From Prison To Power

After years of rotting behind bars for a crime he didn’t commit… one orchestrated by his own wife instead, Glenn Avery is finally released, clothed in nothing but prison rags and carrying the parting gifts of his fellow inmates. But Glenn isn’t just a free man. He’s a man reborn. On the day of his release, however, instead of a welcome or even a shred of remorse, he’s met with divorce papers, delivered coldly by an arrogant stranger. No apology. No second chances. Instead, he was shoved in the face with a cheque and threatened to never speak about the past, having no idea that the man they betrayed wasn’t the same weak, powerless Glenn from before. He’s now a dragon cloaked in human skin. A man forged in isolation. Sharpened by betrayal. Hardened by time. Behind his seemingly ragged appearance is a man of a terrifying identity and power—someone whom warriors would serve without question, kings would kneel before, and emperors would fear crossing. A man whose presence commands respect… or destruction.

From Prison To Power

After years of rotting behind bars for a crime he didn’t commit… one orchestrated by his own wife instead, Glenn Avery is finally released, clothed in nothing but prison rags and carrying the parting gifts of his fellow inmates. But Glenn isn’t just a free man. He’s a man reborn. On the day of his release, however, instead of a welcome or even a shred of remorse, he’s met with divorce papers, delivered coldly by an arrogant stranger. No apology. No second chances. Instead, he was shoved in the face with a cheque and threatened to never speak about the past, having no idea that the man they betrayed wasn’t the same weak, powerless Glenn from before. He’s now a dragon cloaked in human skin. A man forged in isolation. Sharpened by betrayal. Hardened by time. Behind his seemingly ragged appearance is a man of a terrifying identity and power—someone whom warriors would serve without question, kings would kneel before, and emperors would fear crossing. A man whose presence commands respect… or destruction.

From Prison To Power

Rex Magnus | Urban | Comedy, Action, Third-Person POV, Arrogant, Hidden Identity, Protective, Alternate Universe, Cultivation, Face-Slapping

INTRO

After years of rotting behind bars for a crime he didn't commit… one orchestrated by his own wife instead, Glenn Avery is finally released, clothed in nothing but prison rags and carrying the parting gifts of his fellow inmates.

But Glenn isn't just a free man. He's a man reborn.

On the day of his release, however, instead of a welcome or even a shred of remorse, he's met with divorce papers, delivered coldly by an arrogant stranger.

No apology. No second chances.

Instead, he was shoved in the face with a cheque and threatened to never speak about the past, having no idea that the man they betrayed wasn't the same weak, powerless Glenn from before.

He's now a dragon cloaked in human skin.

A man forged in isolation. Sharpened by betrayal. Hardened by time.

Behind his seemingly ragged appearance is a man of a terrifying identity and power—someone whom warriors would serve without question, kings would kneel before, and emperors would fear crossing.

A man whose presence commands respect… or destruction.

….

Spoiler:

From Prison to Power is a pulse-pounding urban revenge saga filled with brutal comebacks, explosive drama, powerful women, and a protagonist who's equal parts madman and legend.

Chapter 001 – Blackthorn Bastille

*****

Blackthorn Bastille.

Speak its name, and you can feel the temperature drop.

It is the most dreaded prison on the planet—a place where not even ghosts dare to linger.

A place with an escape rate so low, it rounds off to less than zero.

This fortress of torment is located in a region so unforgiving that even the weather has anger issues.

Boiling heat by morning, bone-splintering cold by night.

It's as if Mother Nature herself wanted in on the punishment.

But the inmates here? They're not petty criminals or tax evaders.

No!

They are living myths.

Mercenary warlords with kill counts longer than phonebooks.

Bloodthirsty mafia dons whose whispers topple regimes.

Shadowy billionaire criminals who once played chess with global economies and nations.

And mad scientists who probably thought ethics were a suggestion.

Names so infamous that just hearing them can cause riots, stock crashes, and sleepless nights for world leaders.

To be sent here isn't just a death sentence. It's worse.

At least with execution, you die once.

In Blackthorn Bastille? You die a little every damn second.

Whether it's the psychotic climate, the fellow prisoners who could rip out your spine because you looked at their sandwich wrong, or the hellspawn wardens who hand out punishments like candy—this place makes Hell look like a spa weekend.

The world knows its name and even fears it.

And once you're in, there are only two ways out: one, you get officially released, and two… you leave it in pieces, ideally inside a body bag.

….

Deep within the heart of this wretched hellhole, in a vast, cavernous assembly hall, thousands of inmates sat in haunting silence.

Every single one of them—an embodiment of terror, a nightmare given form.

Men who were inked from skull to toe with horrifying sigils.

Hulks that looked like they'd been sculpted out of tanks.

One guy in the back looked like he ate other bodybuilders for breakfast.

