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Outside the towering steel gates of Northgate Federal Prison, a line of black luxury cars stretched along the road like a funeral procession. Men in dark suits stood at attention beside each door, their faces blank, their posture military-sharp. But it was the woman at the front who commanded attention. Claire Sterling- the CEO of Sterling Global Corporation, one of the most powerful business empires in the world. Headquarters had given a clear order— the empire’s new leader would be released today, and she was to show him absolute respect. He’d be out in fifteen minutes. Claire smoothed down the front of her suit and took a slow breath. Her heart beat a little faster, though she would never show it. Inside the prison, the air smelled of disinfectant and old concrete. Ethan Cross sat on the edge of a narrow bed in a small holding room. His belongings sat in a clear plastic bag beside him. A wallet, a single house key, a faded photograph, creased from being folded and unfolded a thousand times. Three years.Three years of gray walls and cold floors. Three years of tasteless food and sleepless nights. Three years of counting down every single day. And now it was over. A guard appeared in the doorway. He was a middle-aged man with tired eyes and a thick mustache. He carried a clipboard in one hand. He knocked twice on the metal frame, then stepped inside. "Ethan," the guard said quietly. His voice was gruff but not unkind. "You are free." Ethan looked up slowly. For a moment, he did not move. He simply stared at the guard as if the words had not fully registered. His throat tightened. His hands gripped the edge of the bed. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face. "I am finally going to see her," Ethan murmured, his voice barely a whisper. CHAPTER 2 The prison yard was a large open space of cracked concrete and faded yellow lines. Once, it had been used for outdoor exercise. Now it was mostly empty, a transition zone between the cell blocks and the outer gates. Ethan stepped into the sunlight and squinted. After three years of dim corridors and artificial light, the brightness felt overwhelming. He raised one hand to shield his eyes, blinking rapidly as his vision adjusted. The guard behind him grunted. "Keep moving, Ethan. Gate's that way." But Ethan had already stopped. His heart stuttered in his chest. There, parked near the inner fence, was a sleek silver luxury car. The kind that cost more than most people earned in five years. Its polished surface gleamed like a mirror under the afternoon sun. And standing beside it, one hand resting on the door, was her. Vivian. Ethan's breath caught. For a moment, he forgot how to move. He simply stood there, staring, as if she might disappear if he blinked. She looked exactly as he remembered. No. She looked better. Her long dark hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders. She wore a white designer dress that hugged her figure, paired with heels that made her look taller, more elegant. A string of pearls hung around her neck. Her makeup was flawless. She looked like someone who belonged in a magazine. Someone untouchable and beautiful. Ethan's lips trembled. His eyes grew hot. She came, oh She actually came. For three years, he had imagined this moment. He had pictured it every single night before falling asleep. The moment he would walk out of this place and see her waiting for him. The moment they would finally be together again. And now it was real. "Vivian!" Ethan's voice cracked as he shouted her name. His legs moved before his brain could catch up. He ran toward her, his arms already reaching out, ready to pull her into the embrace he had been dreaming of for a thousand nights. "Vivian, I—" She stepped back. Her hand came up, palm out, stopping him cold. Ethan stumbled to a halt, confusion flashing across his face. He stood there, arms still half-raised, his smile faltering. "Vivian?" he said again, quieter this time. Uncertain. She looked at him. Her expression was blank. No warmth. No joy. No relief. Just cold, flat indifference, as if she were looking at a stranger on the street. "Do not touch me," she said. Her voice was ice. Ethan flinched as if she had slapped him. His arms slowly lowered to his sides. He tried to laugh, but it came out awkward and broken. "I… I know it has been a long time," he said quickly, letting out a dry smile. "I know things are strange right now. But it is okay. We can go home. We can talk. I have so much to tell you, Vivian. So much has happened. I" "We are not going home," Vivian interrupted. Her tone was flat and final. Ethan blinked. "What?" "We are not going home," she repeated, slower this time, as if speaking to a child. "Because that is not your home anymore." The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He stared at her, his mind struggling to process what she had just said. "What are you talking about?" he whispered. Vivian sighed, as if this conversation bored her. She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a folded stack of papers. She held them out toward him, her expression utterly detached. "I want a divorce." Ethan did not move. He did not take the papers. He simply stood there, frozen, as if his entire body had stopped working. "A… divorce?" The word felt foreign in his mouth. Wrong. Impossible… "Yes." Vivian's eyes were hard. "I have already signed my part. All you need to do is sign yours." "But… why?" Ethan's voice cracked. His hands trembled at his sides. "Vivian, I went to prison for you. I took the blame for your accident. I gave up three years of my life so you could