SON-IN-LAW BY DAY, UNDERGROUND KING BY NIGHT

7

Mikael pushed Mr. Thompson aside with a firm, decisive movement and started walking toward the commotion at the front of the bar. His twelve security and logistics men, all dressed in dark, expensive suits, immediately rose to follow him, a silent, intimidating wall of focused muscle. Mikael stopped them with a quick, subtle gesture of his hand. He wanted to handle this situation alone.

He was dressed in simple, casual clothes...a dark T-shirt and jeans.....but the quiet intensity of his walk commanded immediate, sharp attention. His focus was absolute, his eyes fixed on the man who was still hovering over the fallen woman.

Mikael reached the scene of the dispute, walking directly up to the hulking bouncer. “What exactly is happening here?” he demanded, his voice low and cutting.

The bouncer, sizing up Mikael’s plain attire and ignoring his commanding tone.....mistaking him for a regular patron.....looked at him with clear annoyance and dismissiveness. “Mind your business, pal. We’re handling the problem. Go back to your table.”

Mikael took a deliberate step forward, planting himself firmly between the bouncer and the injured woman. “I said, what is happening here? I want an answer now.”

The man who had assaulted the woman, emboldened by the bouncer’s dismissiveness, swaggered toward Mikael and tapped him lightly on the chest with a condescending smirk. “Fuck off, weirdo. None of this is your business. This is between me and my date, and your rude face is getting in the way.”

As the man started to turn away, Mikael’s hand shot out with blinding, practiced speed and gripped the man's wrist, twisting it sharply. The man instantly let out a sharp, painful gasp, his face contorting in shock.

“You actually think you know what is my business?” Mikael’s voice was dangerously soft, a chilling contrast to the violence in his grip. His eyes, cold and dark, drilled into the man’s face. “This establishment. This bar. This is my business. So, when I talk, I expect you to say absolutely nothing.”

Mikael released the man's wrist with a final, hard squeeze, and the man staggered backward, clutching his aching, possibly broken hand.

“Do you know who I am? Do you know who my father is? If he finds out you put your hands on me, you won’t get away with this!” the man shouted, his face red with a mixture of pain and impotent rage.

The bouncer, finally realizing the situation had escalated beyond his control, stepped heavily toward Mikael, ready to physically remove the interloper. Before the bouncer could even touch him, a torrent of fast movement erupted from the back of the bar. The general manager, followed by several nervous-looking senior staff, came running toward them with panicked speed.

They immediately ignored the shouting man, the stunned bouncer, and the injured woman. They dropped into deep, professional, fearful bows in front of Mikael. “We are so terribly sorry you had to experience that unsightly commotion on your very first visit, Mr. Dray,” the manager groveled, using the internal pseudonym assigned to the new owner during the rapid takeover.

Mikael ignored the bowing staff completely. His attention was solely focused on the woman curled on the floor, still cradling her lower back in obvious pain. He walked to her and held out his hand, the rage instantly gone, replaced by quiet, focused concern.

“Mind if I assist?” he asked, his voice gentle now, a soft contrast to the fury he had just displayed.

The woman looked up at him, her eyes wide with shock and pain. In that instant, Mikael realized the full, jaw-dropping irony of the situation: the beautiful, injured woman was Helen Charles. Helen’s face flushed with acute embarrassment and profound sadness that Mikael had to see her in such a helpless, undignified state, especially after the marvelously smart move she had pulled to free him earlier. Yet, Mikael acted as if they were meeting for the first time, and that deliberate, protective pretense alone sent a surge of unexpected warmth through her.

She tried to refuse his help, clearly not wanting to burden him even more after the favor she had just done him.....and the marriage contract she had asked of him. But the pain in her back was too great to ignore.

Mikael didn’t wait for her answer. He bent down in one smooth, practiced motion, effortlessly scooping her up carefully into his arms. She was surprisingly light and frail in his strong, steady grip.

“Thompson!” Mikael called out, his voice sharp and demanding, cutting through the sudden silence in the bar. “Get the cars ready now. We’re moving immediately to the nearest high-end medical center. And do not let anyone, especially any press , identify her or know she is here. Absolute discretion, Thompson.”

Thompson rushed forward, concern etched on his face. “But sir, you cannot be seen in the public with a prominent figure right now, mostly after you were with her earlier, you are supposed to lay low until you finally have a new name sir, and miss Helen is a popular figure I don't think it's appropriate "

“Mikael Dray, the corporate lapdog, cannot be seen in the public light,” Mikael corrected, his eyes hard, looking down at Helen in his arms. “But Drayson, the CEO, can go anywhere he chooses. And this right here is a woman I simply choose not to ignore anymore.”

He carried her past the stunned, shouting man, past the still-bowing manager, and past the shocked clientele. His men immediately formed a tight, protective perimeter around him as he moved with decisive speed toward the exit. Before Helen could utter a single coherent sentence to either protest or thank him, the combination of shock and pain proved too much. She fainted gently against his chest.

Mikael walked out into the cool night, carrying the future of the Charles empire in his arms, heading straight for the lead armored car.