Protein shakes? Nah, he snorted raw testosterone.

Even the ones who looked clean, quiet, and delicate emitted an invisible miasma of death.

They always say never judge a book by its cover—but in this hall, from the monstrous figures to the ones with deceptively innocent faces, it's painfully obvious: not a single soul here is innocent.

The aura they exuded by just sitting still—the constant haze of bloodlust around them, the piercing looks in their eyes… how else would you recognize beings of legend and terror if not by this?

Yet... something was wrong.

Despite their intimidating presence, the atmosphere was bizarrely gentle.

These men—these beasts… currently looked broken.

That's right.

Every single one of them had eyes filled with grief at this moment, reluctance, and something even rarer than remorse among killers: emotional devastation.

You'd think someone just told them the dearest person to them, who had kept them moving and living all these years, had died.

The room was so quiet it felt like oxygen itself refused to move.

The eyes of some people glistened with unshed tears.

Some even sniffled—though none dared admit it.

Only the rhythmic pounding of thousands of pained heartbeats echoed… until—

Tap… Tap… Tap…

Footsteps echoed, soft, unhurried, and almost weightless.

Given the size of the hall, the sound should've been drowned by sheer scale.

But in this pin-drop silence, it hit like thunder.

And when those footsteps hit their ears, a collective tension flooded the room.

In the following second, knuckles clenched and muscles tightened.

The pain in their expressions greatly intensified.

One might expect this reaction was for someone revered—an ancient figure who had shielded them, protected them and led them like a father.

But instead…

Tap… Tap… Tap…

The footsteps grew closer.

And finally, from the towering doorway at the front of the hall emerged a young man no older than twenty-five.

He wore nothing more than faded jeans and a plain shirt that looked like it hadn't seen sunlight in years.

He should have looked insignificant.

Yet, for some reason… the air bent around him.

His face was handsome, yes—but it wasn't beauty that held their eyes.

It was the calm, the quiet certainty in his step, the gravity that made every breath in the room pause when he entered.

He was the reason these devils cried… the reason legends wept.

And when he appeared, it felt like gravity had increased tenfold.

Every soul present instantly felt their chest tighten.

Then, like a dam breaking—

"I-Is this really happening…?"

A deep, gravelly voice croaked, trembling with disbelief, like someone watching their world crumble.

"No! I wished this day would never come! I prayed—every day—that he'd stay with us forever," another wailed, sounding like a 300-pound toddler losing his teddy bear.

"Master Glenn… is really leaving us?"

"Who'll protect the weak inmates from the savage from now on?"

"Who'll stop the wardens when they come for our blood as they had done before his arrival?"

An emotional outburst rang through the air—something so raw and unexpected, it would shake the outside world to its core if word of it ever got out.

However, the young man to whom all this was directed appeared utterly calm and unfazed.

This young man is Glenn Avery, worshiped by every single person in the prison and feared alike.

He possesses an unraveled strength, something he didn't have before he was sentenced.

During his first few months in the prison, he had been weak, constantly bullied by every single inmate, and almost lost his lifetime without a number, but then by a lucky encounter, he met his now-deceased master, who trained him in the act of cultivation, impacting him with both knowledge and power.

And now… although he appears to be one of the youngest, his appearance looking so weak and ordinary compared to the terrifying inmates that surround him, he is the sole ruler of Blackthorn Bastille.

….

Glenn's gentle smile never faltered even a bit as he walked calmly into the inmates' midst.

He didn't speak, instead, he calmly watched them as their voices rose.

Only when their cries reached their peak did he finally open his mouth?

"Will you lot stop throwing tantrums like children already?" he uttered.

The words weren't scolding, and they weren't angry. No. They sounded tired, helpless, and resigned.

However, the moment they sounded, they hit harder than any thunderclap.

Every voice instantly died.

The dismayed voices died down instantly, leaving the hall so silent that one could hardly even hear the sound of breathing.

With this, Glenn scanned the room, meeting every tear-filled, bloodshot gaze.

Then, he chuckled softly.

"All of you cry about wanting freedom every damn day, unable to wait to return to your lives in the outside world and show off everything you have learned and gained," he said. "But now that I finally get to leave, you're sobbing like widows. Are you all cursing me to die in here?"

As soon as the prisoners heard him, they were stunned, then they exchanged gazes.

'That seemed to be true,' they thought in unison.

'Are we… being selfish?'

Their expressions shifted, guilt blooming within them like rot.

In the next second, some scratched their heads, and the others looked down in shame.

Witnessing this, Glenn rolled his eyes speechlessly, shoved his hands into his pockets, and turned.

"I'm going now. Try not to burn this place down after I'm gone."

Without hesitation, he stepped forward, ready to leave when…

"Master Glenn!!"

A voice stopped him—old, gravelly, yet powerful.