stay free. I did everything for you. How can you" "Exactly," Vivian cut him off sharply. "You are an ex-convict now. A criminal. Do you really think I can build a future with someone like that?" Ethan felt his chest tighten. His throat closed up. He could barely breathe. "I have worked hard these past three years," Vivian continued, her tone businesslike, almost casual. "I have made connections. Built my career. Sterling Global Corporation just entered the city, and I am about to secure a partnership deal with them. Do you know what that means? It means I am going to rise to the top. I am going to become someone important." Sterling Global Corporation? Ethan blinked. Isn’t this the very corporation that the old man in prison asked him to inherit? Vivian looked him up and down, her lip curling slightly in disgust. "Someone like Marcus Ashford understands that. He comes from one of the four great families. He has money. Power. A future. He has promised to help me secure the Sterling partnership." She paused, letting her words sink in like poison. "A man like him is worthy of standing beside me." Ethan's face had gone pale. His fists clenched at his sides. "You… you are seeing someone else?" His voice was barely a whisper. Vivian laughed. It was a cold, mocking sound. "Of course I am. Did you really think I would wait for a criminal? That I would waste my life tied to someone useless?" She reached into her bag again and pulled out a check. She held it out toward him, dangling it between two fingers like it was a piece of garbage. "Here. Ten thousand dollars. Consider it your compensation for the trouble." Her smile was cruel now and satisfied. "Take it and leave quietly. Move on with your pathetic little life. Do not cling to me. Do not embarrass yourself." She let the check flutter in the air for a moment, then tossed it at his feet. The divorce papers followed, scattering across the concrete. Vivian folded her arms and looked down at him with cold, triumphant eyes. "Trash like you does not deserve me.” CHAPTER 3 For a long moment, Ethan did not move. He stood there in the middle of the prison yard, staring down at the divorce papers scattered across the concrete. The check lay nearby, fluttering slightly in the breeze. Ten thousand dollars. That was what three years of his life was worth to her. Behind him, the guard shifted uncomfortably. A few other inmates who were being processed watched from a distance, their faces curious. They could sense the tension in the air. The kind of tension that came before something broke. Vivian stood beside her luxury car, arms folded, waiting. Her expression was smug. Satisfied. Like someone who had just won a game. She expected him to beg. To drop to his knees and plead with her. To tell her he would change, that he would be better, that he would do anything if she would just take him back. That was what weak men did. And in her mind, Ethan Cross was the weakest man she had ever known. Slowly, Ethan bent down. His knees creaked slightly as he crouched. His hand reached out and picked up the check. Vivian's smile widened. See? He was going to take the money after all. He was going to crawl away like the pathetic insect he was. Ethan straightened. He looked at the check in his hand. Ten thousand dollars. Written in Vivian's neat, elegant handwriting. Then, without a word, he tore it in half. Vivian's smile froze. He tore it again. And again. And again. His movements were calm. Methodical. There was no anger in his face. No rage. Just cold, quiet finality. When the pieces were too small to tear anymore, Ethan opened his hand and let them fall. They drifted down like snow, scattering across the ground. Vivian's mouth opened slightly. For the first time since arriving, uncertainty flickered in her eyes. "What do you think you are—" "Give me a pen," Ethan said quietly. His voice was so calm it was almost frightening. Vivian blinked. "What?" "A pen," Ethan repeated. "Unless you want me to sign with my finger." For a moment, Vivian just stared at him. Then she reached into her bag, pulled out an expensive silver pen, and held it out. Ethan took it without looking at her. He bent down again and picked up the divorce papers. He did not read them. He did not ask questions. He simply pressed the papers against the hood of her car, clicked the pen, and signed his name at the bottom. One stroke. Clean and final. Ethan Cross. He straightened, folded the papers neatly, and handed them back to Vivian. She took them slowly, her fingers trembling slightly. She had expected a fight. Tears. Desperate pleas. But instead, he had signed without hesitation. Without a single word of protest. Ethan looked at her one last time. His eyes were empty. Not angry. Not sad. Just… empty. "Goodbye, Vivian," he said quietly. Then he turned around and walked away. His footsteps echoed across the concrete. Steady. Unhurried. He did not look back. Not even once. Vivian stood frozen, watching his back disappear toward the outer gates. Her heart was beating strangely fast. Her hands felt cold. For a brief, flickering moment, something twisted in her chest. Something uncomfortable. Almost like regret. But she shook it off quickly. He was just pretending. Playing the noble martyr. Acting strong to salvage his pathetic pride. Men always did that when they lost. They puffed up their chests and pretended they did not care. But she knew the truth. Deep down, he was broken. Destroyed. And soon enough, reality would crush him completely. Vivian let out a breath and smoothed down the front of her dress. She glanced at the signed divorce papers in her hand and smiled. It was done. She