2025-04-11 18:18:11As Mr. Webb entered, a wave of submission swept through the lounge. Every head bowed. Employees straightened their backs, hostesses folded their hands, and the music lowered as if the walls themselves knew better than to offend him.
Carl Webb owned this place. Evergreen Lounge was his kingdom, and in his eyes, only the worthy deserved to be in his presence. His gaze was sharp, his stance unwavering—a man accustomed to power, to having the world bend to his will.
Raymond’s girlfriend was enthralled.
This was the kind of power she craved—the command, the respect, the fear. But a part of her wished this was Jerry Haas instead. If Carl Webb commanded this level of submission, she could only imagine what it would be like when Jerry walked into a room.
Carl walked up to Raymond, greeting him with a firm handshake, the kind exchanged between men who knew their places in the hierarchy. But his eyes barely lingered before shifting to the unwelcome presence standing nearby.
Jackson.
Carl’s face darkened.
How had this nobody even made it past the door?
Tricia and the other hostesses stiffened. They knew Carl’s type—men who saw themselves as kings, who despised anything that reminded them of peasants and paupers. Jackson was a stain on the room, a mockery of everything Evergreen Lounge represented.
It was a shame they had let him in at all.
Carl didn’t hesitate.
He closed the distance between himself and Jackson, scanning him from head to toe as if assessing a cockroach on his pristine floor.
Then—a slap.
The second slap of the night.
Jackson’s head snapped to the side, the sharp sting echoing in the suffocating silence of the room.
A barrage of insults followed.
"Miserable fool. Polluting my establishment with your presence."
"You should be licking the floor beneath my feet."
"Who gave you the audacity to confront a VIP? To even breathe the same air as my esteemed guests?"
Carl’s voice dripped with disgust, his words slicing through the room like a blade.
Raymond’s girlfriend was ecstatic.
She laughed, clapped, practically jumped with excitement. This was power. Raw, unfiltered dominance. She loved every second of it. But she couldn't help but imagine—what if it was Jerry instead?
Jackson held his cheek but didn’t flinch.
He simply smiled.
He had done nothing wrong. His entire life, he had asked for just one thing—to be treated like a human being. Yet men like Tyler, Linda, Jonah, Raymond, and Carl always found ways to remind him that, in their eyes, he was nothing.
He swallowed the pain.
He said nothing.
He would wait for Jerry Haas to arrive and finish what he came for.
But Carl wasn’t done yet.
He saw the way Raymond’s girlfriend was looking at him—like a god. And it fueled his pride.
Why stop now?
"Crawl," Carl commanded, his voice thick with arrogance.
The room stilled.
Carl smirked, turning to the exotic woman who was practically wrapped around his arm now.
"Apologize to the lady," he ordered Jackson. "On your knees."
The woman beamed.
This? This was a real man. Someone who could demand submission and get it. She held onto Carl’s arm, forgetting Raymond entirely, waiting for the moment Jackson would bow before her.
But Jackson didn’t move.
He didn’t even blink.
He simply scoffed.
Carl’s smirk disappeared.
This wasn’t just defiance—it was an insult.
His face twisted with rage. "Get him on the ground," he barked at the security team.
Immediately, the head of security and his men seized Jackson, their grips tight and unforgiving. They were just about to force him down when—
DING.
The elevator opened.
And everything stopped.
The music cut out. Conversations died mid-sentence. Glasses were placed down carefully.
A collective chill ran through the room.
Carl’s heart skipped.
He already knew.
Only one man could command this kind of silence.
Jerry Haas.
Jerry rushed out of the elevator, which was unusual, as he always walked majestically. His move this time could only mean one thing to everyone who saw him—there was trouble.
Jerry Haas is the head of management at Sky Tower; he was two hundred million dollars shy from a billionaire. He was powerful and highly connected, especially since everyone knows he worked for the subordinate of the owner of Sky Tower.
Also, he was highly respected by everyone.
Carl’s face tightened. He quickly signaled the security to keep things quiet. If Mr. Haas saw this mess, he’d be humiliated. Worse—he could lose everything.
The woman’s grip on Carl loosened.
Her eyes widened as she adjusted herself, hoping to look as irresistible as possible. This was her moment.
But Jerry wasn’t looking at her.
He wasn’t looking at Carl.
He was looking at Jackson.
Then, to the horror of everyone in the room—
He bowed.
A full 90-degree bow.
"Mr. Hart, I am deeply sorry for my lateness. Please forgive your humble servant!"
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Chapter 440: He Has Returned!