Standing at the front of the crowd was a man in his late seventies; his back was straight, and his presence appeared immense.

This was a man who once commanded half the criminal underworld from a throne of blood.

Before Glenn arrived and displayed his power, this man had been the prison's king.

One of the two supreme rulers among the inmates

His name was Dante Salvatore, the infamous leader of the Crimson Vow Syndicate—a mafia empire so feared that his name alone could halt military convoys.

But now?

Dante looked like a beaten hound, his eyes sunken and his shoulders low, an image that the outside world would have never imagined for someone of his fearsome reputation.

Glenn paused and slightly turned his head.

"What's wrong, old man?" he asked, his voice edged with barely concealed urgency—like someone itching to be anywhere else.

Dante instantly gritted his teeth, stepped forward, and slowly pulled out a blood-red emblem from his coat.

Its surface bore the sigil of the Crimson Vow: a serpent devouring a crown.

"Master, as much as it hurts me that you are leaving us, this must happen sooner or later. You're far too powerful… too important to be locked away in a place like this," he said hoarsely. "So please…"

He knelt—knelt before the young man, a sight that would have turned the outside world into utter chaos and commotion.

"Take it. This is the symbol of my empire. With it, the entire Crimson Vow will obey your command without hesitation. We'll die if you ask. We'll kill without question. Just say the word."

The hall became breathless once more.

The Demon King of Blackthorn had just been offered a throne—no longer in the prison, but now in the outside world.

And this… was only the beginning.

Chapter 002 – Departing Gifts of The King

*****

The air stood still for a heartbeat—then a wave of sharp gasps erupted from the prisoners like synchronized detonations.

Their eyes widened, their mouths parted, and some even staggered back a step.

They had all heard it. No one in this godforsaken place hadn't.

Dante Salvatore, the legendary architect of the Crimson Vow Syndicate, was handing over his life's empire... just like that?

Just like that?!

It was lunacy, madness, and unfathomable.

And yet it was real.

Shock turned to disbelief. Disbelief to envy.

But strangely enough, the envy wasn't aimed at Glenn—the young man standing still as stone, his arms lazily folded and gaze impassive.

No.

They envied Dante Salvatore.

Yes. The old devil himself, as though he'd just scored the rarest treasure in existence.

It was an absurd thing to envy the man who was essentially giving away his blood, sweat, and legacy.

And yet, they understood.

Oh, they understood too well.

Because while he was offering the full weight of his life's work, what he might receive in return—if Glenn accepted—was something even more valuable: protection, power, and a chance at redemption from the man who was rumored to be untouchable.

This wasn't a gamble.

It was an investment. And a damn smart one at that.

Silence reigned again, broken only by the subtle grating of chains and shifting feet—until a raspy voice snarled low.

"That cunning, two-faced bastard… always one move ahead of me."

It came from Jericho Baines, the second most powerful man behind bars, ruler of the prison's other major faction before Glenn's appearance.

His teeth clenched so hard his gums paled, and he glared daggers at Dante Salvatore, his nostrils flaring like a provoked bull.

And then—without waiting—Jericho stormed forward.

Before anyone could even blink, he bent into a surprisingly elegant knell before Glenn, his hand offering up a sleek obsidian-black card.

"Master Glenn." Jericho's tone was smooth, syrupy, and almost reverent. "This is an Obsidian card. It contains a… modest sum. I hope it assists you a little on the outside."

Everyone: "…"

Dante Salvatore: "…"

'Contains a modest amount?'

Their mouths twitched.

The man was a financial juggernaut.

If Jericho called it modest, then the rest of them would consider it an imperial treasury.

And just when they thought the spectacle had peaked…

"I would also like to offer you my daughter's hand in marriage. She is—without exaggeration—one of the top-tier beauties in the entire nation. Elegant, intelligent, and… only slightly younger than you."

Dead silence.

Dante Salvatore's temple twitched.

'Since when did this scheming fossil learn how to suck up with such style! Also, why hadn't I suggested this first? Only if I also have a daughter!'

Their eyes locked. Sparks practically flew.

Somewhere in the air, invisible sabers clashed with fury.

For the first time, Dante regretted having no daughter, knowing that Jericho would definitely get miles ahead of him if Glenn decided to accept his offer.

Meanwhile, the crowd? They looked ready to weep.

'Damn it! These two old monsters are always first to the pie!'

The rest of the inmates stood there like defeated gamblers.

Hopeless, regretful, and wishing they had squirreled away better connections.

Maybe if they'd owned a few shares in the outside world, they could've also joined the bidding war.

Instead, they were just side characters. Background noise.

But before anyone could groan too loudly—

"I don't want your bribes," Glenn said flatly, his voice suddenly slicing the air like a sword.

It was cold, blunt, and uncompromising.

Everyone turned to him like he'd grown wings.

