2025-07-15 23:59:26
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Chapter 77: And The Fall
Rowan shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping. “I thought you were smart, Rachael. Logical. But you’re betting on this fake bullshit?” He didn’t wait for her answer. He pushed off the counter, his blood boiling, a volcano ready to erupt. Staff stared as he stormed through the lobby, their whispers trailing him like smoke. He was done playing nice. Done playing receptionist, done with all this stupid acting. He had been warned, but he did not listen. And now, it was costing him someone’s life. Someone had set this up, and he knew who. Lena Aston. Mrs. Blackson. They’d crossed a line, using April to paint him as a monster. How far do humans go? How deep was their hate? He’d been soft on Lena, his ex-wife, thinking his slow revenge—buying Obsidian, planting Jason as a decoy—would make her see her mistakes. Her tears the other night, when they’d argued, had seemed real, like she was cracking open. But no. She was spinning a horror show, twisting the plot with lies so dark it could op
Chapter 76: The Setup
“Monday morning talking about me while I’m making money, hehehe….” “Hmm.. I like this song. Has this vibe. Who’s the artist?” Rowan asked, tapping his legs in rhythm. Elena chuckled. “Really? You don’t know Dar-vido? He’s like a great Jamaican singer. You really need to get a life, boss.” she replied. Rowan replied, “Nah, I think you should learn to get your facts right. First off, Davido is not Jamaican, he is a Nigerian artist. Secondly, the song is titled H.E.H.E by Rema, also a Nigerian artist. Turns out you are the one who needs to get a life.” Elena was surprised and defeated. She rolled her eyes respectfully, “Yes, boss. I know this. I was just testing your…” “Yeah, I believe you.” Rowan smiled frantically. Finally, the car came to a halt. Elena’s tinted SUV pulled up to the usual roadside spot, her sharp eyes scanning him as she leaned across the console. “Any update on my last meeting?” he asked. “He requests for more time to get the signatories of all his investors b
Chapter 75: Crocodile Tears
When Carson returned to Campus, he walked right up to Mia in the class room to pass the news. “Hey, Mia, you’re good now. I took care of your troubles, aight? No more crying. I handled it.” Mia’s head snapped up, her brows knitting, tears still clinging to her lashes. “What… what do you mean, Carson? What’d you do?” Her voice was shaky, but there was an edge, like she already knew she wouldn’t like the answer. Carson smirked, puffing his chest. “I caught the dickhead, Jason, outside the gate. Laid him out—two punches, bam bam, right to his pretty face. Shoved him against his fake-ass Ferrari. I warned him to stay outta your life. He ain’t gonna mess with you no more, babe. I got you.” Mia’s face went pale, her hands balling into fists. “You what? Carson, why the hell would you do that?” Her voice rose, sharp and panicked, drawing a few glances from passing students. “You went after Jason? Are you stupid? He’s Echelon Eight! You think you can just punch him and walk away?” Carson b
Chapter 74: Rage Of A Lover
Kingston-Lewis College buzzed with its usual Friday rhythm; students darting between classes, coffee cups in the hands of students and teachers, earbuds in, half-awake but running on caffeine and panic. The quad bustled with lazy chatter here and there. Someone strummed a guitar under an old oak, and fans dropped dollar notes in his box. A frisbee floated overhead. A couple of kids lay on the grass like midterms weren’t chewing them alive. Just past the campus gates, where student life bled into city noise, a cherry-red Ferrari 488 Spider glided to a soft stop. No rev, no fuss. Just silence and shine. Jason Cole stayed behind the wheel a moment longer, one hand on the gearshift, the other adjusting his black face mask. Lately, his face was everywhere—on Twetter, on news panels, caught in TikToks he never recorded. Son of Echelon Eight’s ghost CEO. America’s mystery prince. He was typically now a global icon. But not today. Today wasn’t about headlines. Today, he was just here to
Chapter 73: Knives Out II
Zane’s grin faltered, just for a second, like he sensed something in Rowan’s eyes—something deeper than the college kid he’d bullied. But he recovered, laughing, his hand twitching toward his jacket, maybe for another blade. “You threatening me, Kane? You? A nobody in a cheap suit?” Victoria stepped between them, her voice a whip. “Enough, Zane. You want to play dirty? I’ve got dirt too. Those drugs you ran with your cult buddies? The ones you bought with my money? I’ve got receipts. Names. Dates. Camera footage, a whole file of it. You want to play who burns first?” Zane’s face twitched, his goons glancing at each other. She’d hit a nerve. Back in the day, after Rowan’s marriage, Zane had latched onto Vicky, playing the supportive boyfriend while draining her accounts. He’d partied with his crew—some sketchy group called the Iron Veil, half cult, half gang—blowing her cash on coke and worse. When she found out, when Rowan’s divorce hit the news, she’d snapped, kicking Zane out w
Chapter 72: Knives Out
The knife quivered in the wooden table, its blade catching the dim light of the Rusty Anchor like a warning. Rowan Kane’s heart slammed in his chest, his hand jerking back from Victoria Lang’s. Her gasp hung in the air, sharp and raw, as the bar’s bluesy jukebox droned on, oblivious. Zane Carver stood there, all six-foot-four of him, tatted from neck to boots, scars crisscrossing his knuckles like a map of bad decisions. His leather jacket screamed money and menace, and his two goons—big, silent dudes, with eyes like pit bulls—flanked him, ready to move. “Hello, Victoria Lang. Long time no fuck,” Zane said again, his grin a jagged slash, voice dripping with venom. Rowan’s blood ran hot, his mind flashing to college—Zane, the loudmouth prick who’d shoved him into lockers, called him trash for catching Vicky’s eye. Zane, the menace to society and the world at large. He was the true definition of a useless human being. Back then, Zane was a bully with a rich daddy, chasing Victor
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