Middle East

A dim yellow lamp sat on the desk, casting a warm glow over the spacious, luxurious room. On a brown leather sofa not far away, a man with an unmistakable British-gentleman vibe leaned lazily against the cushions. His pale, slender fingers twirled a glass of red wine taken from the coffee table, sipping it with refined ease. He glanced at the watch on his wrist, deep-set eyes locked on the tightly shut door—clearly waiting for something.

Knock knock—

Just as the hands hit nine o’clock, the knock came on cue.

“Come in.” His voice was laid-back but magnetic, hitting right to the core.

The door pushed open. A man in black entered, wearing sunglasses. His face was sharp, emotionless. He took off his glasses and respectfully handed over a brown envelope.

Veronica Emerson, heir to the Tokugawa Emerson Group. Rh-negative, blood type O.

“Head back to Tokugawa tomorrow.”

“Understood, young master.”

As the man silently withdrew, Veronica casually set the papers aside, walked to his desk, picked up an old photo frame from the corner, smiled gently, and pressed a soft kiss to it with closed eyes.

Ring ring—

The cold sound of a phone cut through the room. He answered. The moment he listened, a chill swept across his perfect face. Hanging up, he headed straight out.

A sleek black sports car rolled to a stop outside an abandoned factory. Before the engine even cooled, several figures jogged toward him.

“Young master!”

“What’s the situation?” he asked, striding toward the already-open doors of the warehouse.

“One batch of goods got seized... and the bastard took off with the money! Damn it!”

The one talking was a broad-shouldered, dark-skinned man with a fierce look in his eyes. The more he spoke, the angrier he got—he ended up kicking a metal barrel nearby, sending it crashing across the ground.The empty warehouse echoed with the clatter of the oil drum Edmund Cole kicked over. Everyone instantly fell silent, sneaking glances at each other. In the Terror Gang, Edmund’s temper was legendary—that kind of guy whose fuse was practically non-existent. Everyone in the biz knew that if you pissed him off, he’d blow up your whole base without batting an eye, no discussion needed.

“There’s a rat, boss!” Edmund snapped through gritted teeth, straight to the point.

Smack—

The sharp slap cracked through the air. The whole place froze. The fire in Edmund instantly vanished, like someone dumped ice water over him. He went quiet real fast.

“Say one more word and I’ll shoot you right here.”

With Veronica Emerson’s icy stare locked on him, Edmund rubbed his cheek and backed off, face stiff, standing off to the side. No one dared move or speak, holding their breath for what came next.

A middle-aged man was shoved hard to the ground, face bleeding, terrified eyes locked on the young man aiming a gun at him.

“Please, Boss! I swear I’ll never do it again!”

“Oh? Begging now?”

Veronica mocked the words, twisted a grin, then fired. The bullet hit the man’s thigh, blood spurting instantly. The sharp gasp from the crowd made it clear—no one expected a mole to be hiding right under their noses, especially not one Veronica himself sniffed out. That guy was doomed.

Bleeding from both legs, the man sobbed as he stared at the growing pool of blood beneath him. The pain was screaming through his body. No one stepped in. Nobody dared.

Veronica crouched, pulled a cloth from his pocket, wiped down the gun, and chuckled, “Heard you have a daughter. Since you’ve been so ‘loyal’ all these years, might as well let her carry on the family tradition, huh?”

“No! Please—!”

The desperate cry barely left his lips before a shot rang out. Blood bloomed on his forehead. His eyes stayed open as he collapsed lifeless into the crimson mess.

“His daughter will do nicely to calm the guys down after tonight’s mess.”

“Thanks, Boss!” Cheers exploded from the crowd. The raw excitement felt like it could tear the roof off.