The Warlord's Vengeance

Chapter 7

Ardenne closed her eyes, bracing herself. She would take it. For her job. For Emma. She would swallow the pain, endure the shame.

Then came the sound. Not the sharp smack she’d been expecting, but a heavy, thudding impact—then another. Her eyes snapped open.

Gideon went flying.

Not just stumbled, like some invisible force had thrown him. He crashed into Marla and the wheelchair with bone-jarring impact. The chair toppled, metal screeching against the floor, wheels spinning uselessly. Both of them hit the ground, a tangle of fabric, curses, and stunned silence.

Cassian stood where the blow should have landed. His shoulders were wide, solid, a wall no one could breach. Every inch of him radiated the kind of danger that made the blood freeze in your veins.

He looked at Gideon , then Marla, then the frozen guards, and the courtyard seemed to shrink beneath his gaze.

“From this day on,” he said, voice low, rough, unyielding, “whoever so much as lays a finger on Ardenne… dies.”

Heat, pure fire, poured off Cassian. Killing intent. The crowd blinked, frozen, like they weren’t sure if this was real or a nightmare.

“Cassian!” Violet screamed, voice cracking, smeared makeup, bruises dark on her skin. “He… he wants to kill! Guards! DO SOMETHING! Beat him! I’ll take responsibility!” She thrashed in her wheelchair, gloves scraping stone, frantic energy everywhere.

The security team surged, a wave hitting rocks. But Cassian didn’t wait.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Bodies hit stone. Thuds, groans, curses. Guards who dared touch him flew back like rag dolls. Two tried to pin him—POOF, tossed aside like they were nothing. More fell. Hats rolled. Shoes skidded across the courtyard.

Cassian didn’t yell. Didn’t need to. Every move was sharp, brutal, deadly precise. Elbows, shoulders, feet—all stopping attacks, all protecting. He moved like a tiger, a storm folded into a man.

“RECORD! RECORD THIS!” Violet shrieked, panic and rage all tangled. “PHONES! CAMERAS! THIS IS EVIDENCE!”

The filming guards froze, eyes wide. Then scrambled, hands shaking, trying to catch the madness on camera.

Another wave charged. Boots slammed, fists flew. Cassian’s foot hit a man’s jaw hard—SPIN! Head, hat flying in opposite directions. Captain yelled over radio, panicked: “STOP! RESCIND! SECURITY—STAND DOWN!”

Then another voice, louder, heavier, impossible to ignore, thundered through the courtyard: “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? STOP THIS NOW!”

Cassian an didn’t care. Didn’t blink. Hands stayed firm on the woman clutching his sleeve, the child pressed to her side. Another kick—guard slid across marble. Time slowed. Nothing mattered but them.

“STOP IT!” someone yelled again, desperate, but the words barely cut through the storm surrounding him.

Cassian stayed still. Muscles tight, eyes sharp. The last guard hit marble, groaned, silence fell. The courtyard was frozen. Cassian—alone, a wall of muscle and rage. Air still shook from what just happened. He didn’t look at bodies, didn’t care. All that mattered was Emma’s tiny hand in his and pressed close behind her.

Then—click, click. Shoes on marble. Slow. Deliberate. Someone who never rushed.

Violet went pale. Ripped off sunglasses. Eyes huge. “Grandpa! Why… why are you here?!” Confidence gone, fear dripping.

At the edge of the crowd, he appeared. Dark coat, cane with a dragon head. Big, scary, ridiculous. Henry Lannister. Patriarch. No smile, no indulgence. Only cold fury.

A small group followed—cousins, managers, women in silk. Faces polite. Trained. A young manager joked, “Grandpa, team-building today? Even in a wheelchair, you insist?” Laughter tried to rise. Landed wrong. Henry’s jaw tightened. No joke could save them.

The courtyard was frozen chaos. Hats, batons, guards sprawled. A street fight trapped in fancy marble.