was free. Free to rise. Free to build her empire. Free to stand beside someone who actually mattered. She pulled out her phone, her fingers moving quickly across the screen. The call connected after two rings. "Marcus?" Vivian's voice was sweet again. Playful. All traces of coldness gone. "It is done. I divorced him." On the other end of the line, Marcus Ashford's smooth, confident voice replied. "Good girl. I knew you would not disappoint me." Vivian laughed softly, leaning against her car. "He signed it without even putting up a fight. Tore up the check I gave him like some kind of hero." She rolled her eyes. "Pathetic." "Forget about him," Marcus said dismissively. "He is nobody. A worthless ex-convict. You made the right choice." "I know." Vivian twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "So, is everything ready for tonight? The meeting with the Sterling executive?" "Everything is in place," Marcus assured her. "I have arranged a private room at the Sapphire Club. Very exclusive. Very discreet. This executive has… particular tastes. But if we play this right, the partnership deal is as good as ours." Vivian's eyes gleamed. "And the girl? Did you bring her like I asked?" There was a pause. Then Marcus laughed. It was a low, dark sound that made Vivian shiver with excitement. "Yes," he said slowly, savoring the words. "His blind sister is already at the club.” CHAPTER 4 Ethan walked through the final checkpoint in silence. The heavy steel gates groaned as they swung open. The sound echoed across the empty road. For three years, those gates had been a wall between him and the rest of the world. Now they were opening. For him. For good. He stepped through. And stopped. The sight before him was unlike anything he had expected. A long line of black luxury cars stretched down the road. Twenty. Maybe more. Each one gleaming under the afternoon sun. Tinted windows. Polished chrome. The kind of vehicles that cost more than entire houses. But it was not the cars that made him stop. It was the people. Standing in perfect formation in front of the lead vehicle were more than thirty men and women dressed in black suits. Their posture was military-straight. Their expressions were blank and professional. They stood so still they might have been statues. And at the very front, directly in line with the prison gates, stood a woman. She was tall and elegant, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. Her dark hair was pulled back in a sleek bun. Her sharp eyes studied him carefully, assessing him in the way a commander might assess a soldier. The moment Ethan stepped fully through the gate, she moved. She took three steps forward, stopped, and bowed deeply at the waist. Behind her, every single bodyguard bowed in unison. The sound of thirty people moving as one was almost musical. Synchronized. Flawless. "Welcome, Master Cross," the woman said. Her voice was smooth and controlled. Respectful. "My name is Claire Sterling. I am the acting CEO of Sterling Global Corporation. I have been waiting for you." Ethan nodded. This is just the woman the old man said would personally come to pick him up. What Ethan hadn’t anticipated was her breathtaking beauty — even Vivian couldn’t hold a candle to her. "I received word from headquarters this morning," she said, straightening but keeping her gaze respectfully lowered. "They informed me that the new head of Sterling Global would be released today. I came personally to receive you." She reached into her jacket and pulled out a small black box. She opened it carefully, revealing a sleek black card inside. It gleamed faintly in the light, its surface engraved with intricate gold patterns. "This is the Supreme Black Card," Claire said, holding the box out toward him with both hands. "It is the ultimate symbol of authority within Sterling Global Corporation. Only the highest leader carries this card. It grants you access to all resources, all accounts, and all personnel under our command. No questions asked. No limits." Ethan stared at the card. His mind felt slow. Foggy. Three years ago, he had been nobody. Just a man trying to protect the woman he loved. He had taken the blame for her crime and walked into prison willingly, thinking that sacrifice would mean something. But while he was locked away, an old man had found him. A man who saw potential in him. A man who had given him knowledge, training, and power beyond anything Ethan had ever imagined. That old man had been the true owner of Sterling Global Corporation. One of the largest and most powerful organizations in the world. He had built it from nothing, piece by piece, over decades. And when age and exhaustion finally caught up to him, he had chosen to disappear. Not to die. But to step away from the corruption and greed of the world. He had gone to prison not as a criminal, but as a man seeking peace. And there, in that unlikely place, he had found Ethan. The old man had tested him. Trained him. Passed down every secret he knew. And when the time came, he had named Ethan as his successor. Now, Ethan Cross was no longer a nobody. He was the head of an empire. Ethan reached out slowly and took the black card from the box. It was heavier than it looked. Claire bowed again. "All of Sterling Global is now under your command, Master Cross. What are your orders?" Ethan closed his hand around the card. He looked at Claire. Then at the rows of bodyguards. Then at the line of luxury cars waiting silently behind them. For a moment, he felt nothing. No pride. No excitement. No sense of victory. Just emptiness. Because the one person he had wanted to share this with had just thrown