Was he crazy? Or just… Glenn?

But after thinking for a second, everyone calmed down.

They had known Glenn long enough to know that this was just the kind of person he was, blunt and never moved by anything.

"Master Glenn…"

Both Dante and Jericho called out simultaneously, desperation leaking into their usually confident tones.

"Please acce—"

Glenn raised a single finger, silencing them instantly.

"You," he pointed at Dante Salvatore, the Crimson Vow's monarch. "Your syndicate… I don't need it. It belongs to you. And once you're out of here, what will you have left if you give it up?"

Dante opened his mouth, but Glenn shut him down with a glance.

"And even if I took it," Glenn scoffed. "I'm not exactly built for running a mafia. Sounds exhausting."

Dante flushed red, his jaw grinding in frustration.

Not giving a fuck, however, Glenn turned toward Jericho Baines, his eye narrowing.

"As for you… have you forgotten I'm already married?"

Jericho blinked.

Then, Glenn's tone changed, softer—yet somehow fiercer.

"My wife… no matter how beautiful your daughter is, she wouldn't even be one percent of my wife's worth."

Boom.

That line didn't just hit—it detonated.

Every jaw dropped, and every eyebrow climbed into the sky.

Glenn's bluntness was a storm, and they were all caught in the winds.

Dante looked like he'd been slapped with a frozen tuna.

Jericho's face twisted, caught somewhere between heartbreak and indigestion.

Their dreams of climbing the Glenn ladder were crumbling fast.

But just as disappointment was about to crush them—

"I'll take this, though," Glenn muttered, unceremoniously snatching the obsidian card from Jericho's trembling hand. "Consider it repayment. For all the years I shielded you from the wolves."

Jericho: "…"

Dante: "…"

Everyone else: "…"

'He… he accepts the card?'

Jericho blinked like he couldn't believe it—then abruptly straightened up, his face gleaming with satisfaction and worship.

"THANK YOU, MASTER GLENN!"

Glenn arched a brow.

'Who the hell thanks someone for robbing them?'

Meanwhile, Dante became anxious, seeing that Glenn had just received one of Jericho's parting gifts.

He bowed deeply. "You protected me for years, too, master. I would lose sleep knowing I never gave you anything in return!"

Glenn squinted, mulling it over.

"…Fine. But I'm not taking over the syndicate. I'm allergic to paperwork."

"I…" Dante's voice cracked.

From the corner of his eye, he caught Jericho's smug smirk.

His fists instantly clenched, and his soul wept. He had to act fast.

Then—lightbulb.

Dante reached into his coat and pulled out a crimson-gold armband, encrusted with tiny symbols.

"Master Glenn… please accept this. It is the emblem of the Crimson Vow Syndicate. A symbol of authority… and respect."

Glenn stared at him blankly.

"…You really want to rope me into your mafia soap opera, huh?"

Dante bowed deeply. "I beg you."

Glenn sighed like a man being forced to eat vegetables.

"…Fine."

He snatched the armband with a shrug, tossed it into his pocket alongside the black card, then turned on his heel and walked away without another word.

Behind him, Dante grinned in triumph.

Jericho cursed under his breath.

And the rest of the prisoners looked like orphans watching someone else get adopted—again.

Chapter 003 – A Cold Welcome

*****

The air outside the prison walls hit Glenn Avery like a thunderclap of freedom, sharp and invigorating.

It wasn't just fresh—it was alive, and for the first time in years, he could feel the sun properly kiss his skin.

No rusted bars, no grimed ceilings, just open skies.

He stood at the edge of the dock, having disembarked from the final transport: a speedboat driven by a jittery prison warden who looked ready to dive into the water at the slightest wrong move from him.

Glenn ignored the man's twitching hands and trembling lips.

He took a deep inhale of the crisp sea breeze.

"Out. Finally." His voice was low but intense.

"I, Glenn Avery, am free after all this damned time."

He clenched his fists, veins bulging from the tension beneath his skin.

There was fire in his eyes, but also… anticipation.

He scanned the desolate coastline.

"Wait… Where's the welcoming party?" His brows creased in confusion. "Where's... my wife?"

Then, like fate's cruel joke lining up the punchline, a sleek white BMW coupe purred its way toward him, and seeing it, Glenn's expression lit up like a Christmas tree.

"That's gotta be her! My girl never fails me!"

He laughed under his breath and sprinted toward the vehicle, his arms ready to catch the love of his life.

The car stopped, and the driver's door opened.

Out stepped not his wife, but a woman with the energy of a nuclear warhead.

Her chin tilted upward so high it might snap, her heels clicking with deliberate pomp.

She strutted like she owned not just the road—but the world.

Dressed in a razor-sharp designer suit and dark shades, her presence was more suffocating than the prison walls he had just escaped.

