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Chapter 87: Darren
The executive floor of SilverCrest Holdings now had a particular kind of quiet—manufactured, expensive, hostile. The carpet swallowed footsteps. The glass walls reflected power back at itself. Even raised voices sounded moderated by money.And the guns never moved.They stayed trained on Johnny’s chest, his head, his spine—three different men, three different angles. Professional. Careful. Not shaking. The kind of stillness that told everyone in the room these weren’t bluffing security contractors. These were people who had done this before.Johnny stood in the center of it all.Hands relaxed at his sides. Posture straight. Face calm.The room had formed a wide circle around him without anyone consciously deciding to step back. Executives. Assistants. Sector heads. A few interns frozen near the walls, unsure whether to look or pretend they weren’t witnessing something that could end careers—or lives.Darren Cross stood near the center of the floor, jacket perfectly cut, cuffs immac
Chapter 86: Grateful
Time stretches. Johnny’s finger settles against the trigger. Another realization surfaces—not a memory, but a truth he can no longer avoid. He is no longer innocent. That had ended the night he died and came back wrong. Since then, the world had felt thinner. Sharper. People too. Desire, fear, loyalty—none of it hid well anymore. The Ultimate Harem System hadn’t made him reckless. It had made him aware. He’d seen how easily power moved. How quickly it traded hands. How often it wore charm instead of violence. Death took his fear. Coming back took his excuses. That was why his hand was steady now. Why the begging didn’t move him. Why he could look at a broken man and feel nothing he hadn’t already buried. He wasn’t here to prove anything. He was just done pretending.Strangely enough, Johnny was grateful to them. To Darius, for showing him what power looked like when it rotted. For teaching him that authority was often just permission wrapped in a suit. For breaking him so
Chapter 85: The gun
Darius King doesn’t fall so much as he gives up. His knees buckle, not from impact, but from realization. From the sudden understanding that whatever protected him for years—status, fear, rooms that closed when he entered—has stopped working. He sinks down, palms bracing against the carpet, shoulders caving inward. The suit that once made him look untouchable now hangs wrong on his body, wrinkled where it shouldn’t be, pulled tight across a back that no longer knows how to stand straight. “I’m still the head here!” he snapped, voice louder than he felt. His hands trembled as they hovered uselessly. “You don’t—You can’t—know what you’re doing!Everything stopped. The air itself seemed to stiffen. Johnny’s fist hovered mid-motion, Darius’ body rigid, the room suspended in disbelief. Armed men appeared, their boots heavy on the floor, guns trained. Every heartbeat was audible, every breath a thunderclap. Johnny’s eyes scanned the barrels aimed at him. Each one a promise of instant
Chapter 84: : A gun
The gun is real.That is what breaks the room.Not the threat.Not the shouting.Not even Darius’s face twisted with rage.It’s the black metal aimed at a human forehead inside an office with glass walls and branded posters and quarterly reports still glowing on screens.Someone gasps.Someone else whispers, *“Is that a gun?”*Chairs scrape softly as people lean back without standing. Phones freeze mid-record. A woman near the conference table covers her mouth with both hands, eyes wide, body locked.Security is mentioned—half a sentence, unfinished—but no one moves. No one wants to be the first body between a bullet and a reputation.Darius’s hand shakes just enough to notice if you’re looking for it.He laughs. Too fast. Too sharp.“You think—” He scoffs. “You think fists mean anything here?”He angles the gun slightly, correcting his aim like it’s a presentation pointer.“All that confidence,” he continues, voice too loud, too fast. “All that posturing. Karate? Fists?” He snorts. “
Chapter 83: You will destroy me?
“You will destroy me?”Darius King threw his head back and laughed—loud, sharp, theatrical. “You hear that?” he said to no one in particular, spreading his arms. “Did everyone hear that?”“He is going to destroy me?” he said, spreading his arms as if presenting a comedian to the room. The laughter didn’t stay with him. It spread.A ripple first—confused chuckles from people who didn’t know why they were laughing but understood they were supposed to. Then louder. Freer. Someone near the printers snorted. Another person actually clapped once before catching themselves.Phones came out. Subtle at first. Then less subtle.Johnny stood where he was.Still. Straight. Hands at his sides.A statue dropped into the middle of a circus.“You’ll pay.” Johnny said again It didn’t sound dramatic. It didn’t rise. It didn’t shake.That was why the nearest people leaned in without realizing it.Darius blinked once. “I’m sorry?”Johnny continued, voice level. “You’ll eat your words. You’ll beg. And
Chapter 82: Darius
“If it isn’t my star intern,” the voice continued, closer now, savoring each word, “Johnny Steele.”That name. Spoken like a joke that never stopped being funny.Johnny’s shoulders stiffened first. Then his jaw. A quiet tightening, like metal being drawn slowly under pressure. He kept his gaze forward, eyes fixed on nothing in particular, as if the air itself required his full attention.He already knew who it was.When he finally turned, Darius King was exactly as memory betrayed him to be—and worse.Sharp suit. Charcoal gray, tailored to arrogance. The kind of fabric that never wrinkled because its owner never rushed. A faint, expensive scent clung to him, subtle enough to suggest power rather than announce it. His posture was loose, casual, as if the building belonged to him by default. As if people were furniture.And on his left hand, catching the light just briefly enough to register before disappearing again—a ring.Gold. Simple. Wedding band.Darius smiled.Not wide. Not for
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