him away like garbage. Ethan's jaw tightened. He forced the thought aside. There was no time to think about Vivian now. No time to dwell on betrayal or heartbreak. There was something far more important. Someone far more important. His sister. Lily. She was the only family he had left. The only person in the world who had ever truly loved him. When their parents died, Ethan had raised her himself. He had worked multiple jobs to keep a roof over their heads. He had stayed up late helping her navigate a world she could not see. And when he went to prison, he had entrusted her care to Vivian. He had begged Vivian to take care of Lily. To keep her safe. To make sure she was fed, sheltered, and protected. Vivian had promised. But now, after seeing the coldness in Vivian's eyes, after hearing the cruelty in her voice, a dark fear began to crawl through Ethan's chest. If Vivian could betray him so easily… What had she done to Lily? Ethan's hand tightened around the Supreme Black Card until his knuckles turned white. He looked up at Claire Sterling. His expression was calm, but his eyes were hard. "Take me home. I need to find my sister.” CHAPTER 5. The convoy moved through the city streets in silence. Ethan sat in the back seat, his hands resting on his knees. He stared out the window, watching familiar neighborhoods pass by. Streets he had walked a thousand times. Corners where he had waited for buses. Shops where he had bought groceries for his sister. Everything looked the same.But everything had changed. Claire sat across from him, her phone pressed to her ear. She was speaking in low, clipped tones, coordinating with her team. Ethan heard fragments of her conversation. Locations. Names. Addresses. But his mind was elsewhere.He was thinking about Lily. About the last time he had seen her. Three years ago. The morning before the police came to arrest him. She had been crying. Clinging to his sleeve. Begging him not to go. "I will be back soon," he had told her, stroking her hair. "I promise. And when I come back, everything will be better." He had believed it then. He had believed Vivian would take care of her. That his sacrifice would mean something. That love was worth protecting. What a fool he had been. Claire ended her call and looked at him. "Master Cross. We are almost there." Ethan nodded but said nothing. The car turned onto a narrow residential street. Old apartment buildings lined both sides. Faded paint. Cracked sidewalks. Laundry hanging from balconies. This was where he had lived. Where he had raised Lily after their parents died. It was not much. But it had been home. The car slowed to a stop in front of a small three-story building. Ethan's apartment was on the second floor. Unit 2B. He stepped out of the car and froze. The front door to the building was wide open. Not just unlocked. Open. Swinging slightly in the breeze. Ethan's jaw tightened. He moved toward the entrance, his footsteps quick and purposeful. Claire and two bodyguards followed close behind. He climbed the stairs two at a time. His heart pounded in his chest. Something was wrong. He could feel it. He reached the second floor.The door to Unit 2B was also open. And from inside came the sound of voices. Loud. Harsh. Accompanied by the crash and scrape of heavy objects being moved. Ethan stepped through the doorway.And his blood turned to ice. —----- The apartment was being destroyed. Three workers in dirty coveralls were dragging furniture out of the living room. A sofa, a table and chairs. They moved carelessly, roughly, as if the items were garbage. The walls were bare. Picture frames had been torn down and tossed into piles. Books were scattered across the floor. Broken dishes lay in pieces near the kitchen. But it was what he saw in the center of the room that made Ethan stop breathing. Two framed photographs lay on the floor. His parents. The glass was shattered. The frames were cracked. And across the surface of both photos were dirty boot prints. As if someone had walked over them. Stepped on them. Ground them into the floor. Ethan's hands slowly curled into fists. Those photographs were all he and Lily had left. Their parents had died when Ethan was fifteen and Lily was only eight. A car accident, the police had said. Sudden and tragic. No one to blame. But Ethan had always wondered. The details had never made sense. The timing had been too convenient. Too clean. He had buried his suspicions and focused on survival. On raising Lily. On keeping them both alive. And now, the only memory he had of his parents was being trampled under the feet of strangers. "Careful with that!" a sharp female voice barked. "Do not scratch it. That armchair is expensive." Ethan's gaze shifted. A woman stood near the window, arms folded, watching the workers with a critical eye. She was in her fifties, heavyset, with dyed red hair and too much makeup. She wore a fur coat despite the warm weather and gold jewelry on nearly every finger. Ethan recognized her immediately. Vivian's mother. Mrs Hart. She had never liked him. From the moment Vivian introduced them, she had looked at him with barely concealed disgust. A poor man with no family and no prospects. Not good enough for her daughter. And now she stood in his home, ordering his belongings to be taken away. One of the workers bent down to pick up a small object from the corner of the room. It was old and worn, its fabric faded and stitched in places. A rag doll.Lily's doll. She had owned it since childhood. It had been a gift from their mother. Lily carried it everywhere, even after she grew too old for toys. She said it made her feel safe. The worker