backward, tripping over his own polished dress shoes before catching himself against the glass door frame.

"You... you crazy bastard. You're nothing. You're a penniless ex-con who just got out of a cage."

Thomas ignored him entirely, stepping past Edward’s trembling frame without sparing him another glance.

He pushed the double doors open and stepped directly into the magnificent main ballroom of the Grand Valmoria Hotel.

The ballroom was a masterpiece of extreme wealth and luxury.

Massive crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings, casting brilliant golden light across hundreds of guests dressed in designer silk evening gowns and custom tailored tuxedos.

Soft classical string music drifted through the air, blending with the gentle clinking of crystal champagne flutes and the hum of polite, wealthy conversation.

At the center of the elevated stage stood Alice Johnson, radiant in a custom snow-white designer wedding gown encrusted with real diamonds, worth more than most people earned in a lifetime.

Holding her hand was George Smith, the arrogant young heir of the Smith Group, looking smug and untouchable in his midnight-blue velvet tuxedo.

Standing beside them were William and Florence Johnson, beaming with utter pride as they raised their glasses to toast the newly wedded couple.

"To the eternal prosperity of the Johnson and Smith families." William Johnson shouted into the microphone, his face flushed with fine vintage wine and unearned triumph.

"Tonight marks the dawn of a golden empire in Valmoria."

The ballroom erupted into loud, enthusiastic applause, filled with approving smiles and cheers from the guests.

Alice smiled brightly, resting her hand delicately on George’s chest to display her massive diamond wedding ring.

Then, the doors behind them slammed open with a violent, deafening crash that shook the decorative wall panels.

The classical string music cut off instantly.

The cheerful chatter died in a single heartbeat.

Hundreds of high-society guests turned around in shock, gasping as they stared at the unexpected intrusion at the entrance.

Thomas stood in the doorway, soaked from head to toe in cold rainwater. His plain black jacket was stained with dark mud.

His heavy boots left dirty, wet tracks across the flawless carpet.

He looked like an apocalyptic shadow that had somehow breached the gates of paradise.

Alice’s bright, triumphant smile froze stiffly on her face, her eyes expanding into wide circles of pure, unadulterated terror.

The delicate flute of champagne in her hand slipped, shattering against the hardwood floor, splashing amber liquid across the hem of her white gown.

"Thomas?" Alice gasped, her voice cracking violently as if she were staring straight into the eyes of a vengeful ghost risen from the grave.

Florence Johnson’s pale face instantly twisted into an ugly mask of pure venom.

She stepped forward to the edge of the stage, pointing a trembling finger at Thomas like a loaded weapon.

"What is this filthy trash doing in here? Who let this broke, disgusting ex-con into our wedding celebration? Security! Someone should throw this stray dog out into the gutter right now."

William Johnson glared at Thomas with disgust, his chest puffing out with pompous arrogance.

"Thomas Green. How dare you show your miserable, unwashed face here tonight? You served your time for your crimes, and now you have the audacity to come here and disrupt my daughter's sacred wedding day?"

George Smith chuckled softly, a patronizing, smug sound that dripped with condescension.

He adjusted his expensive diamond-encrusted cufflinks and took a slow, leisurely step toward the front of the stage, looking down at Thomas as if he were looking at a cockroach on a clean kitchen floor.

"So this is the infamous ex-husband?" George sneered, loud enough for every guest in the room to hear.

"The pathetic orphan boy who couldn't even afford a bus ticket before he went away to prison? Alice told me you were a total loser, but I didn't think you'd actually show up looking like a homeless beggar crashing a party for scraps."

Alice quickly gathered her shattered composure, stepping up beside George with a cold, haughty sneer that mirrored his own.

"Listen to me, Thomas. Stop making an absolute fool of yourself. You were lucky my family gave you a roof over your head for a few months, years ago. But you are a criminal. You hit a woman, you went to prison, and you ruined your own life. Look at George—he comes from real power, he has unimaginable wealth, and he treats me like a true queen. You have nothing. You are nothing."

The wealthy guests began to whisper among themselves, tossing cruel giggles, mocking glances, and sharp insults back and forth.

"Look at his clothes... they're completely soaked and muddy."

"Is that the poor ex-con who went to prison while Alice traded up for a real billionaire?"

"He probably came here to beg for pocket change because he has nowhere to sleep tonight."

Thomas stood completely motionless under the glaring, harsh light of the chandeliers.

He did not yell, he did not raise his fists, and his expression remained extremely cold.