Glenn slowed, a dark cloud forming over his head.

'Who the hell is this peacock?'

She strutted up to him and sized him from head to toe, her upper lip twitching in clear disgust.

She didn't speak immediately—only examined him like a roach had crawled out of her Gucci purse.

"Glenn Avery, I assume?" She finally spoke, her voice dripping with distaste, every syllable sharper than a dagger.

"Uh… yeah?" Glenn replied, frowning hard.

"Mm. I figured." She flipped open her purse with an elegant sneer and daintily retrieved a folded paper, holding it by the corner like it was radioactive waste.

"Here. Don't touch my hand with the prison body of yours."

Glenn blinked. His confusion deepened.

"What's this?"

"Can't you read?" she snapped, clearly annoyed she even had to be here.

Glenn couldn't be bothered with her, so he unfolded the paper.

In the following second, however, his breath caught.

"...Divorce?"

"Obviously," she replied like she was speaking to a toddler. "It's from my boss. Were you expecting a kiss? Maybe a parade?"

Glenn stood there, stunned, his eyes flicking back to the paper as though it might change with another look.

"She… she's divorcing me? Now?"

The woman rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't fall out.

"Of course. And honestly? It's overdue. My boss is about to marry Young Master James of the Koch family—ever heard of the Koch family? No? Let me educate you. They could bankrupt a nation before breakfast and buy it back for dessert. So yeah. She's upgrading."

Before Glenn could say a word, she shoved another slip of paper into his chest.

"And this—this is your thank-you gift. One million dollars. Compensation for taking the fall and rotting in that jailhole in her place. Personally, I told her she was being overly generous."

Glenn's jaw dropped. His hands trembled.

"Wait… wait, what? She actually gifted me a divorce letter on my release day? And this—this money's for what I did?"

The woman let out a scoff that could freeze lava.

"You seriously didn't think she was going to wait for you, did you? Look at you—drenched in prison sweat and smelling like a cellblock. My boss is sipping champagne in penthouses now."

As she turned back toward her car, she paused.

Pivoted slowly, like a final boss.

"One more thing, inmate," she said, her voice now colder than the Arctic. "Forget everything. If you ever breathe a word about your past with her, the Koch family will erase your entire bloodline. Got it?"

She didn't wait for a response.

She sauntered to her car, slammed the door, and floored the gas like she was peeling out of a crime scene.

Glenn didn't chase her.

He couldn't.

He just stood there. Frozen.

His mind was an exploding whirlwind of shock, betrayal, confusion, and disbelief.

'Marrying someone else… not even meeting me after all these years away… after I took the fall… a million-dollar goodbye…?'

'I was her shield. Her sacrifice. And now I'm discarded like trash?'

Minutes passed. The world moved, but Glenn didn't.

He was a statue—until...

VROOOM!

VROOOOOM!

VROOOOOOOM!

The ground trembled as a fleet of roaring engines filled the air.

Glenn looked up slowly.

Descending upon him was a convoy of black, customized luxury SUVs—each one worth more than the divorce settlement he'd just been slapped with.

The vehicles halted in unison with military precision, and the doors swung open.

Out stepped nearly a dozen men in jet-black suits and designer sunglasses.

Their presence radiated power and lethal professionalism.

One of them, clearly the lead, stepped forward and bowed respectfully.

"Master Glenn. We have prepared the Presidential Suite at Imperial Zenith Hotel, a five-star hotel, for your arrival."

Glenn, still dazed and reeling from what had just happened, simply nodded his head and stepped into the nearest SUV without a word.

The door shut behind him with a satisfying thud, and as the convoy peeled away in style, one thought rang loud and clear in Glenn's head:

'This… isn't over.'

Chapter 004 – A Beauty Offering Herself To Be Taken

*****

"Just drop me off at the outskirts of the city," Glenn Avery finally spoke, breaking the long, contemplative silence that had shrouded him ever since the convoy began its journey.

His voice was low, unhurried, and laced with a detached serenity, but the weight behind those simple words was enough to startle the driver and the sharply dressed man seated beside him in the front passenger seat—the leader of the security convoy.

The two exchanged quick glances, the leader arching an eyebrow.

"Master Glenn, do you have a business you wish to attend to personally? We could wait nearby or escort you directly and then proceed to your hotel afterward," the man asked cautiously.

Glenn didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he shifted his gaze to the window, silently watching the cityscape blur past.

What was once familiar had now transformed into a bustling metropolis of lights and motion.

The buildings were taller, the roads were sleeker, and the billboards flashed products and stars he'd never seen before.

So much had changed… so much that everywhere felt entirely unfamiliar to him.

"I'm not staying at the hotel you prepared," Glenn stated at last, his tone resolute, not leaving room for discussion.

The air in the vehicle instantly grew thick with unease.