tossed the doll toward a garbage bag. "Wait," a younger male voice said lazily. A man in his twenties stepped forward. He was thin and wiry, with slicked-back hair and an arrogant smirk. He wore an expensive leather jacket and sunglasses even though they were indoors. Vivian's younger brother.David Hart. He snatched the doll out of the air before it hit the bag. He looked at it with mock curiosity, then grinned. "The blind girl used to drag this around everywhere, right?" He said, holding it up. Mrs. Hart laughed. "She clung to it like a security blanket. Pathetic." David chuckled and dropped the doll onto the floor. Then, deliberately, he stepped on it. He twisted his heel, grinding the doll into the dirty floor. "There," he said, smirking. "Now it matches the rest of this trash." Mrs. Hart cackled. "Good riddance. That girl was always useless. Born a burden. What kind of life is it, being blind? She should have been sent away years ago." She turned toward the shattered portrait of Ethan's parents and spat on the floor near it. "And these two?" she sneered. "Bad luck. That is what they were. Dying and leaving their brats behind. Now we have to clean up the mess." Ethan's vision went red. His entire body trembled. Not from fear. Not from sadness. From pure, unfiltered rage.He took one step forward. The floorboard creaked under his weight. Mrs. Hart and David both turned. Their eyes widened. "You…" Mrs. Hart's face twisted in surprise. Then in anger. "What are you doing here?" Ethan did not answer. He simply stared at them. His expression was calm. Too calm. Like the surface of water before a storm. Mrs. Hart recovered quickly. She stepped forward, jabbing a thick finger into Ethan's chest. "This house," she hissed, her breath sour, "is compensation. Compensation for the years my daughter wasted on you. She gave you three years of her life while you rotted in prison. This is the least you owe her." Ethan's eyes did not leave hers. Mrs. Hart's confidence grew. She jabbed his chest again, harder this time. "And that useless blind sister of yours?" she sneered. "We got tired of feeding her. So we sent her to a friend of Marcus's. Someone who knows how to take care of special girls like her." Her smile was cruel. Mocking."She is probably serving him right now.” CHAPTER 6 For a long moment, Ethan said nothing. He simply stood there, staring at Mrs. Hart. His face was blank. Empty. Like a statue carved from stone. Mrs. Hart mistook his silence for weakness. Her sneer widened. "What?" she mocked. "Nothing to say? No brave words now that you are out of your little cage?" Behind Ethan, Claire stood near the doorway. Her hand moved subtly toward her phone, ready to signal the bodyguards waiting outside. But Ethan raised one hand slightly. A small gesture. Barely noticeable. Wait. Claire's hand stopped. She watched him carefully, her expression tense. Ethan's voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet. Dangerously quiet. "Where is my sister?" Mrs. Hart blinked. Then she laughed. A harsh, grating sound. "Did you not hear me the first time?" she said. "We sent her away. To someone who can actually use her for something. Unlike you, who just kept her around like a useless pet." "Where is she?" Ethan repeated. His tone had not changed. Still quiet. Still calm. But there was something beneath it now. Something dark. Mrs. Hart's smile faltered slightly. She felt a strange chill run down her spine. But she shook it off. This was Ethan Cross. Nobody. A criminal fresh out of prison. What could he possibly do to her? "You dare speak to me like that?" she hissed, her face reddening. "After everything my daughter did for you? After she wasted three years waiting for a worthless" "Where... Is. My. Sister." The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Mrs. Hart's breath caught. For a moment, she saw something in Ethan's eyes. Something that made her stomach twist. But she tried to ignore it. She raised her hand and swung it toward his face. A slap. Hard and vicious.Ethan's hand moved. Fast. So fast Mrs. Hart did not even see it. His fingers closed around her wrist, stopping her hand inches from his cheek. Mrs. Hart gasped. She tried to pull her arm back. But Ethan's grip was like iron. Unmoving. Unbreakable. "Let go of me!" she shrieked, her voice rising in panic. "Let go!" Ethan did not let go. He simply looked at her. His eyes were cold. Empty. Like looking into an abyss. Mrs. Hart's face went pale. Her knees trembled. The arrogance drained from her expression, replaced by raw, primal fear. "You…" she whispered. "You…" David Hart, who had been watching from the side, finally snapped out of his shock. "Hey!" he shouted, stepping forward. "Get your filthy hands off my mother!" He pointed a finger at Ethan, his voice rising with false bravado. "Do you know who we are? Do you know who backs us now? Marcus Ashford. One of the four great families. If you touch us, he will bury you." Ethan's gaze shifted to David. Slowly. Deliberately. David felt his throat go dry. "We have connections now," David continued, his voice cracking slightly. "Powerful connections. Marcus can have you thrown back in prison with one phone call. He can make you disappear completely. So if you know what is good for you, you will let my mother go and get out of this house." Ethan released Mrs. Hart's wrist. She stumbled backward, clutching her arm, her chest heaving. David smirked, thinking Ethan was afraid. "That is right. Know your place. And that blind little tramp?" David stepped closer, his confidence fully restored now. "She is probably at the club right now," David said, his grin widening. "Moaning