Underworld's Chosen Like None Other

Victor's Indignance

Victor grabbed a sheet, wrapping it around himself as he bolted, his face pale with fear. Warren chased him to the stairs, the belt snapping at his heels, each hit a release for the rage consuming him. “Run, you coward!” he screamed, his voice breaking with the weight of his pain. Victor stumbled out, the Lamborghini’s engine roaring to life as he fled.

Victor cursed as he drove away in anger and humiliation mixed together. He has never been this humiliated and promised to pay back in a 100 fold. A notorious playboy with ties to the city’s criminal underworld. They made the rules in the city. His father ruled ruled the city.

Warren turned back, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with unshed tears and unrelenting fury.

Rachel sat on the bed, clutching the duvet, her face a mix of shock and defiance. “What are you doing home so early?” she snapped, her voice trembling but laced with venom. “Do you know what you’ve just done? That was Victor Crane! You’re finished, Warren!” She spat as Warren walked back into the room.

His rage flared anew, a wildfire scorching his restraint. “Finished?” he growled, stepping closer, his voice low and dangerous. “You spread your legs for that bastard in our bed, tell my kids I’m not their father, and now I’m finished? To my face? ” His fists clenched, the belt still in his hand, every muscle screaming to lash out again. “You’ve been lying to me for years, Rachel. Years!” His voice cracked, rage and pain colliding. “I worked myself to death for you, for them, and this is what I get? A knife in my back?"

Rachel’s eyes narrowed, her guilt morphing into scorn. “You’re nothing, Warren. A broke, pathetic thief who can’t even pay the rent. Victor can give me what you never could. You’re a failure, and I’m done with you. And as for the kids, I know you can never save up money to run a paternity DNA test, so I did it for you. You're not their father, and yes, you can already guess who their father is!"

Her words were gasoline on the fire. Warren’s vision darkened, his rage a tidal wave threatening to drown him.

"This is the paternity DNA report. This on top is a divorce paper. I'm tired of you", Rachel added as she passed the papers to enraged Warren.

He wanted to scream, to tear the room apart, to make her feel the pain she’d inflicted and is inflicting. But something colder, sharper, took root—a burning resolve. They think they can break me? I’ll show them. I’ll burn this city down before I let them win. He dropped the belt, his hands shaking, not with weakness but with a fury that promised vengeance.

He was a simp and a good man. He loved her too much that he was blind to all that were going on under his roof.

He took care of her during the twins gestation period like no man could ever, even with his bad financial situation. He sacrificed sleep, sweat and everything to satisfy and ensure she delivers safely.

He worked his ass off to take care of her and their kids.

The kids are eight years old now only for him to find out the kids aren't even his.

Everything he thought he had, his purpose all gone in a flash as he stared at the medical report and the divorce papers.

“Get out,” he hissed, his voice deadly calm, a storm waiting to break. “Take your lies and your lover’s money and get the hell out of my life.”

Rachel smirked,

"You should be the one getting out. I have owned this house for the last seven years. I bought it from the landlord, and you're still owing me unpaid rent, surprised?"

"Rachel, you mean you're the one I have been paying rent to all these years? You knew how I suffered and struggled to pay and you did this to me?" Warren's last word dropped with his hands in his pounding chest, his voice laced with tears all in complete shock over the discoveries in the last five minutes.

Rachel's eyes flickered with no response. "I can now renovate the house to my fitting. Thank god I'm finally free from you"

and for the first time, Warren felt the weight of his rage as power, not despair. He didn’t know how, but he’d make them all pay—Rachel, Victor, Caleb, the city that framed him. Ironspire would learn what happened when you pushed a man too far.

He signed the divorce papers, parked some clothes and left.

**

Warren stepped out into the biting night air, the divorce papers still warm in his hand, their ink a final signature on nine years of betrayal. His boots crunched against the gravel path leading away from the house—Rachel’s house, he corrected himself bitterly.

The revelation still burned: every late-night shift, every skipped meal, every scraped-together coin for rent had lined her pockets while she played him for a fool. And Victor, her lover, with his smug grin and tailored suits, had been the shadow behind it all, pulling strings in Ironspire’s underbelly. Caleb, too—Warren’s so-called brother, refused to help him with his usual, "I have contracts I'm working on"

The city loomed ahead, its jagged skyline a testament to its corruption. Ironspire wasn’t just a place; it was a machine that chewed up men like Warren and spat them out broken. But tonight, something shifted. The rage coursing through him wasn’t the helpless fury of a man betrayed—it was a blade, sharp and deliberate, ready to carve justice from the city’s rotten core.

He slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and headed toward the Lower District, where the neon lights flickered and the air smelled of oil and desperation. Warren knew the streets here, the ones the city’s elite pretended didn’t exist. He’d start small—find the cracks in Ironspire’s armor. There were people who owed him favors, old contacts from his days hauling cargo for the docks’ shadier outfits. Men like Silas, who ran a backroom poker game and knew every dirty secret in the city. Or Mara, the hacker who’d once owed Warren her life after he pulled her out of a deal gone south.

Warren ducked into a dimly lit bar, the kind where eyes didn’t linger too long. He slid onto a stool, ordered a cheap whiskey, and scanned the room. A man in a corner booth caught his eye— a figure he'd swear had seen before, nursing a drink, his face like he was expecting him.

Indeed, he was. He had a big gig for him.