"It's nothing," Ella said, her voice too light, too airy for the weight in the room. "Just... a weird dream I had. About fancy parties and babies. Forget I said anything."She turned her back, her movements jerky as she rescued the charring toast, scraping the blackened edges into the sink with a sound like grating bones. She could feel Irene's gaze on her, a laser of terrified love, boring into her shoulder blades."Ella..." Irene began again, her voice trembling with the effort of holding back the flood."I said it's nothing, Mom!" The words came out sharper than Ella intended, a lash of frustration born of fear. She winced at her own tone, but didn't turn around. "The toast is ruined. I'll make more."The next few minutes passed in a stilted, horrible parody of a normal morning. They ate in a silence thick enough to choke on. Irene picked at her eggs, her eyes constantly flicking to Ella's face, searching for cracks. Ella kept her gaze fixed on her plate, the food tasting like ash
Chapter 439: Victor Vaughan's Return!
The outer space where forgotten things pooled and echoes sounded like roars, began to take shape. It was a bridge woven from silence and regret, spanning the chasm between what was and what might have been.Here, the air didn’t move. It crystallized, forming intricate, despairing fractals of frost in the void. In the center of this non-place, Victor Vaughan took form. And then, with the grace of a maestro acknowledging a silent audience, he took a slow, deep bow.The silence that followed was not empty. It was a listening silence.“Do not fail this time.”The Voice did not come from anywhere. It was the vacuum, the cold certainty at the heart of the entropy Victor worshipped. It was neither male nor female, but ancient, patient, and utterly devoid of mercy.Victor did not straighten abruptly. He rose with deliberate reverence, as if lifting a great weight. “I will not disappoint,” he said, his own voice a smooth, cultured contrast to the formless chill of the Voice. It held a fervent,
Chapter 438: The Convergence Born!
Jackson’s consciousness, unmoored from his physical shell, was a compass needle spun free. In the vast, silent theatre of his fugue, there was no grey fog, only a brilliant, straining focus. And at the heart of that focus was a pull that led him straight to Ella who was in her small bedroom above the quiet mill.And just as though, she had sensed the presence of someone in her room, Ella jolted upright in bed. The room was dark, the digital clock reading 3:17 a.m. And just when she was trying to understand the reason behind the strange feeling that had enveloped her room, she saw Jackson standing in the center of the room. He was translucent, shimmering like a mirage, but his features were sharp. He looked gaunt, haunted, but his eyes burned with a recognition that stole her breath. She knew that face. She’d seen it in it severally in the news and even recently when she was digging into the Hart's archives.However, the man she was looking t right now, was looking at her as if she
Chapter 437: In Less Than A Week!
Dr. Evans arrived swiftly, his face a mask of professional intrigue as he reviewed the neural scans and vitals. After several minutes of silent analysis, he turned to Bella, who stood rigidly by the wall, arms wrapped around herself.“He’s conscious,” Dr. Evans said, his voice low with a kind of awe. “But it’s a self-induced fugue state. His higher brain functions are hyper-focused, lit up like a city at night, but they’ve completely disengaged from his motor cortex and somatic senses. It’s a deliberate, profound inward focus. I’ve never seen anything like it.”Before Bella could process this, the door swung open.Ruth rushed in, her face pale and streaked with tears she’d clearly been shedding since Bella’s frantic, emotional phone call with Gilbert following close behind.“Jackson!” Ruth gasped, rushing to the bedside. She reached for his still hand, but hesitated, seeing his closed eyes. She looked frantically from her son to Bella. “What happened? Bella, you said he was awake!”“H
Chapter 436: Jackson, can you hear me?!
“Why me?” Jackson asked, his dream-voice choked with a grief that was both old and new. “Why has this always been my fight?”Philip’s eyes, already fading into the consuming grey, held a deep and ancient sorrow. “Because you were there when the breach first opened, when you stood against Victor. You didn’t just fight him, son. You wounded him. Your spirit, your will, became a shard embedded in his essence. A flaw in his perfect, frozen design. Your very existence is an affront to him.”The last of the porch was gone. Philip was now only a faint silhouette of light, but his words were iron.“That’s why he will come for her, the Convergence-Born. To use her power as the final key to his global winter. But he will come for you first. Not just to remove an obstacle, but to erase the proof that he can be hurt. You are the man who once stood in his way. You are the living memory of his failure. To achieve his ‘Gilded Frost,’ he must first extinguish your spark.”The finality of it settled o
Chapter 435: The Dreamscape!
Jackson’s consciousness drifted in a formless grey fog space of his coma as sounds from the hospital became distorted echoes.Suddenly, the fog before him shimmered like a heat haze. It didn’t part so much as reconfigured, pixels of memory assembling with painful, perfect clarity. The grey bled into the rich grain of weathered cedar planks and the sterile silence shattered into the chorus of a summer afternoon accompanied by a sweet scent of pipe tobacco.“You’ve lingered here long enough, son.”Philip’s voice was both gentle and urgent, a tone Jackson remembered from boyhood scraped knees and, later, from the first terrifying Watcher briefings. It brooked no argument, yet was woven through with an undeniable love.Jackson tried to speak, to ask the thousand questions that had dissolved in the fog. All that emerged was a wave of feeling—overwhelming grief for time lost, confusion at this impossible place, and a childlike relief so potent it was agony.“The anchor’s frayed,” Philip co
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