THE REJECTED SON-IN-LAW IS A SECRET BILLIONAIRE

Chapter 6: Blood Inside the Walls

Red emergency lights washed across the study walls.

The alarm kept screaming overhead.

Ethan moved first.

The guard near the doorway barely stepped aside in time before Ethan pushed past him and disappeared into the hallway. His shoes struck the marble in hard, fast echoes while security teams poured through the estate from every direction.

Behind him, Augustus planted his cane against the floor.

“Seal the north wing.”

Guards scattered.

“Lock every inner gate.”

More boots thundered down the corridors.

“Somebody tell me how they crossed my perimeter.”

The calm inside the mansion had rotted away in seconds.

Steel shutters rolled down over sections of the glass hallways with heavy metallic groans. Somewhere upstairs, a frightened woman shouted questions nobody answered. Rifles came off walls. Men checked magazines with sharp clicks that bounced through the halls.

Sophia stood near the study entrance, heart punching against her ribs.

She had never seen rich people panic before.

Not real panic.

This wasn’t social embarrassment or boardroom stress.

This looked primal.

Ethan took the lower staircase two steps at a time while a bodyguard caught up beside him.

“Team Four stopped responding near the gardens.”

“How many attackers?”

“We haven’t confirmed.”

Ethan said nothing after that.

Rain blasted through the open security doors ahead, carrying the smell of wet soil and something coppery underneath.

Blood.

Outside, the storm hit hard enough to sting skin.

Rain soaked through Ethan’s shirt while guards spread through the courtyard with rifles raised, flashlight beams slicing through the trees surrounding the estate grounds.

One beam stopped suddenly.

A guard cursed under his breath.

Ethan crossed the stone pathway toward the body.

The dead man lay twisted beside the garden wall with rainwater streaming beneath him in thin red ribbons. His throat had been cut so deep the wound looked black in the stormlight.

No bullet holes.

No signs of panic.

Just one clean kill.

Ethan crouched beside the corpse while rain dripped from his hair onto the dead guard’s uniform.

The radio attached to the man’s vest had been crushed beneath a boot.

His handgun remained holstered.

That meant he never saw the attacker coming.

“Night cameras?” Ethan asked.

“Dead.”

“Motion sensors?”

The bodyguard hesitated.

“Disabled from inside the network.”

Ethan stayed still for a second after that.

Rain hammered the gardens around him while security teams moved between the trees, boots splashing through mud and soaked grass.

Inside job.

Again.

Another body waited near the lower fountain.

This one looked worse.

The guard had managed to fire before dying. Three bullet holes scarred the stone wall nearby. Blood washed slowly down the side of the fountain while rainwater diluted it into pale pink streaks.

One of the younger guards nearby swallowed hard enough to make a sound.

Ethan ignored him.

He studied the scene carefully instead.

The dead guard’s earpiece was missing.

So was his watch.

The killer had taken both.

Not rushed then.

Not sloppy.

A message.

Thunder cracked overhead.

Then a flashlight beam jerked sharply toward the trees.

“There!”

Gunfire exploded through the gardens.

Sophia flinched near the estate doors as rifles erupted somewhere beyond the courtyard. Guards rushed past her into the rain while alarms kept wailing overhead.

She should’ve gone upstairs.

Instead she stayed rooted near the entrance, cold air pushing through the open doors hard enough to raise goosebumps along her arms.

More gunshots cracked through the storm.

Then she saw Ethan.

Rain soaked through his black shirt while guards moved around him shouting into radios, but he looked untouched by the chaos. Calm in a way that made her stomach turn cold.

A shadow burst over the lower garden wall.

Masked.

Fast.

One of the attackers slammed a knife into a guard before anyone reached him.

The wounded man collapsed hard against the stone pathway.

Sophia sucked in a breath.

The attacker ripped the blade free and spun—

Ethan hit him before the man fully turned around.

The sound of bone cracking carried through the rain.

The masked attacker slammed against the wall with enough force to chip stone loose onto the ground. He tried lifting the knife again.

Ethan caught his wrist.

Twisted.

A scream tore out of the man’s throat.

Short.

Ethan drove the knife straight into his neck.

Blood burst across the rain-slick wall.

The body folded instantly.

Sophia felt nausea climb into her throat.

Not because of the blood.

Because Ethan never hesitated.

No shock.

No fear.

Nothing human crossed his face at all.

Like violence belonged to him naturally.

A guard sprinted toward Ethan through the rain.

“Young Master!”

Ethan turned.

“What?”

“We found one alive.”

That pulled everyone’s attention toward the east courtyard.

Two guards forced a wounded attacker onto his knees beneath the stone archway while blood leaked steadily from his side onto the marble floor. His mask had been torn away during the fight.

Young.

Late twenties maybe.

Sweat and rain clung to his face while his breathing came rough and uneven.

Ethan walked toward him slowly.

The prisoner laughed weakly through bloody teeth.

“You’re already dead.”

One guard smashed a rifle stock across his face.

Blood splattered across the floor.

Still smiling.

Then Ethan noticed the tattoo beneath the man’s ear.

A black serpent curled around a dagger.

He stopped walking.

Not dramatic.

Not stunned.

Just still.

Augustus saw it too the moment he reached the courtyard with armed guards behind him.

“You know that mark,” the old man said quietly.

Rain drummed against the stone arches overhead.

The prisoner smiled wider despite blood running down his chin.

“So they thought you forgot us,” he whispered.

Ethan crouched in front of him.

“Who sent you?”

The man leaned forward slowly, chains rattling against his wrists.

Then he whispered three words into Ethan’s ear.

That was all.

Three words.

Ethan’s face emptied completely after that.

Not anger.

Not shock.

Something colder.

The kind of look people get right before they stop pretending mercy still exists.