"You... you won't be staying at the Imperial Zenith hotel? That's a top-tier facility, sir! A presidential suite with private butlers and a panoramic skyline view!" the team leader blurted out, his voice cracking slightly from shock. "Master Glenn, if it's not to your liking, we can book you the Sky Haven Palace or even a private estate—"

No," Glenn interrupted, this time with a slight edge. "Just drop me off. I'll handle myself from there."

The team leader hesitated for a brief moment but quickly remembered the iron command given to him before he came to Xavier—never question Glenn Avery's decisions, no matter how baffling or unconventional they seemed.

"Understood, sir," he replied, reaching for his walkie-talkie. "All units, halt at the city's outskirts. Master Glenn's instructions are to be followed without question."

Within minutes, the sleek, bulletproof convoy of obsidian-black SUVs came to a graceful stop on a quiet, elevated road just outside the city.

The entire setup was fit for royalty—each vehicle polished to a mirror finish, engines humming like tamed beasts.

As soon as the cars stopped, Glenn stepped out with his simple backpack slung over one shoulder.

He adjusted the strap casually, then made a nonchalant hand gesture as if shooing away paparazzi.

The men in tailored black suits exchanged baffled looks.

This man—who had just refused an elite hotel and voluntarily stepped out of a multimillion-dollar convoy, something anybody, even them, would have died to have—was now strolling down the road like a wandering poet.

But what could they do?

"Take care, Master Glenn. Should you require anything—anything at all—we're just one call away," the team leader said, giving a deep bow before signaling the convoy to depart.

In the next second, engines roared, tires turned, and just like that, the convoy vanished into the distance.

Glenn stared after them for a moment before letting out a small chuckle.

"Rolling up in a luxury convoy and crashing at a five-star hotel? Tch. That'd be asking for unnecessary attention. What kind of low-profile return would that be?" he muttered, adjusting his backpack again as he began walking toward the city, his pace unhurried.

The city had grown brighter, louder, and taller in the years he'd been gone.

It was almost unrecognizable.

Yet, beneath the concrete glamor and the glinting skyline, he could still feel its heartbeat.

After a while, he flagged down a beat-up yellow cab.

"Just take me to a simple hotel," he said. "Nothing fancy. Somewhere quiet."

The cabbie, an old man with fuzzy eyebrows and a questionable mustache looked Glenn up and down—shirt slightly wrinkled, dusty sneakers, but a posture too confident for a homeless man.

He simply shrugged. "Sure, buddy. I've got just the dump—I mean, place."

….

Eventually, Glenn arrived at a modest roadside hotel called Maple Rest Inn, the kind of establishment where the bell at the front desk was louder than the staff.

He stood outside for a few seconds, eyeing the faded sign and flickering lights.

It looked like it hadn't seen a renovation since the dinosaurs roamed.

Perfect.

"This'll do just fine," he whispered with a small nod.

The receptionist, a lanky teenager too busy playing a mobile game, barely looked up as he tossed Glenn a key card with room number 203.

The room was… basic.

The bed looked small, barely for two people, and the walls were thin enough to hear someone cough in the next room.

But for Glenn, after years of prison walls and steel bunks, it felt like heaven.

He tossed his backpack onto the one rickety chair, stripped off his clothes, and walked straight into the bathroom.

For the first time in years, he took a hot shower—a real shower.

Not a bucket. Not cold water in the dead of winter.

A glorious, steaming, muscle-relaxing downpour.

"God bless water pressure," he murmured, his eyes closing as he stood under the stream for what felt like an eternity.

It was nearly an hour before he finally turned the faucet off.

He stepped out, wrapped a towel around his waist, and was toweling off his hair when—

BANG!

The door suddenly shook like it had been dropkicked.

Glenn's eyes snapped toward it, his body tensing up.

BANG!

The second impact nearly dislodged the door. Then, it burst open.

Glenn's fists instinctively clenched, a sort of invisible energy gathering around him, and his eyes slowly turning cold.

Just as he was about to attack, thinking it was an enemy or someone with bad intent, he froze.

Standing in the doorway was not an attacker, not a burglar, and not a rival.

But a goddess.

A young woman stumbled into the room—a woman so unnaturally beautiful that Glenn almost doubted she was real.

Her skin glowed like porcelain.

Her lips were plump and naturally pink.

Long ebony hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall of silk.

Her figure too? It was dangerously perfect… an hourglass figure, something any lady would die to have.

And the gemstone necklace that sat perfectly on her collarbone? It seemed perfectly made to complement her beauty, adding an aura he couldn't quite comprehend to her.

Glenn almost forgot himself, staring at the goddess in human form, but he managed to shake himself awake.

"Miss… you've clearly got the wrong room," he said quickly, waving his hand awkwardly while backing away. "Seriously, wrong door."

But she didn't respond.

