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last update2026-03-27 14:16:59

Conor stared at the woman’s face, his mind flashing back five years.

Golden Sparrow City. The Sky Grand Hotel. He had been here on a mission—one that had gone terribly wrong.

Ambushed by enemies, drugged with a hallucinogen, and… the memory blurred—but now, looking at her, everything came back with painful clarity.

The very woman standing before him was the same woman from that night.

Conor cleared his throat, trying to mask the awkwardness behind his usual calm demeanor.

“About five years ago… that night…” he began, his tone hesitant, “it wasn’t… I mean, it was an accident. I didn’t—”

“Accident?” The woman whose name was Olivia, laughed coldly, so sharp that it sliced through the bustling airport noise.

She looked him up and down, her gaze filled with disdain. “You? Accident? Believe it or not, I could call the police and have you arrested right here, right now.”

Conor felt heat rise to his cheeks. Even as the King of the Gods, there were some situations that no amount of power could gracefully navigate.

And besides, he had never been in a relationship before.

He opened his mouth to apologize again, but before he could, a new voice cut through the tension.

A heavily made-up woman in a bold red dress stepped forward, her voice dripping with mockery.

“Olivia, didn’t you say you were coming to pick up your mysterious husband?” she sneered. “Why are you standing here in front of two beggars?”

Olivia’s expression froze for a split second.

Then, forcing a blissful, almost sugary smile, she hooked her arm through Conor’s and shot back sarcastically:

“This is him—my husband. He just came back from a business trip and didn’t have time to change clothes. Isn’t he… adorable?”

The woman beside her, still unconvinced, crossed her arms and glared. “Your husband? Really? I don’t see any evidence here. This is just some random man you dragged along.”

With smug pride, Olivia pulled a tall, imposing man beside her forward. He was sharply dressed, impeccably groomed, with the air of someone used to authority.

“This,” she announced, her voice dripping with condescension, “is my boyfriend, John Gaston, senior client manager at DragonTech.”

DragonTech—the top tech company in Golden Sparrow City—was a name that carried weight.

Olivia’s face darkens. And at that moment, Conor’s faint smile appeared.

“I’m quite familiar with DragonTech,” Conor said casually. “I even have a friend working there.”

Emma—the heavily made-up woman—burst into laughter, high-pitched and mocking.

John Wilson’s smug expression faltered for just a second before he quickly recovered with a sarcastic chuckle.

“Your friend… a janitor at DragonTech, maybe?” he sneered, his voice dripping with arrogance.

Nick, standing rigidly behind Conor, felt his blood boil.

How dare they mock His Majesty?

He stepped forward, fists clenched, ready to defend his boss.

But Conor merely raised a hand, calm as ever. “John,” he said, his tone slow, measured, “tell me your name, department, and position.”

John straightened, puffing up with pride. “John Wilson, senior manager, Investment Department. What—are you going to have your janitor friend clean my office?”

Before Conor could reply, a sudden commotion erupted outside the airport.

People screamed, cameras flashed, and the roar of engines filled the air.

Nick instinctively moved in front of Conor, scanning for threats.

From the growing crowd came a booming voice, carrying authority and command.

“It’s DragonTech’s motorcade!” someone yelled. “They’re here for a VIP arrival!”

John’s eyes widened, and the smug confidence that had filled his posture just moments ago faltered.

He glanced at Emma, who was mid-laugh at Olivia and Conor, and her expression immediately shifted from mockery to panic.

“This… this is… we should go,” John muttered, grabbing Emma by the arm.

Emma stumbled along, still adjusting her layers of makeup and feigning composure, but it was clear her priority had shifted entirely. “Right, yes… best get closer to the real executives,” she said, her voice tight with anxiety.

Compared to impressing DragonTech executives, humiliating Olivia and her “pauper” husband seemed trivial.

Olivia exhaled a sharp sigh of relief as she watched them leave, her brow furrowed. “your wild bragging almost exposed us,” she muttered, irritation lacing her words.

Conor shrugged lightly, his casual charm unshaken. “I wasn’t bragging.”

She glanced at him helplessly, her long hair falling over her shoulders in soft waves.

Her elegant face betrayed a mixture of exasperation and faint amusement.

Her dark eyes softened as she studied him.

At that moment, Nick leaned in quietly, reporting, “Sir, the people sent to receive us have arrived.”

Conor ignored him, his attention fixed on Olivia. A small, teasing smile curved his lips. “Since you’ve already picked me up… aren’t you going to take your husband home?”

