From Rags to God of War

He Confessed

That night, the disco lights glinted, casting dim, colorful hues across an exclusive nightclub. The music pounded, filling every corner of the room, getting the crowd moving to the beat.

Amidst the chaos, Gilbert Thomson sat on a plush sofa in the VIP area. A glass of expensive liquor in his hand, he was surrounded by three beautiful women who giggled flirtatiously every time Gilbert cracked a joke.

He seemed lost in pleasure, momentarily forgetting his troubles, and definitely forgetting Stefani, who was probably waiting for him at home. The party was just getting started, and Gilbert was soaking up every second.

After finishing his third glass, Gilbert's stomach felt a little off. He excused himself from the women. "I'm just heading to the restroom for a sec. Don't miss me too much, ladies," he quipped, followed by their sweet laughter.

He strolled casually toward the bathroom, unaware that his every move was being watched. The hallway to the restroom area was quiet, with only a few people passing by. When Gilbert stepped inside, the room was empty. He stood in front of the urinal, humming along to the faint rhythm of the music from outside.

Suddenly, the bathroom door burst open. Two burly men entered, their faces expressionless. Gilbert was shocked; before he could even open his mouth, a thick cloth covered his face, and he caught a sharp, acrid smell. Gilbert tried to fight, but his arms were yanked back, followed by a sharp pain in his neck. His vision started blurring.

"What the hell?! Let me go! Do you know who I am?!" Gilbert tried to yell, his voice muffled. But he only managed to struggle for a moment before his body went limp. He felt himself being dragged out of the bathroom.

As Gilbert's kidnappers exited the restroom, Gilbert's two bodyguards, who had been waiting outside, immediately sprang into action.

"Stop! Let Mr. Gilbert go!" one of the guards shouted, trying to get closer.

But Jessica's far better trained guards were already waiting. A brief but brutal fight broke out in the corridor. Punches and kicks flew fast, giving Gilbert's guards no room to retaliate. They were shocked by the speed and efficiency of their opponents' movements. Within seconds, Gilbert's two bodyguards lay helpless on the floor, groaning in pain.

Without wasting time, an unconscious Gilbert was dragged and shoved into a waiting black van in the club's back parking area. The van immediately sped off, disappearing into the night's darkness.

A few minutes later, Gilbert slowly started coming to. He found himself tied up in the back of the van, his hands and feet cuffed. His face was hot, the veins in his neck bulging.

"What the hell is this?!" he screamed, enraged. "Who are you?! I'll make you all regret this! You have no idea who you're messing with!"

One of the men in front turned around, his gaze cold. "You'll find out soon enough."

"Let me go, now! My father won't stand for this!" Gilbert continued to threaten, his voice shrill. "You think you can mess with me? You'll see my family's revenge! My father will find you and destroy everything you own!"

The man in the driver's seat just smiled thinly. "Go ahead and try. But until then, you're our prisoner."

Behind the speeding van, Gilbert's two battered bodyguards struggled to give chase. They were limping, trying to call for backup over their radios. But the black van was too fast.

In just a few turns, the vehicle vanished, swallowed by the city's darkness. Gilbert's guards could only curse their bad luck; their mission to protect Gilbert Thomson had completely failed. They knew the consequences of this failure would be severe.

The room was cold and stuffy, illuminated only by a stark, bare tungsten bulb.

Gilbert Thomson was securely bound to an iron chair, his wrists and ankles tied with thick nylon rope. Standing before him were three tall, imposing figures in black uniforms—no insignia, no emotion. They were part of a silent, special unit. Their mere presence was enough to create an intimidating pressure.

A man, who appeared to be the leader of the unit, stepped forward. His face was stern, his eyes sharp. "Your name is Gilbert Thomson, right?"

Gilbert lifted his chin, trying to project courage. "What about it? You have no right to hold me! Let me go now or my father will tear you apart!"

The man showed no reaction. "Your empty threats won't work here. We know what you did."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Gilbert insisted, though cold sweat was starting to bead on his forehead. "I'm a businessman, not a criminal!"

"A businessman who tried to poison Nicholas?" the unit leader asked flatly. "That's not our style of business."

"I didn't do that! Nicholas was just unlucky!" Gilbert defended himself.

The leader nodded to one of his men. A large monitor screen, previously dark, suddenly lit up. It displayed crystal-clear CCTV footage. A luxurious mansion, familiar to Gilbert, was visible.

"Look at this, Gilbert," the leader's voice commanded. "This is the residence of Simon Thomson, your father. It's currently surrounded by our team. All entrances and exits are blocked. Your father won't be able to go anywhere, and no one can get in there. No one can help him."

Gilbert stared at the screen, his pupils dilating at what was happening to his father's house. His face instantly went pale. "No way! You can't do this! My father knows nothing!"

"He could end up knowing a lot if you're not cooperative," the leader said, his tone growing colder. "Your father's fate, and the reputation of the Thomson family business, are in your hands now. Confess to what you did. Now."

The threat hit Gilbert hard. The fear of his family's ruin was far greater than his ambition. He didn't want to see his father suffer.

"Fine! Fine, I confess!" Gilbert finally gave up, his voice hoarse and desperate. "I ordered Andy to poison Nicholas! I orchestrated the attack!"

"Why?" the leader pressed.

Gilbert was silent for a moment, then lifted his head. "I did this under orders. Lord Gideon. He told me to."

The unit leader crossed his arms. "Lord Gideon? Tell me more."

"I once paid the King of Death to kill Nicholas. The King of Death was Lord Gideon's son. But the King of Death died on that mission," Gilbert explained, his voice choking. "Lord Gideon wants revenge for his son's death. He holds Nicholas responsible. He promised me protection and help to achieve my goals."

"And what are your goals?"

"I want to get rid of Nicholas. And Isabella, along with the rest of the Weber family from the company," Gilbert admitted, his voice growing softer. "Isabella has been messing with my strategic partnership with Victor Meyers. She's been hindering my plans to take full control of several projects. Nicholas is a thorn in my side. I wanted him gone so Isabella wouldn't have any power left in the company."

The leader nodded slowly. "So you not only endangered Nicholas for personal gain, but also became a pawn for Lord Gideon, who wants revenge."

"I had no choice! He threatened me! He's far more powerful than you can imagine!" Gilbert blurted out, panic washing over him again.

"We have everything we need," the leader said, turning to one of his men. "Make sure every word of this confession is recorded and secured. This is strong evidence."

A small red light in the corner of the room illuminated, indicating that the recording process was complete.

After that, the three figures in black uniforms turned and left Gilbert. The room door creaked shut, leaving Gilbert alone in the darkness. Panicked, Gilbert began to struggle again.

"No! Wait! Don't leave me! What's going to happen to me now?!" he screamed, his voice cracking in the silent room. "Father! I don't want this! Father!"