Instead, she stared at Glenn for a moment, then... she pounced—leaping into his arms like a cat in heat.

"Please!" she gasped. "Please… I need you!"

Glenn's brain flatlined.

"I... huh?! Wait, what?! LADY?!"

The woman clung to him like she was trying to become one with his soul, her lips dangerously close to his.

Glenn panicked, internally screaming but outwardly frozen.

'Is this a prank? Did I just step into a soap opera?! Is there a hidden camera crew somewhere?!'

She kept murmuring. "I need it… now... please..."

Glenn was no saint, but he also wasn't a creep.

He grabbed her wrists gently but firmly. "Okay, time out. You're clearly not in your right senses."

With calm precision, he checked her pulse—and immediately, his expression darkened.

"A drug?" he muttered. "Someone has definitely slipped her an ultra-concentrated aphrodisiac."

His frown deepened as he examined her energy flow. What he discovered nearly made his jaw drop.

"If she doesn't receive… ahem… 'release' within the next two hours, her internal energy will overload, and… she'll explode and die?"

He stared at her, still wildly attempting to latch onto him like a hormonal octopus.

"This… this is not how I expected my first day from prison to go…"

She looked up at him again with watery, desperate eyes.

"Please… save me… I… I will die."

He swallowed hard. He was neither a eunuch nor impotent.

Chapter 005 – Doing The Deed

*****

Glenn had barely processed what was happening when a rush of blood surged through his body, betraying him faster than logic ever could.

He wasn't made of stone, and the insane beauty clinging to him like her life depended on it? She was a walking fantasy in distress.

And she wasn't letting go.

Like a starving soul stumbling upon a feast, the world-toppling beauty, who had yet to give her name, clung tightly to his body, frantically rocking against him as though she were chasing warmth in a snowstorm.

Glenn groaned under his breath, swallowing hard.

Years of abstinence had trained his willpower... but only to a point.

His fists clenched. He was a man, not a monk.

"I should stop this... I really should stop this..." he muttered to himself, locking his arms to keep her at bay.

But her scent, her touch, her desperate pleas, and her condition—they were overwhelming.

"I'm not doing this because I want to..." he whispered, trying to convince himself.

"I'm saving a life. A noble deed. A dying damsel," he added with mock conviction, as though quoting scripture.

The words had barely left his mouth before something primal awakened inside him.

With this, a guttural growl escaped his throat, and in the blink of an eye, he scooped the woman into his arms and jumped into the bed with her.

"Forgive me, lord," he muttered. "But I can't let a beauty die on my watch."

What followed could only be described as chaos in slow motion.

A cry of pain escaped the woman's lips, and a single tear slipped down her cheek—but then, like a switch flipped, the madness returned to her eyes.

Her desperation gave way to exhilaration, and she moved with renewed vigor, clinging to Glenn like a lifeline.

The storm lasted for hours.

The walls groaned, the bed begged for mercy, and the pillows took flight. Time lost all meaning.

And finally—mercifully—after hours that felt like an eternity had passed, both Glenn and the mystery woman collapsed, exhausted, breathless, and completely unconscious.

The room? A disaster zone.

And the two of them? They knocked out cold, like a couple of gladiators who had just fought to the death... and then some.

…

The next morning.

"Ugh…"

A soft, pitiful, and painful groan echoed through the room.

In the next second, the woman—Irene stirred first. Her body ached in places she didn't even know could ache.

She blinked blearily, her vision swimming, and her head pounding like a war drum.

Then she turned and… she saw him.

An incredibly handsome man, roguishly so, sleeping peacefully... In her bed.

No.

Her eyes widened in horror as she saw the unfamiliar surroundings. Then panic rose fast and sharp, like icy water in her lungs.

"Where am I? What… happened?!"

Her voice was raspy, barely above a whisper.

Her limbs trembled, and she sat up, moving slowly, as if the wrong motion might cause the world to shatter.

In the next moment, pain came in.

A sharp, undeniable soreness that confirmed the unthinkable.

Her face went pale… paler than snow, and her breaths became ragged, wild.

And then… snap.

Her expression shifted.

In an instant, as though flipping a switch, gone was the disoriented girl from moments ago. In her place now stood a fury-driven demoness, wrath blazing in her eyes.

Without a word, she launched herself at Glenn, murder flashing in her gaze.

…..

Glenn, meanwhile, was currently lost in a peaceful dream, a blissful smile heavily painting his face.

Until suddenly—

WHAM!

A spike of killing intent pierced the air, snapping him awake faster than any kind of caffeine ever could.

His eyes shot open in the next instant, and his combat instincts kicked in immediately.

Without hesitation, he rolled off the bed just in time to avoid Irene's strangle and weight, which slammed into the mattress with enough force to crater it.

He leapt back, his breathing sharp and muscles tense.