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  • 30

    Conor didn’t look at them again. Not Ronan. Not Emma. They were no longer worth his attention. He turned. And walked away. Just like that. Leaving them behind. — The hallway was dim and silent. The destruction stretched further than the entrance—doors ajar, walls scuffed, traces of force everywhere. Conor moved through it without hesitation. His eyes were scanning and his mind was calculating. Then— A faint sound. A weak, uneven breath. Conor’s steps stopped. He turned his head slightly. There. Near the side corridor— A figure slumped against the wall. A housemaid. Bruised. Clothes disheveled. Barely conscious. Conor closed the distance in two strides and crouched down. “Hey.” No response. Her head lolled slightly. He reached out, steady but firm, tapping her cheek lightly. “Stay with me.” A weak groan escaped her lips. Her eyelids fluttered. “…M-ma’am…” she mumbled instinctively. Conor’s voice cut in, controlled. “Lo

  • 29

    Ronan choked, face already turning red, veins bulging as he struggled to breathe. “Y—you—” he wheezed, panic finally breaking through. Conor’s grip tightened. Just slightly. Ronan’s body jerked. A strangled sound tore from his throat. Emma rushed forward instinctively, hands shaking. “Stop—stop, please! You’ll kill him!” Conor didn’t even look at her. He didn’t blink. His voice dropped further and dead calm. “She is my daughter.” Conor’s grip didn’t loosen. If anything— It tightened just enough to remind Ronan exactly how fragile his life was in that moment. Ronan’s legs kicked weakly in the air, his face turning an ugly shade of red, breath coming in broken, strangled attempts. Conor’s gaze never wavered. Cold and unforgiving. “If you weren’t Olivia’s grandfather,” he said quietly, each word landing like a verdict, “you’d already be in hell repenting for what you just said.” Ronan’s eyes bulged slightly. His hands clawed desperately at Conor’s wr

  • 28

    His hands were trembling as he looked at the empty space. “This is Olivia’s fault,” he spat suddenly. “That woman—she brought this curse into our home!” Emma was as furious as Ronan. “Exactly, grandpa! She always ruins things!” Ronan turned sharply, eyes wild now. “And that man—Conor!” he snarled. “Who does he think he is? Acting high and mighty, provoking powerful families—this is what happens when fools play heroes!” He kicked a broken chair. “They’ve dragged us into this mess! They’ve ruined everything!” His gaze suddenly snapped toward a display case near the wall—shattered. Ronan rushed over, shoving aside splintered wood and broken glass with frantic hands. “No… no—where is it?!” He dropped to his knees, searching desperately through the debris. Then he saw it. Nothing. The velvet slot where it once rested was empty. “My watch…” his voice trembled, then broke into fury. “My $100,000 diamond watch—gone!” His face twisted with rage, veins standing out

  • 27

    The sound came first. Distant at first—then rapidly growing louder. WHUP—WHUP—WHUP— Helicopters. Multiple. The night air above the parking lot shifted as searchlights cut through the dim sky, sweeping across buildings and roads like searching eyes. Within minutes, black vehicles screeched into the area. Doors opened. Men in tactical uniforms stepped out quickly and professionally. “Secure the perimeter!” “Medical team, over here—now!” “Move! Move!” The store staff stood frozen near the entrance, overwhelmed. One of them stammered, “W-what is going on…?” No one answered him. Because the focus was inside the car. Conor had Olivia in his arms, carefully supporting her upright as she remained unconscious, her head slightly tilted, breathing shallow but stable. A medic rushed forward. “Sir—let us take her.” Conor didn’t move immediately. His eyes were still on her face. “…She fainted from shock,” the lead medic said quickly after checking her pulse

  • 26

    Another channel opened. Rapid reports. Satellite uplinks. Traffic anomalies. Security breaches. Nick scanned them like a man reading a death sentence in real time. And for the first time in a long while— He felt something close to fear. Not for himself. But for everyone else. Because he knew Conor wasn’t just angry. Conor was quiet. And in Nick’s experience, that version of him— was the one right before everything burned, many people may die tonight. Nick barely had time to register the flood of incoming commands before Conor’s voice cut back in—calm, controlled, but now edged with something far more dangerous than anger. “No.” Nick froze. Conor continued, each word precise. “Send people to the store immediately. Take Olivia to the hospital.” A brief pause. Then— His tone dropped even further. “Then find where my daughter has been taken.” Nick’s throat tightened slightly as he nodded, even though Conor couldn’t see him. “Yes, king. Already depl

  • 25

    Olivia’s voice shook. “She’s a child.” “I’m aware.” Another casual breath. “That’s why this is unfortunate.” A beat. Then— “Consider this the price for offending Titan Group.” Silence. The words hung in the car. Conor’s face went completely still. The voice on the phone didn’t stop. If anything, it sounded more entertained now. “You people really don’t learn, do you?” the man said lazily, like he was discussing something trivial. “Debt always gets collected one way or another.” Olivia’s breathing hitched again, shallow and broken. Conor’s jaw tightened so hard it looked like it might crack. On the line, the man chuckled. “And since Madam Olivia here is so… principled,” he continued, “refusing to cooperate, refusing to settle things properly, to sell herself to repay the debt—” A pause. Then, colder. “We’ll simply recover what’s owed in other ways.” Olivia’s voice came out barely audible. “…What are you talking about?” The man exhaled, almost

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