under some rich man. That is all she is good for anyway. A pretty little doll who cannot see what is happening to her. Honestly, we should have sold her years ago. Would have saved us a lot of trouble." The room went silent. Even the workers had stopped moving. They stood frozen, sensing something terrible about to happen. Mrs. Hart, still clutching her wrist, looked at her son. "David, maybe you should" She did not finish. Because Ethan moved. One moment he was standing still. The next, his hand shot forward. A single strike. Palm open. Aimed at David's chest. It looked almost casual. Effortless. But the sound that followed was like thunder. CRACK. David's body lifted off the ground. His eyes went wide with shock. His mouth opened in a soundless scream. He flew backward. Not stumbled. Not fell. Flew. His body hurtled through the air, arms flailing, legs kicking uselessly. He crashed into the far wall with a sickening. THUD. The plaster cracked. A spiderweb of fractures spread across the surface. Dust and debris rained down. David collapsed to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Blood spilled from his mouth, dark and thick, pooling on the floor beneath him. His body twitched once, twice then went still. He lay there, gasping for air, his eyes rolling back in his head. One of his arms was bent at a strange angle. His ribs rose and fell rapidly, each breath wet and rattling. Mrs. Hart screamed. The workers dropped what they were holding and backed toward the door, their faces pale with terror. Claire, still standing near the entrance, did not move. She had seen violence before. But this… this was different. That had not been the strike of an ordinary man. That had been the strike of someone trained. Someone dangerous. Ethan walked forward slowly. His footsteps echoed in the silence. He stopped beside David's broken body and looked down at him. David's eyes were wide with fear and pain. Blood bubbled at the corners of his mouth. He tried to speak, but only a wet, choking sound came out. Ethan crouched down. He placed his foot on David's chest. Then he pressed down. David screamed. A raw, broken sound. "You have one last chance. Answer my question. Now.” Ethan’s voice was cold. CHAPTER 7 David's scream died in his throat, replaced by shallow, gasping breaths. Blood continued to seep from the corner of his mouth, staining his expensive leather jacket. Mrs. Hart stood frozen near the window, her hand pressed against her mouth. Her eyes were wide with terror. She had never seen anything like this. Her son, her arrogant, confident son, was lying broken on the floor like a discarded toy. And the man responsible stood over him with the calm expression of someone watering plants. "Please," Mrs. Hart whispered, her voice trembling. "Please, he is my son. He did not mean" Ethan's gaze shifted to her. Just for a moment. But it was enough to make her words die in her throat. David's mouth opened and closed. He tried to speak, but only wet, choking sounds came out. His body trembled. Tears mixed with the blood on his face. Ethan pressed down slightly harder with his foot. David screamed again. The sound was raw and desperate. His hands clawed uselessly at Ethan's leg, trying to push him off. But it was like trying to move a mountain. "S-stop," David gasped. "Stop… please…" "Then answer me," Ethan said coldly. David's entire body was soaked in sweat. His breathing was rapid and shallow. He could feel his ribs grinding against each other with every breath. Something inside him was broken. Maybe several things. And he knew, with absolute certainty, that this man could take his life effortlessly. "Sapphire Club," David choked out. The words came out in a wet, desperate rush. "She is at the Sapphire Club. That is where we sent her. That is where she is." Ethan's expression did not change. "When?" "T-today," David stammered. "A few hours ago. Marcus arranged it. He said there was a client. Someone important. Someone who wanted…" His voice broke. "Someone who wanted a girl like her." Ethan's jaw tightened. The only sign of emotion he showed. He leaned down slightly, his face now inches from David's. His voice dropped to a whisper. "If you dare to lie," Ethan said slowly, each word deliberate, "you will die." It was not a threat. It was a promise. David's eyes went wide. He nodded frantically, blood spraying from his lips with each movement. "I swear. I swear I am telling the truth. Sapphire Club. VIP section. That is where she is. I swear." Ethan held his gaze for a long moment. Then he stood. He removed his foot from David's chest. David immediately curled into a ball, gasping and wheezing, coughing up blood onto the floor. Ethan turned away from him without another glance. The three workers stood pressed against the wall, their faces pale, their bodies trembling. They did not move. Did not speak. They simply watched as Ethan walked across the room. He stopped in front of the shattered portrait of his parents. For a moment, he just looked at it. The cracked glass. The torn frame. The boot prints across their faces. Then, slowly, he bent down and picked it up. He cradled the frame carefully in his hands. Gently, as if it were something precious. Something sacred. He used the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away the dirt and dust. He brushed off the boot prints as best as he could. His movements were soft. Tender. Behind him, Mrs. Hart watched in silence, her face still pale with fear. She did not dare speak. Did not dare move. Ethan straightened, holding the portrait against his chest. Then he turned and walked toward the door. Claire stepped aside to let