Julan planted his cane. THUD. Dragon-head tapping stone. Eyes scanning. Gideon on the ground, ruined suit. Violet pointing, yelling. Overturned wheelchair. Ice in Henry’s face, slowly boiling.

“What is the meaning of this?” His voice cut through murmurs.

Marla jumped in, innocent act. “Grandpa,” she sobbed, perfect practice, “it’s Cassian Vale and Ardenne! They came early! Made trouble! Demanded money! Shares! One million! Insane! They attacked Gideon! They started it!”

The crowd murmured, believing her. Clever girl, she thought. But then there was a movement. Julan’s side. Sebastian Thomas. No smile. No talk. Just presence.

Sebastian reputation hit them. Deals, power, ruin. Weeks of $250 million negotiations on the line. One misstep is a disaster. Marla went pale. Trouble was here.

Ardenne didn’t flinch. “Marla, you lie! You blocked me! Forced me to beg! This is your doing!”

“Shut up!” Julan cut her off. Cane thudded. Stone shook. “Enough scandal. You are not to set foot here again.”

Ardenne exhaled, grateful, thinking it was tidy.

Ardenne’s voice cracked. “Grandpa—how can you throw out your own family?”

Julan’s eyes cold. “Enough. Take them away. Remove this… stain.” Words clipped, final. “Now.”

Cassian laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “Shit,” he muttered, but it landed like a thrown stone across the courtyard. His body coiled with quiet strength. “Julan Lannister, Violet Lannister—remember this moment. Don’t ever regret it.”

He took Ardenne’s hand, fingers locking like iron around hers. “We’ll go,” he said flatly. No struggle. No theatrics. He wouldn’t make things harder for her. He was ready to leave, to end this humiliation quietly.

“Wait.” A voice cut through the movement like a blade. Sebastian’s presence made it feel like the air itself had stiffened. “Are you Miss Ardenne?”

Ardenne froze. Every nerve on alert. “Yes?” she said cautiously, voice small, wary. “Mr. Sebastian… how—?”

Sebastian shook his head slightly, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. “We haven’t met in person,” he said, voice calm but commanding, “but I’ve heard your name more times than I can count. Your proposal for the resort project—it was exceptional. Exactly what I envisioned. That’s why I entrusted the project to the Lannister Group in the first place.”

The courtyard went still.

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. Then his gaze drifted deliberately to Julan. “And let me be very clear,” he said, voice deepening, commanding attention. “Ardenne must be the one in charge of this resort project.”

Julan’s eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face. “What?” he muttered, frozen.

Gideon and Violet exchanged stunned looks, mouths slightly open. Ardenne… in charge? Impossible.

“But… Mr. Sebastian,” Violet finally stammered, her voice shaky, “surely there’s some mistake? The Lannister Group has dozens of capable managers. Why must it be… her?”

“And Mr. Sebastian,” Gideon added weakly, “Ardenne is just a regular employee. Not even a manager. Surely you are mistaken.”

Ardenne glanced at Julan, forcing a polite laugh that trembled slightly. “Besides,” she said quietly, “I’ve already been fired from the company. I’m not part of the Lannister Group anymore.”

Sebastian’s smile faded. His calm face sharpened, eyes narrowing like steel. “Fired?” His voice carried authority that made the crowd flinch. “Then tell me, Ardenne… which company are you planning to join?”

He leaned forward slightly, the weight of his presence undeniable. “Because I’ll transfer the entire resort project to that company immediately.”

The world seemed to freeze.

Julan’s mouth went dry. Violet’s smug, cruel smile disappeared in an instant. Gideon’s face drained of color.

“What… what did you just say?” Julan finally stammered, voice trembling.

Sebastian looked at him, unwavering. “You heard me, Mr. Sylver. If Miss Sandra isn’t part of your company, then there’s no point continuing this agreement. The partnership exists because of her. Without her, there’s no deal.”