RULE NUMBER ONE: DON'T MESS WITH MR. BURGESS

CHAPTER 2

The trembling inmate practically ran down the pristine, heavily secured administrative corridor, his sneakers squeaking loudly against the polished linoleum. 

Slayde followed at a leisurely pace, hands resting in his pockets.

When they reached the heavy door labeled Warden Victor Cross, the inmate didn't dare knock. 

He simply pointed at the brass handle, turned on his heel, and sprinted back down the hallway as fast as his legs could carry him.

Slayde watched the retreating man for a brief second, his expression unreadable. 

Letting out a quiet exhale, he reached out and pushed the door open. 

He didn't wait to be invited. He just walked right in.

Warden Victor Cross sat behind a massive desk that looked entirely too expensive for a government employee. 

Cross was a stout, middle-aged man with a receding hairline, a thick neck, and a sharp, expensive suit that struggled to hide his soft physique.

The moment the door swung open, Cross looked up. 

His posture was stiff, an undeniable undercurrent of discomfort flashing across his face. 

He looked like a man holding a ticking time bomb.

Slayde didn't give him a second glance. 

Instead, he strolled into the office as if he owned the place. 

He didn't stand at attention, and he didn't wait by the desk like a compliant prisoner. 

He sauntered over to the plush leather sofa in the corner, plopped down right in the center, and rested his arms over the backrest.

"Why am I here?" Slayde demanded, his sharp tone piercing the silence.

But Slayde’s gaze wasn't on the Warden anymore. 

His eyes had already shifted to the corner of the office.

Another man sat quietly at the edge of the room, perfectly straight and radiating an aura of cold sophistication. 

He had long, black hair meticulously slicked back, accentuating his sharp jawline. 

A pair of thin, silver-rimmed glasses caught the dim light, obscuring his eyes. 

His custom-tailored dark suit was flawless, without a single wrinkle. 

Everything about him was smooth and polished.

The stranger didn't say a word. 

He just stared back through his lenses, an amused smile playing on his lips.

Warden Cross cleared his throat loudly, slamming a heavy folder onto his desk to regain control, though his hand shook slightly.

"Burgess," Cross began, his voice tight. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with right now?"

"Oh," Slayde murmured, his eyes slowly drifting from the stranger back to the man behind the desk. "So I am ready to be let out?"

Warden Cross flinched, his face flushing red. 

Slayde’s casual arrogance rubbed him entirely the wrong way, shattering what little composure he had left.

"Watch your mouth, Burgess!" Cross yelled, slamming his palms flat against the desk as he stood up. "You have been cleared of all charges! You are being let out as soon as possible, but only because you are needed by the gentleman who just arrived! Do you have any idea the kind of weight this man carries? He is extremely powerful! You shouldn't even be breathing the same air as him, let alone sitting there acting like you own the place!"

Slayde didn't even blink. 

As the Warden lectured him, chest heaving with power-tripping rage, Slayde raised a single index finger, stuck it in his ear, and gave it a lazy twist.

"Stop talking," Slayde cut in. "You're giving me a headache."

Cross choked on his next breath, utterly furious. 

If looks could kill, Slayde would have been incinerated on the spot. 

The Warden had wanted to get rid of Slayde a long time ago. 

Ever since the city elites had thrown him in here, Cross had tried everything to break him. 

He had sent the biggest gangs, orchestrated accidents in the showers, and starved him. But no matter what he did, Slayde defeated them effortlessly, leaving a trail of broken bones behind.

"Don't lose this chance, Burgess," Cross hissed through clenched teeth, leaning over his desk. "If it were up to me, you'd rot here. But a higher power wants you out. You will be on your absolute best behavior, or so help me—"

Slayde completely tuned him out. 

He turned his head toward the corner of the room, staring directly at the sleek man with the silver glasses.

"Why the fuck are you dressed like that?" Slayde asked flatly.

Instantly, the stranger flinched. 

The smooth, cold persona he had been radiating cracked to pieces in a fraction of a second. 

His shoulders dropped, and a look of sheer panic flitted across his sharp features.

Hurriedly, the man pulled off his glasses, exposing a pair of wide, deeply apologetic eyes. 

He scrambled up from his chair, losing every ounce of his high-society posture, and walked rapidly toward the sofa. 

Stopping right in front of Slayde, the impeccably dressed tycoon bent his spine and bowed deeply, his forehead parallel to the floor.

"I am incredibly sorry, Boss," he murmured, his voice trembling with profound respect. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting. I had to assume the corporate identity to bypass the state security clearance."

Warden Cross stood frozen, his jaw dropped so low it looked ready to unhinge. 

He stared at the scene, his brain completely short-circuiting as the powerful billionaire bowed like a servant to a man in a gray prison uniform.

"W-What..." Cross stammered, pointing a trembling finger back and forth between them. "Mr. Nash... what are you doing? Why are you bowing to this piece of garbage?"

Garrick Nash ignored the Warden. 

He didn't even turn his head, treating Cross like background noise. 

Still bowing, Garrick kept his eyes locked on the floor, his voice formal and submissive.

"Boss, the arrangements on the outside have been finalized," Garrick reported smoothly. "Everything is ready for your return. Do you... want to see your wife first?"

Slayde’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. 

A harsh, chilling frown took over his face, making the temperature in the room drop by several degrees.

"Are you stupid?" Slayde asked, his voice laced with venomous irritation.

Garrick flinched violently, his posture tensing as a wave of pure panic washed over him. 

He knew exactly how ruthless the Boss could get when he was displeased.

"Did my one year behind bars make you lose your brain cells, Garrick?" Slayde sneered, leaning slightly forward. "You've been managing my entire shadow network for over a decade, and you don't even know that we've been divorced? That woman is nothing more than a snake who calls herself my ex-wife."

Garrick flinched.