2025-03-04 22:53:58He had spent five years holding onto a dream.
Klaus stood frozen, his hands trembling as the bouquet of roses and the carefully chosen cake slipped from his grasp. The flowers, once vibrant, now seemed to wilt under the weight of his devastation. The cake—meant to celebrate their love—felt like a cruel joke, a painful reminder of his misplaced hope. He had given everything to Allison. He had endured prison, humiliation, and endless nights of despair clinging to the belief that she would be waiting for him. He had sacrificed for her, for her family, only to be discarded like a broken, unwanted relic of the past. His breath came in ragged gasps as Allison’s cold eyes bore into him, devoid of the love he had spent five years holding onto. "You really want me to leave?" His voice cracked, betraying the whirlwind of emotions clawing at his chest. “After everything I’ve done for you?” Her expression hardened, her gaze impassive. “I don’t know why you thought you could just show up here and everything would go back to how it was.” Each word was a dagger, cutting deeper into his already fractured soul. "You've only ever brought shame and disappointment into my life," she continued, her voice laced with venom. "I regret trusting you. I regret loving you." His heart clenched. He wanted to scream, to shake her, to force her to remember the love they once shared. But all he could do was stand there, drowning in the tidal wave of her rejection. "You've never been worth anything." The final blow. A sentence so devastating, so absolute, that it left him gasping for air. He stumbled back, his vision blurring, the words echoing in his skull, tormenting him. He had survived prison, but this? This was something else. This was a sentence without parole. Behind him, the gathering remained undisturbed, as if his pain was nothing more than a passing breeze. Reginald Thorne, ever composed, watched with an air of detached amusement. “Such a shame,” he said, shaking his head. “You had a promising future at DNL Logistics. But you chose crime instead.” Klaus whirled around, his face contorted with fury. “I didn’t do anything wrong! That was your luggage. You assured me everything would be fine, and I believed you!” Reginald raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “I have no idea what nonsense you’re talking about. We’ve never had such a conversation.” The sheer audacity of the lie sent Klaus reeling. His pulse thundered in his ears. “You set me up,” he whispered, realization sinking like lead in his gut. Allison stepped forward, her expression unreadable. “I divorced you because of your drug addiction. Because of your lies.” Klaus stared at her in disbelief. “You know that’s not true,” he pleaded, searching for a flicker of the woman he once loved. “I protected your father! I sacrificed everything so he wouldn’t face scrutiny, and now you—” A sharp slap cut him off. His face stung, but the pain in his chest was far worse. “Don’t you dare use us as a shield for your crimes!” Allison hissed, her eyes burning with fury. Klaus’s fingers curled into fists. He had spent five years in hell for these people, and they had rewritten history to suit themselves. Duncan stepped forward then, a smug smirk playing on his lips. “I’m her fiancé now,” he announced, slipping an arm around Allison’s waist. “And looking back, she sees that choosing you was a mistake. I’ve always been there for her. I picked up the pieces you left behind.” Klaus felt something inside him snap. “Liar,” he spat. “You’re both liars. Just like your father, Allison.” Allison stiffened, but Reginald let out a chuckle. “You should be careful with your accusations, son,” he said smoothly. “Slander is a serious offense.” Duncan sighed, pulling a check from his pocket and extending it toward Klaus. “Here,” he said. “Take this and start over somewhere far away. Think of it as… my way of forgiving you for trying to ruin my future father-in-law’s reputation.” Klaus stared at the check. The number written there was an insult—an afterthought. Something cold settled in his chest. He realized then that he had never truly mattered to them. He had been a pawn, useful for a time, discarded when his role was complete. His hand trembled as he crushed the check into a ball and threw it at Duncan’s feet. “I will prove I’m not the criminal here,” Klaus vowed, his voice low and dangerous. He turned his gaze to Reginald, eyes blazing with fury. “And when I do, you’ll all pay.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving the remnants of his shattered heart behind. As his figure disappeared into the night, a shiver ran through Allison. She turned to her father, her voice barely above a whisper. “Dad… what if he does prove it? What if he comes back?” Reginald’s smile didn’t falter. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, my dear,” he said, reaching for his phone. “Now that the fool has intruded on our lives again, he won’t be around much longer.” He pressed a number. A gruff voice answered. “Yes,” Reginald murmured, stepping away from the party.
