The Commander Without A Name

Chapter 9

The Sawyer Family mansion was lit, yet it was a pale reflection of the grandeur it had once held.

The villa, built in a stately, ancient architectural style, loomed like a monument to the family’s faded glory in the Chunsan Villa District on the outskirts of New Haven.

Every stone, every carved railing, whispered of a past era of power and respect, now overshadowed by humiliation and conquest.

The sign on the gate, once proud and golden, declaring “Sawyer Family Mansion,” had been replaced by a cold, sleek plaque reading “Jessica Ward Mansion.”

The golden trim pricked Thomas Sawyer’s eyes like shards of glass, a reminder that he had been reduced to nothing more than a memory in the empire he had built.

“Thomas Sawyer, why have you come here?” A guard, tall and imposing, blocked his path, his eyes unblinking.

“I… I came to see Jessica Ward,” Thomas managed, his voice tight and brittle, laden with desperation. Each word scraped against his pride like a jagged knife.

The guard’s gaze hardened. “Can you even enter here freely?” Thomas swallowed. “Wait here,” the guard commanded, disappearing into the mansion.

Thomas’s palms, clenched into fists, were soaked with sweat. He could feel the weight of the cold August night pressing down on him, the eerie stillness of the district amplifying his fear.

He imagined Naomi lying in a hospital bed, half-dead, and Ethan, who had just returned to this world only to face Victor Hale’s wrath.

Everything he had failed to protect—the house, the legacy, the family name—now screamed at him.

His chest constricted; a wave of self-loathing threatened to topple him to the ground.

If only he had been more vigilant, more ruthless. If only he had seen through the manipulations of Jessica Ward and her allies.

If only he hadn’t been seduced by charm and ambition, blinded by lust and pride. Every misstep, every foolish decision of the past six years came rushing back to him like a torrent.

The car accident that had killed Sophie, the loss of his children’s safety, the annihilation of the Sawyer Family fortune—all orchestrated by others, yet still his failure to prevent.

The guard returned, his face unreadable, motioning him forward.

Thomas trailed behind like a man possessed, each step heavier than the last. Inside the mansion, the living room glowed with warm, deceptive light.

On a soft, luxurious sofa, reclined a woman in silk pajamas. Her beauty was undeniable, a careful blend of maturity, allure, and cold precision, but her gaze carried the sharpness of a predator assessing its prey.

Jessica Ward.

The woman who had once promised to care for their daughter faithfully now looked at Thomas with disdain, curling her lips into a mocking, triumphant smile. “I thought you’d never contact me again,” she said, her voice smooth yet dripping with venom. “I almost hoped you wouldn’t.”

Thomas’s throat tightened. “I… I—”

Jessica raised a hand lazily, long red-painted nails brushing against the air. “I know why you’re here. Don’t even try to hide it. You’ve come to beg me to save your daughter. To intervene for your son. How touching.” Her laugh was harsh, echoing off the walls.

“Jessica—” Thomas tried to speak, but his voice cracked under the weight of shame and desperation.

“Shut up!” she snapped, her eyes blazing with fury. “What right do you have to speak to me? To call me by my name? From now on, it’s President Ward! Understand?”

Thomas’s knees felt weak. This was the woman who had once called him “Dad,” who had promised loyalty and partnership.

Now, she wielded power like a whip, twisting his life into knots. He steadied himself. “President Ward,” he said through gritted teeth, voice raw, “my son… has returned.”

A faint smirk crossed Jessica Ward’s face. “Ethan Sawyer has returned? Really? You think that changes anything? That this alone could undo what I’ve built?”

“No…” Thomas’s voice faltered. “I… I have angered Victor Hale. Please… I beg you… save my son and daughter. Perhaps…” His body sagged, every ounce of pride gone, leaving only desperation.

Jessica laughed, a sound cruel enough to make the air itself feel heavy.

“Thomas Sawyer, you idiot. You think I would lift a finger for you? For a man who has failed at every turn? You ask me to intervene, to negotiate with Victor Hale? Laughable. Do you even understand the position you’ve put yourself in?”