him pass. She glanced briefly at David's broken body on the floor, then followed Ethan out. The apartment fell silent. Only the sound of David's wet, labored breathing filled the room. --- Mrs. Hart stood frozen for several long seconds. Then, slowly, her legs gave out. She collapsed onto the nearest chair, her entire body trembling. One of the workers cautiously approached David. "Should we… should we call an ambulance?" Mrs. Hart did not answer. She simply stared at the doorway where Ethan had disappeared. Her son was lying on the floor, possibly dying. And all she could think about was the look in Ethan's eyes. Cold, empty and absolute. She had seen men angry before. She had seen men violent before. But she had never seen a man who could break another human being with such calm indifference. David coughed weakly, blood pooling beneath him. "Mom…" he whispered. "Help…" Mrs. Hart's hands shook. She pulled out her phone and dialed for an ambulance. Her voice was unsteady as she gave the address. When she hung up, she sat in silence for a moment. Then her fear began to shift. Slowly, it twisted into something else. Hatred.Her lips curled into a snarl. Her hands clenched into fists. "He thinks he can do this to us," she hissed under her breath. "He thinks he can walk in here and act like some kind of king." She looked toward the door, her eyes filled with venom. "But he will not stay arrogant for long," she spat. "That club… the Sapphire Club. It is not just any club. The owner is one of the most powerful men in this city. His influence is second only to Sterling Global Corporation itself. The government respects him. The underworld fears him." Her smile returned. Cruel and satisfied. "If that fool goes there and causes trouble, he will not walk out alive. The owner will crush him like an insect." She laughed. A low, bitter sound. "Let him go. Let him dig his own grave.” CHAPTER 8 Ethan stood outside the apartment building, his phone pressed to his ear. "I need a pickup," he said quietly. "Now." On the other end of the line, Claire Sterling's voice was sharp and immediate. "Location?" Ethan gave her the address. The one David had choked out through blood and broken teeth. The Sapphire Club. "Understood," Claire said. "I will have transport there in three minutes." "Three minutes?" Ethan repeated. "Yes, Master Cross. Three minutes." The call ended. Ethan slipped the phone back into his pocket. He looked down at the portrait in his hands. His parents' faces stared back at him through the cracked glass. He had already placed it carefully in the back seat of one of the cars. Safe and protected. Now there was only one thing left to do. Find Lily. Bring her home. Behind him, Claire approached. "Master Cross, the helicopter is already in the air. It will arrive shortly." Ethan nodded but said nothing. His jaw was tight. His hands were clenched at his sides. Somewhere in this city, his sister was suffering. And every second he stood here was another second she spent in pain. The sound came exactly three minutes later. A deep, rhythmic thumping that grew louder and louder. The air around them began to vibrate. Dust lifted off the street. A black helicopter descended from the sky, its rotors slicing through the air with deafening force. It landed in the middle of the narrow street, its side door sliding open immediately. Ethan climbed inside without hesitation. Claire followed. The door closed. The helicopter lifted off. And Ethan's expression grew colder with every passing second. --- Inside the VIP hall of the Sapphire Club, dim red lights cast long shadows across the room. Expensive liquor flowed freely. Men in tailored suits lounged on velvet sofas, their voices loud and slurred. Women in glittering dresses hung on their arms, giggling at jokes that were not funny. But the center of attention was not the drinks or the women. It was the cage. It sat in the middle of the hall, a crude iron structure barely large enough for a person to stand upright. The bars were thick and rusted. The floor was stained dark with old blood. And inside the cage was a girl. She was small. Fragile. Her long brown hair hung in tangled strands around her pale face. Her white dress was stained with dirt and blood. Her bare feet were covered in cuts and bruises. A thin iron shackle wrapped around her left ankle, chaining her to the floor of the cage. Her eyes were open, but they saw nothing. She was blind. Lily Cross sat curled in the corner of the cage, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her body trembled. Not from cold but from fear. Her fingers clutched something tightly against her chest. A small leather pendant, worn and faded. The metal edges had darkened over time. Inside it was a photograph. The only photograph she had left of her and her brother. Ethan had given it to her on her birthday. Three years ago. The day before he went to prison. "Keep this safe," he had told her, fastening the chain around her neck. "So you never forget that I am coming back." She had not taken it off since. Now, it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely. Outside the cage, Vivian Hart stood with her arms crossed, leaning comfortably against Marcus Ashford. She wore a sleek black dress and diamond earrings. Her makeup was perfect. Her smile was cold. She looked at Lily the way someone might look at a stray dog. With disgust. "This blind thing," Vivian said lazily, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "After all these years, she is finally useful for once." Marcus chuckled and kissed her temple. "I told you she would come in handy." Their gazes shifted toward the man standing