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Guiding him through what felt like an underground corridor—cold cement underfoot, the air damp and stale—Klaus allowed his captors to push him forward, his senses heightened, brain mapping every twist and turn. It wasn’t fear that gnawed at him—it was calculation. He was counting steps, memorizing patterns. Cataloging breathing rates. Not theirs—his. He heard a metal door creak open. A shove sent him stumbling forward. Then silence. Just him, the darkness, and the muffled thrum of a generator somewhere deep in the bowels of this forgotten place. Klaus remained still. Then slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hands—and tore the hood free. He was in a windowless room, dimly lit by a flickering overhead bulb. No camera. No visible guards. Cement walls, stale air. They’d made one critical mistake. They left him alone. A slow smirk curled on his lips. They didn’t know who they were dealing with. Klaus’s eyes shimmered faintly as he activated his Phantom Eyes. The room arou
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Klaus sat frozen, staring at the final message, the words blurring on the screen. His breath came shallow and sharp, fists balled so tightly his knuckles paled. That maybe Duncan had preyed on her loneliness, twisted her heart when she was weak. But the evidence screamed otherwise. The affair hadn’t started after he was arrested. It had begun long before — when Klaus still believed the world was something he could build, when he still looked at Allison and saw a partner instead of a liar. He had been a fool. A blind, trusting fool. The rage boiled up inside him, white-hot and blinding. He wanted to smash the laptop. To scream until his throat gave out. To punch the cheap hotel walls until his bones split open. But he sat there instead, breathing heavily, a storm raging under the surface, fists trembling with barely restrained fury. He saw her face in his mind — the soft smile, the worried eyes she wore when he was stressed — and all he could feel was sickened. Every kiss
CHAPTER 92
And until his system came back online, he would have to rely on his own skills and instincts alone. He crossed the suite silently, pulling the curtains shut and checking his phone. No new messages. No updates from the system. Alone in the quiet, dim room, Klaus sat by the window, watching the street below, his mind already racing ahead, planning his next move. Klaus sat on the edge of the hotel bed, his fingers moving deftly over Allison’s phone. He connected it to a discreet black device Richard Fitzgerano had given him months ago, during the chaos of the hotel scandal. The device was a marvel of clandestine technology — capable of silently combing through every shred of data on the phone: text messages, call logs, voice recordings, images, even hidden notes. All of it was being quietly siphoned, streamed in a time-based format straight into Klaus’s laptop. The faint hum of the device filled the room, blending with the muted noise of distant city traffic. Klaus leaned back in t
CHAPTER 91
The black van, monstrous and relentless, gave chase immediately, its front grill dented but very much operational. It was clear now — they weren’t interested in following him or intimidating him. They wanted him captured or worse. One hand on the wheel, Klaus grabbed his phone and quickly dialed the emergency number. His voice was steady despite the pounding of his heart. “I'm being chased," he said curtly as he took a sharp left turn, tires squealing. "Black van, license plate—" he glanced in his rearview mirror, barely catching the numbers through the blur, "—partial plate 67P5. I’m headed toward Eastbrook Avenue. Requesting immediate assistance." He ended the call without waiting for a response. He couldn’t afford to split his attention any further. Right now, every ounce of focus was needed to stay alive. The city around him turned into a maze of obstacles — honking cars, confused pedestrians, flickering neon signs. Klaus dodged in and out of lanes, slipping between a deli
CHAPTER 90
"This asshole insulted me after trying to hit on me!" Vanessa cried, crocodile tears welling up instantly. "I think you must have fallen on your head as a child," Klaus said, voice dripping with disdain. "To accuse me of hitting on you is laughable." Donavan’s jaw tightened, puffing himself up like a rooster ready to fight. "You got a big mouth for a nobody. Maybe you need a lesson in respect," Donavan said, cracking his knuckles. Klaus tilted his head slightly. A slight grin curved his lips. The atmosphere thickened, the energy in the casino crackling. It was about to be another headache. Before Donavan could lunge, Klaus’s demeanor changed. Like flipping a switch, Klaus unleashed the aura he normally kept locked down—a low, oppressive pressure that weighed on the mind and body, subtle yet unmistakable. Only those tuned to instincts felt it first. The nearby players shifted uncomfortably. Vanessa paled without knowing why. Klaus’s voice dropped into something silkier,
CHAPTER 89
But for now, she’d retreat. Regroup. Plot. Because no one made Allison Hunt feel small and got away with it. Not even Klaus Whitlock. The look in her eyes as she walked away was a quiet vow, a storm gathering at the edges of the night, promising this wasn’t over. --- Klaus watched her leave with a small, amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Some people never learned. He tucked his hands into his pockets, remembering the phone he had "liberated" belonging to Allison, and the mysterious auction items that his system had made him buy. His mind shifted back to the more immediate concerns—Isabella. He went upstairs where Isabella was waiting for him, perched elegantly on a velvet settee like a queen in exile. The room they used for private meetings was awash with soft golden lighting, casting long shadows across the mahogany floors and marble-topped side tables. From here, the hum of the casino below was just a distant whisper, like a restless ocean under the
CHAPTER 88
A jackpot machine erupted in celebration. But at a table, seated beneath a cascade of golden chandeliers and a low halo of smoke and velvet light, the atmosphere was something else entirely. Klaus Whitlock now leaned back in a chair. Across from him sat Allison Hunt, radiating poise and danger in equal measure. She wasn’t just another pretty face dressed in designer silk with a glint of charm in her eyes. No—Klaus had never expected the woman he once loved to be so shameless and calculated. “I’ve never really had a good friend,” she said softly, tracing the rim of her wineglass with a manicured finger. “Everyone I meet is after something. Status, money, fame. I just... I think you and I could be different. You seem real, Klaus. Like someone who’s above all the noise.” He didn’t respond immediately. His eyes studied her, not with lust or curiosity, but with the same scrutiny one might give a snake basking in the sun. Attractive, yes. But venomous. Then Klaus leaned in slightly,
