2025-02-24 17:58:04The phone buzzed in Silas’s pocket as he was stepping out of the company’s headquarters. He frowned, pulling it out and glancing at the screen.
Unknown number. His thumb hovered over the decline button, but something about the timing made him pause. With a sigh, he answered. “Hello?” “Mr. Silas?” a hurried voice asked on the other end. “This is Mercy Hospital. Your contact information is listed as the emergency number for Mrs. Lilian Lawson. She’s been in a car accident. We need your immediate presence.” Silas froze mid-step. Lilian? His ex-wife? The name felt like a punch to the gut, bringing with it a rush of old memories he’d buried deep. “Is she…” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Is she okay?” “She’s stable but critical,” the nurse explained. “She needs surgery, and we require your consent to proceed.” Silas gripped the phone tightly, his heart hammering in his chest. “I’ll be there,” he said firmly, already moving toward the garage. “Thank you. Please come as soon as possible,” the nurse added before the line went dead. --- At the hospital, the air was heavy with antiseptics and anxiety. Silas pushed through the revolving doors and approached the front desk, his pulse racing. “I’m here for Lilian Lawson,” he said, his voice breathless. The receptionist glanced up, her expression professional but tinged with sympathy. She handed him a clipboard. “We’ll need you to sign here to authorize the procedure. Are you her next of kin?” “Yes,” Silas replied automatically, though the word felt foreign on his tongue. “I mean—no, not anymore. I’m listed as her emergency contact.” The receptionist nodded. “That will suffice. Please sign, Mr.—” “Silas. Just Silas.” She tilted her head, her pen hovering over the clipboard. “No last name?” “It’s not important,” he said, brushing her curiosity aside. He took the clipboard, his hand trembling as he scribbled his name. “Is she… in pain?” he asked softly, almost afraid of the answer. The receptionist offered a small, polite smile. “She’s stable for now. The surgery will improve her condition. The doctors are ready as soon as we get your authorization.” He swallowed hard, nodding as he handed the clipboard back. “Please, just… take care of her.” “We will,” the receptionist assured him before disappearing into the back. --- Silas sank into one of the waiting area chairs, his head in his hands. The sterile white walls felt suffocating, the distant beeping of medical monitors became an incessant reminder of how fragile life could be. He didn’t notice the sound of heels clicking against the tile until it was too late. “Silas,” a sharp voice hissed. His head shot up. Victoria Lawson, Lilian’s mother, stood before him, her face a mask of fury. Behind her trailed Lilian’s brother and sister, their expressions just as cold. “What are you doing here?” Victoria demanded, her eyes narrowing. Silas stood, trying to maintain his composure. “I got the call. They needed someone to authorize her surgery.” “That doesn’t mean you belong here,” Victoria snapped, her voice dripping with disdain. “After everything you’ve done to her, how dare you show your face?” “I’m not here to argue, Victoria,” Silas said evenly. “I’m here to help Lilian.” “Help?” Lilian’s brother, Samuel, scoffed. “You’ve done nothing but hurt her. The least you could do is stay out of her life now.” Silas’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent, his hands resting on his knees. “Typical,” Victoria spat. “Always silent when it matters. You ruined her, Silas. You never made any impact just leeched of my daughter and her kind heart.” “That’s enough,” Silas said, his voice low but firm. “I’m not here to dredge up the past. I’m here because she needed me. Isn’t that what matters right now?” “What matters,” Victoria shot back, stepping closer, “is that you stay away. Haven’t you done enough damage?” Silas glanced from Victoria to the siblings. Words rushed, trying to push his mouth open but he held back and said nothing. The tension in the room kept rising to the roof, broken only by the shrill ring of Silas’s phone. Grateful for the distraction, he pulled it out and answered. “This is Silas,” he said. “Sir,” a calm, professional voice replied. “Your presence is needed at the company immediately. A car has been dispatched to your location and will arrive shortly.” Silas exhaled slowly, his mind spinning. “Understood,” he said before hanging up. Before he could explain, the waiting area door swung open. A man in a sharp black suit strode in, his polished shoes clicking against the floor. He stopped in front of Silas, ignoring the glares from the Lawson family. “Mr. Silas,” the man said with a slight bow. “I’m the chauffeur that has been assigned to you. The car is waiting outside. Shall we?”