He looked at Alice with eyes so dark, so heavy with quiet judgment, that a sudden shiver ran down her spine.

"Seven years ago, Alice," Thomas spoke, his deep, resonant voice carrying effortlessly across the entirely silent ballroom without a microphone.

"You knelt on the floor in front of me. You cried real, convincing tears. You begged me to take the blame for Edward’s hit-and-run crime so his bright future wouldn't be destroyed."

The murmurs in the crowd instantly died down.

Several guests turned their heads toward the back entrance, where Edward Johnson had just stumbled into the room, sweating profusely and clutching his bruised wrist.

Alice’s face flushed bright red, a violent mixture of deep public embarrassment and burning fury twisting her features.

"Shut your filthy mouth, Thomas. Don't you dare stand there and spin your pathetic lies in front of my husband and my guests."

"Lies?" Thomas asked calmly, taking a slow, heavy step down the center aisle toward the elevated stage.

"You swore you would use your family's influence to free me within months. Instead, the moment I was locked in that dark cell, you arranged my transfer to the frontlines of a brutal warzone to ensure I never returned. You wanted me dead so your dark secrets would rot in the ground forever."

"You were just a useless orphan with zero background." Florence shrieked hysterically, clutching her pearls as she stepped in front of Alice.

"Our family fed you. Taking the fall for my son was the only useful thing you ever contributed to society. You should be bowing to us in gratitude for letting you breathe our air."

George Smith stepped right to the edge of the stage, looking down at Thomas with absolute, supreme arrogance.

He reached into the inner pocket of his custom midnight-blue tuxedo, pulled out a thick leather wallet, and casually peeled off a stack of hundred-dollar bills.

With a flick of his wrist, George tossed the money into the air, letting the green bills flutter down into the wet mud and dirty water dripping from Thomas’s boots.

"Here is a thousand dollars, beggar," George laughed, spreading his arms wide to entertain the crowd.

"Consider it severance pay for taking the fall for your betters. Pick up the cash off the floor, crawl back to whatever dark hole you crawled out of, and never let us see your pathetic face in Valmoria again.”

“If you don't walk out of these doors right now, I'll make a single phone call and ensure the police lock you away in a hole where you'll rot for the rest of your natural life."

Thomas did not even glance down at the money scattered in the mud near his boots.

He kept his gaze locked entirely on George and Alice, a quiet, terrifying stillness hanging in the air around him.

"You think your wealth and your wedding make you untouchable," Thomas said softly, his voice carrying a weight that made the hairs on the back of George’s neck stand up.

"You think you won because you sit on a stage built on lies and stolen sacrifices."

"We have won, you pathetic loser." George snarled.

"We have money, power, and status. What do you have? Absolutely nothing.”

Thomas took one final step forward, standing right at the base of the stage.

He looked up at them with a gaze that felt like a death sentence delivered in a whisper.

"Enjoy your wedding night, George. Enjoy your diamond ring, Alice. And enjoy your precious freedom while it lasts," Thomas murmured, his lips curling into a cold, dangerous smile.

"Because the debt you owe has finally come due, and I am here to collect every single drop."

For a brief second, a chilling silence gripped the entire room.

Even George and Alice felt a sudden, suffocating wave of dread press down on their chests, as if a massive predator had just entered the room and locked its jaws around their throats.

Then, Florence Johnson broke the tension with a shrill, nervous laugh, waving her hand dismissively.

"Get this lunatic out of our sight. Security. Throw him out into the rain before he ruins the floor."

Four massive security guards rushed out from the side doors, grabbing Thomas by the arms and attempting to drag him backward toward the exit.

Thomas did not resist; he allowed them to push him back, his eyes never leaving Alice’s terrified face.

As the doors slammed shut behind him, cutting off the sound of the ballroom, George Smith wrapped his arm around Alice’s waist and laughed aloud to restore the mood.

"Don't worry about that miserable beggar, my love," George smiled warmly down at Alice, kissing her cheek.

"He's just a bitter ex-con making an empty threat because he can't stand seeing you happy with me."

Alice took a shaky breath, forcing a nervous smile back onto her face as the guests resumed their applause, fully believing they had won.

Outside in the pouring rain, Thomas stood alone in the dark alleyway, pulling his cheap personal phone from his pocket and pressing the speed dial.

"Ethan," Thomas said quietly into the receiver as the rain washed the blood from his knuckles.

"The party has started. Let the countdown begin.”