Thomas’s fists clenched. “We were still married. If you speak, Victor Hale would comply. Surely you—”

“Hahaha!” Jessica Ward’s laughter cracked like ice breaking. “Oh, Thomas. You really are pathetic.

Do you think your former husbandhood gives you leverage? Do you really believe I would help you because you once shared a bed with me? Pathetic. You are nothing. A shadow of a man. I owe you nothing.”

Thomas’s body trembled. Despair pooled in his chest like molten lead.

He had come with hope, however faint, that she might still value their past, that some spark of loyalty or love would exist.

And yet, he realized the magnitude of his foolishness. Pride, reputation, and fortune—all meaningless before the threat to his children.

Jessica Ward leaned closer, her face inches from his, eyes glinting with sadistic triumph. “But… perhaps there is a way. Kneel. Crawl. Beg me. Submit yourself fully. Then… maybe, maybe I’ll consider it.”

Thomas didn’t hesitate. He dropped to his knees immediately, every shred of dignity stripped away. His forehead hit the marble floor. “I… I will do anything. Please… save my children… I beg you… I will kneel, crawl, beg, whatever you wish…”

Jessica’s cruel smile widened as she tapped the floor beside him with her heel. “Crawl. Show me you are nothing. Show me your worth—or lack thereof.”

Thomas obeyed, dragging himself forward inch by agonizing inch, each movement a testament to his desperation, each scrape of his hands across the marble a reminder of his helplessness.

The humiliation, the sorrow, the weight of six lost years pressed upon him, yet still he moved.

When he was close enough, Jessica pressed her foot against his back, a mock caress that forced him flat. “Thomas Sawyer, you are truly a dog,” she whispered, venom in every syllable.

“I… I am your dog. President Ward… please… save my son and daughter…” His voice was barely a whisper, a soul broken but not yet dead.

Jessica Ward withdrew her foot, rising with slow, deliberate elegance.

Her face, a mask of beauty and cruelty, loomed over him. “Do not dream foolishly,” she said, her tone icy. “I was merely toying with you. But now… it’s no longer entertaining. I will tell you the truth, the full truth you so desperately need to hear.”

Thomas bowed his head, trembling uncontrollably, every fiber of his being consumed by fear and grief.

“Sophie Sawyer’s death… your first wife… it wasn’t an accident,” Jessica continued, her voice a blend of triumph and malice.

“You and everyone else thought she died because of drunk driving. Wrong. It was me. I arranged the vehicle. I orchestrated everything. Every step, every crash… planned, precise, executed to perfection.”

Thomas lifted his head, eyes wide, staring at her as if she were a demon made flesh. “You… what?”

Jessica smiled, a chilling combination of satisfaction and cruelty. “If Sophie hadn’t died, how could I have married you, taken your fortune, and claimed the Sawyer empire for myself? You… you were simply in my way. Everything since then—the disappearance of Ethan, the near destruction of your family—it was my doing.”

Thomas’s mind reeled. Blood roared in his ears. Rage, grief, humiliation—they all collided in an unstoppable storm. He tried to lunge at her, to strike, but the guard’s boot slammed into his chest before he could act, knocking him hard onto the marble. Pain exploded in his ribs, leaving him gasping, helpless.

“And Naomi?” he rasped between breaths, fury and terror mingled in his voice. “What of my daughter?”

Jessica’s eyes glinted coldly. “Naomi? She kept snooping, kept digging into Sophie’s secrets. I grew tired of her interference.

That’s why I tasked Lila Hayes to ‘handle’ her. Your daughter’s suffering? Entirely my design. And now, your son comes back, disrupts my arrangements with Victor Hale… you think I will intervene? Help him? Help her? Foolish man. You are not the one in control anymore. I am. And the children—well… that is a story for another day.”

Thomas’s hands scraped against the marble, his body shaking. Pride, dignity, and legacy—all meaningless before the truth and the threat to his children. He realized, with a crushing finality, that he was utterly powerless.

And yet, somewhere deep in his heart, a spark of hope lingered—a hope that the son who had returned, the son who carried the fury of the Sawyer bloodline, might yet turn the tide.