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Chapter 061
Dawn’s pale light seeped through the mist that clung to the outer walls of the mystic estate, a fortress hidden deep in a forest of gnarled oaks. In the training fields beyond the ivy‐clad ramparts, dozens of figures sparred and drilled under the watchful eyes of masked instructors. Wooden dummies bore the scars of relentless blade practice; archers let fly endless arrows at distant targets; hand‐to‐hand combatants thrashed each other in measured sequences that rang with authority.Within the fortress walls, carved pathways of smooth black stone led to the Faceless Man’s private wing. At the end of one hallway, Amanda strode forward, her dark hair tied in a tight knot at the nape of her neck. Her face was set in a stern expression—eyes hard as polished obsidian. As she passed, armored trainees paused mid‐strike, bowed their heads, and whispered, “Mistress Amanda.” Their weapons lowered in respect, an unspoken pledge of loyalty.At the heavy iron door to the Faceless Man’s inner sa
Chapter 060
Midnight’s hush lay over Damien Carter’s penthouse, the city’s glow a distant nebula beyond floor-to-ceiling windows. In the center of the opulent bedroom-turned-office, Damien sat at a sleek glass desk, three monitors flickering with the faces of his clandestine council: five men in shadowed suits, their features hidden by dim lighting and tight camera angles. A single pendant light above Damien cast his angular face in half shadow as he leaned forward, fingers steepled.The council’s leader, a voice like gravel stirred by a whisper, spoke first. “Report, Damien. Miss Lawson’s situation—status?”Damien offered a thin smile, tapping a folder stamped *Operation Deep Veil*. “Progressing as planned. I’ve delayed the final breach to lull her into false security. Immediate escalation would raise alarms at Lawson Industries. We can’t let her suspect internal betrayal.”A gruff voice—Councilman Rourke—snapped, “But weeks have passed. Our window is closing. Explain.”Damien leaned back, pa
Chapter 059
Morning sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Lancaster Industries’ executive suite, illuminating the rows of neatly organized files and the sleek mahogany desk where Silas Lancaster sat, head buried in quarterly projections. The hum of air conditioning and the distant murmur of staff beyond the glass walls formed the steady backdrop of corporate life.Silas’s pen scratched across line after line of numbers when the door to his office opened silently—a signal he’d come to recognize. He didn’t look up. “How can I help you?” he called, voice steady.Nancy slipped in, the soft click of her heels the only hint of her entry. “You have a visitor, sir.” She closed the door behind her with a gentle hush.At last, Silas raised his head. Nancy stood beside a young woman in her mid-twenties: tall, elegant, with chestnut hair cascading in loose waves over her shoulders. Her emerald-green dress hugged her curves, the silk fabric catching the light as she moved. A pair of pearl
Chapter 058
The silk sheets pooled warmly around them as the last light of dusk filtered through the gauzy curtains of Damien’s penthouse bedroom. City lights glittered in the distance, a soft chorus of traffic and distant sirens underscoring the quiet intimacy of the room. Damien reclined against a tower of pillows, a tray balanced on his lap: two flutes of sparkling wine, a small plate of prosciutto-wrapped figs, and a pair of porcelain bowls holding vanilla-crème mousse.Lilian lay beside him, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. She’d slipped out of her blazer and undone her blouse’s top buttons; her face was luminous in the candlelight. “This was a wonderful idea,” she murmured, tracing the rim of her glass.“Only the finest for you,” Damien replied, his voice smooth as the wine. He offered her a fig, and she bit into it, closing her eyes at the burst of sweet juice. They laughed softly, trading stories of the day: Lilian’s briefing at the company and Damien’s lecture at a pr
Chapter 057
The grandfather clock in the corner struck two in the morning, its chime rolling through the marble halls of Mat Lancaster’s private wing. Outside, a high wind rattled the leaded glass windows, stirring the potted palms that flanked the door. Inside, the heavy thump of leather on stone drowned out the storm’s whisper.Mat Lancaster stood shirtless beneath the harsh glare of overhead industrial lamps. His private gym—an expansive room of polished teak floors, lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors and rows of state-of-the-art equipment—felt like a cathedral to discipline. A full boxing ring rested in the center, its ropes creaking softly in the draft.But Mat paid no heed to the ring. He planted his feet shoulder-width apart, fists balled, and struck the reinforced concrete wall with merciless force. Each punch echoed, sounding like a drumroll of anger. His knuckles reddened, sweat beading on his brow, trickling down his chest in warm rivulets.Again and again: wall, fist, wall, fist
Chapter 056
Silas Lancaster’s penthouse greeted him with muted opulence: floor‐to‐ceiling windows framing a neon tapestry of the city, marble floors that gleamed beneath a crystal chandelier’s soft glow, and a living wall of ivy that whispered life into the modern aesthetic. He’d just returned from the day’s final meetings—investor pitches, board consultations, and a late‐night strategy session. His tailored suit was draped over the banquette in the foyer, replaced now by a simple white T‐shirt and black training shorts.Descending the wide staircase to the main living area, he spotted Isaac—his chauffeur and confidant—standing by the panoramic windows, shoulders tense, gaze fixed on the glittering skyline. Isaac’s crisp black jacket remained buttoned, gloves still clasped in his hand, as if he’d stepped off duty but couldn’t quite leave the evening behind.Silas approached, voice gentle. “Isaac?”The chauffeur started, blinking as though awakened from a dream. “Sir? I—uh, I’m fine.” He forced
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