THE SAVIOR GOD OF WAR RETURNS

Chapter 6

Emily stood frozen, her world suddenly turned upside down. The man she'd dismissed, the fiancé she'd rejected, was now being honored by Harmonfield's most feared family.

William looked around the room, his message crystal clear. "Mr. Parker is under our protection," he announced. "Remember that."

The ballroom fell into an absolute silence so profound that the subtle clink of champagne glasses seemed to echo like thunderclaps. William Thompson's words hung in the air, a heavy promise of potential destruction that suffocated every breath.

Michael Wilson's collapse was not graceful. He tumbled into a nearby chair, his expensive suit wrinkling, his face turning a sickly shade of pale gray. Sweat beaded on his forehead, droplets catching the crystal chandelier's light. Emily stood beside him, frozen—her perfect posture suddenly fragile, her designer dress seeming to lose its luster.

How could everything change so quickly?

she thought, her mind spinning faster than the room around her.

The guests who moments ago had mocked Jack now moved like a living, breathing organism. Their movements were calculated, desperate. Social predators sensing a shift in the food chain. Hushed conversations began to ripple through the crowd, growing from whispers to urgent murmurs.

"The Parkers," someone near the champagne fountain said, just loud enough to be heard. "More powerful than the Thompsons?"

It was a dangerous speculation. Everyone in Harmonfield knew William Thompson's reputation. He wasn't just wealthy—he was a force of nature. Those who crossed him didn't simply fail. They disappeared

Completely. Without a trace. Business empires crumbled. Families vanished. William Thompson didn't just win—he eliminated.

Jack remained impossibly calm. His movements were deliberate, almost lazy. He picked up a pristine white napkin from a nearby silver tray, wiped his hands with a precision that suggested years of training, and then dropped it contemptuously in front of Ryan Brooks.

"Not worth my time," he said. Four simple words that carried more weight than entire speeches.

The transformation was instantaneous and brutal. The same socialites who had laughed at Jack moments ago now scrambled like rats fleeing a sinking ship. Business cards materialized as if by magic. Forced smiles became desperate attempts at connection. Men who had mocked him now wanted to be his best friend. Women who had ignored him now looked at him with calculating interest.

William Thompson wasn't finished delivering his judgment.

"The Wilsons," he announced, his voice a blade that sliced through the tension, "have forgotten the meaning of honor. They insulted the son of the man who single-handedly saved their family from financial ruin."

Michael Wilson looked like he might vomit. His reputation, his family's standing—everything hung by the thinnest of threads.

"Disgraceful," William continued, each word a precision strike. "If my family hadn't intervened, you would have continued to treat Mr. Parker with the contempt of ignorant fools. Your lack of gratitude is beyond remarkable—it's pathetic."

Emily's mind raced like a computer processing impossible data. If we had known, she thought, we would have celebrated him. Welcomed him as family.

Now, we are nothing.

Her attempt to salvage the situation was desperate and pathetic. "Mr. Thompson," she said, her voice trembling despite her best efforts, "perhaps we could discuss the Eastvale Ecological Project?"

Sarah Thompson didn't even grant her a full glance. "I'm busy," she said—three words that demolished whatever remained of Emily's hopes and dignity.

The room became a battlefield of unspoken tensions. Guests watched, breathless, understanding they were witnessing something extraordinary.

Sarah turned her full attention to Jack. Her gaze was a weapon—intense, calculating, beautiful, and dangerous. She studied him with the precision of a scientist examining a rare specimen. Or a predator assessing potential prey.

Jack met her look without a hint of submission or fear.

There's something different about him, Sarah thought. He's not like any man I've ever met.

The tension became electrical, crackling with potential energy. Guests held their breath, champagne glasses suspended midair, waiting.

Sarah moved closer to Jack. Her movement was fluid, deliberate—each step calculated. The entire room seemed to contract, focusing on this single moment.

"Jack," she said, her voice low enough that only he could hear, dropping to a whisper that carried more weight than a shout, "I want you to be my—"

The moment hung suspended, pregnant with infinite possibility.

Emily watched, fury burning behind her perfectly composed exterior. William observed, his eyes calculating every micro-expression. The Thompson and Wilson families—two of the most powerful dynasties in Harmonfield—balanced on the razor's edge of transformation.

Jack remained calm. Waiting.

Old Joe prepared me for many things, he thought, but I'm not sure he prepared me for this moment.

Sarah's next words would change everything. And everyone in the room knew it.