a few feet away. Richard Langley. He was a high-ranking executive of Sterling Global Corporation. A man with power, influence, and connections that reached into every corner of the business world. He was also a man with very specific tastes. Richard's eyes swept over Lily's injured body. Her bleeding feet. Her empty, sightless eyes. A slow, twisted smile spread across his face. "She is more interesting than the ones who throw themselves at me," he said quietly. Vivian's smile widened. She turned to Marcus, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "I told you this would work. You were brilliant to think of bringing her here." Marcus straightened, pride swelling in his chest. "I know what men like Richard want. Something different. Something helpless." Richard stepped closer to the cage, his eyes never leaving Lily. "She is obedient?" "Completely," Vivian said quickly. "She cannot see. She cannot fight. And she is too afraid to scream." She paused, then added with a sweet, flattering tone, "Of course, we would need your help in return. A small favor. Just a word to the chairman about our partnership proposal." Richard chuckled. "A word? My dear, with my position in the company, I only need to speak once. Your application will land directly on the chairman's desk." Vivian's eyes gleamed. Marcus squeezed her hand. Around them, the other guests murmured with envy. "A partnership with Sterling Global," one man whispered. "Do you know what that is worth?" "They are so lucky," another woman said. "To have Richard Langley's favor like that." Someone else leaned closer to their companion. "Did you hear? Sterling Global is inaugurating a new chairman today." "Really?" the companion replied. "Who is it?" "No one knows. But apparently, Claire Sterling herself went to pick him up. In person." "Claire Sterling? The CEO?" "Yes. Someone said they saw her outside a prison earlier today. With dozens of cars. Bodyguards everywhere." "A prison?" The companion laughed. "Why would a chairman be coming out of a prison?" "I have no idea. But it must be someone important." Vivian, who had been half-listening to the conversation, suddenly froze. A prison. That morning, she had been at Northgate Federal Prison. Divorcing Ethan. If she had stayed longer… if she had not wasted time on that worthless man… maybe she could have seen the new chairman herself. Maybe she could have caught his attention. Her jaw tightened. Her fingers curled into fists. What a waste. Her anger flared. She turned sharply toward the cage and kicked it hard. CLANG. The iron bars shook violently. Lily, who had been sitting still, lost her balance. She fell forward— —straight onto the iron spikes lining the bottom of the cage. A sickening tearing sound filled the air. Lily screamed. A deep gash opened on her arm, blood pouring out immediately. Her entire body convulsed in agony. She tried to pull herself up, but her hands slipped on the blood-slick floor. Instinctively, she clutched the pendant around her neck even tighter. Blood from her palm dripped down the chain. Vivian saw it. Her eyes locked onto the pendant. She reached through the bars, grabbed the chain, and yanked. Hard. The metal links dug into Lily's throat. She choked, gasping for air, her hands clawing uselessly at the chain. SNAP. The chain broke. Vivian pulled the pendant free and held it up, examining it with disgust. "Trash from a convict," she sneered. "And you treat it like treasure?" She dropped it onto the floor. Then she raised her heel.And stamped down. Hard.The pendant cracked. The glass inside shattered. The photograph tore. Lily's sightless eyes went wide. Her hands reached out frantically, desperately searching for it. "No," she whispered. "Please… please…" Vivian slapped her. The force was so great that Lily's head snapped to the side. She slammed into the cage bars. Blood streamed from her forehead. Vivian grabbed her chin and forced her head up. "You should be grateful," Vivian hissed. "Grateful that I did not let you starve to death all these years. Now Mr. Langley has taken an interest in you. So you are going to behave. You are going to be useful." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "And if you dare resist… I will have someone cut your tendons. Then I will throw you into the red-light district and let every man in this city use you until there is nothing left." Lily's entire body trembled. By now, more guests had gathered around the cage. Some whistled obscenely. Others laughed. Marcus stepped forward, a leather whip in his hand. He prodded Lily's bleeding wound with the tip. She cried out in pain. "Crawl out of the cage," Marcus ordered. "By yourself." Lily shook her head weakly. "Please… please, I cannot…" Richard's voice cut through the noise, cold and sharp. "If you do not obey immediately," he said quietly, "I will make sure your prisoner brother does not survive tomorrow." Lily's breath caught. Her brother Ethan. Despair crashed over her like a wave. She could endure anything for herself. She had endured everything already. But she could not let her brother die because of her. Physical agony and psychological despair shattered her will completely. She knew she could not escape. So she gritted her teeth. Endured the excruciating pain wracking her body. And slowly bent her knees. Her hands touched the blood-stained floor. Just as her knees were about to follow BOOM! The heavy wooden doors of the hall exploded inward. Fragments of wood flew everywhere. Guests screamed. Some dove for cover. A voice rang through the entire hall. Cold. Sharp and lethal. "Stop.”

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