"WHO'S TRYING TO KILL ME?!" he shouted.

Then he saw her.

The same beautiful lunatic from last night, now glaring daggers at him like he was the devil himself.

The moment their eyes met, her voice exploded in the room.

"You… YOU RAPIST!"

Glenn blinked, utterly dumbfounded. "Excuse me?!"

"I'll kill you!" Irene screamed, lunging ferociously at him again.

He dodged calmly, frustration creeping in. "Lady, can we not start the morning with attempted murder?"

"You took advantage of me!" she yelled, her voice cracking with rage and shame.

Glenn lifted both hands in a gesture of peace, still completely naked. His body was lean, yet strikingly defined—each muscle shaped with such precision it looked like he'd been carved from marble by a master sculptor.

Despite the tension, he stayed remarkably composed, even appearing amused.

"Alright, just stop for a second," he said calmly. "You barged into my room yesterday, clearly drugged. I checked your pulse—you were minutes away from total organ failure!"

Irene paused, freezing mid-swing.

"Drugged?" she repeated, perplexed.

"Yes! Someone must have slipped you a concentrated aphrodisiac! If I hadn't done what I did… something you have begged for, almost even raping me in the process, you would have been a corpse right now."

Irene ignored his playful mockery. Instead, she hesitated, and just then, Glenn pressed on.

"You clung to me like a lifeboat in a hurricane and initiated everything. I even tried to resist—tried being the key word. But when you're crying, begging for help, and throwing yourself at me like a hungry tiger…"

He sighed dramatically. "What choice did I have? I'm a gentleman, after all. A hero, even. So I had no choice but to sacrifice my innocence and essence to save you. Honestly, I should get a medal for it."

Irene stared at him, her mouth agape.

A long, awkward silence followed.

Then, Glenn cracked his neck, groaning. "Honestly, I should be the angry one here. You barged into my cheap hotel room, turned it into a warzone, and now you want to kill me after I saved your life? What kind of thank-you is that?"

She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Nothing came out.

"Don't worry," Glenn said calmly, grabbing his towel. "You don't have to fall in love with me. Just don't stab me before breakfast."

Chapter 006 – Glenn's Vow

*****

Irene remained seated on the bed in silence, her body stiff, her gaze fixed blankly ahead.

Even after Glenn had finished recounting the entire night's events in detail, she sat there like a statue carved from confusion and disbelief.

His bold words, dripping in shameless self-praise, barely registered in her ears. She didn't even flinch at his ego-fueled declarations. Instead, her mind spun in a turbulent whirlwind of shock, piecing together every word, every clue, every hazy memory.

'Drugged? Me?'

'How?'

Her heart continued to pound against her chest with increasing intensity.

Her eyebrows furrowed so tightly that they seemed stitched together, and the beginnings of a deep crease burrowed into her forehead.

'Who could've done that? Why would anyone go that far?' Her thoughts scattered like shattered glass, impossible to gather.

'I didn't even eat anything strange… I never touch food from—'

She suddenly froze, something seeming to click in.

In the next second, Irene's eyes widened, and then her lips parted slightly as a wave of horror washed over her, draining the color from her face.

She looked like she'd been struck by a mental lightning bolt.

"If I remember correctly…" she muttered to herself, her voice dry and low, her throat tightening. "Right after I drank that wine… the one James had handed to me… my body started feeling… off. Like it didn't even belong to me anymore."

She swallowed hard, her pulse thudding like war drums in her ears.

Her mind went back to the one who had smiled so warmly at her the previous day, pouring the wine also for himself and toasting with her.

Her breathing faltered as though her lungs had forgotten how to function.

She instinctively wanted to deny it, to shake it off, to tell herself she was overthinking.

……

While Irene continued grappling with the tidal wave of realization, Glenn, completely oblivious to her mental collapse, stood in front of the mirror, putting on his drab, over-worn prison clothes with the confidence of a man donning a tailored Armani suit.

He admired his reflection with a proud nod, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulders.

Meanwhile, Irene remained curled in the duvet on the bed, her thoughts spiraling, her form unmoving.

To Glenn, she looked like someone who had just found out that she had just lost her entire life savings in a scam—plus the family estate, car, and dog.

"What's she mumbling about now?" Glenn wondered to himself upon hearing her mutter, glancing sideways at her with mild curiosity.

He had no clue what existential crisis was unfolding in Irene's head. Instead, he assumed it still had to do with what had happened between them.

Eventually, the silence became too heavy—even for him.

So, with a casual stretch and an expression of utter seriousness, Glenn dropped a bombshell, trying to cheer her up.

"You do realize that sharing a bed with me is the kind of thing most women only get to dream about, right?"

His words hit the air like a car crash.

Irene, who was still lost in the shock of her recent realization, blinked slowly, her eyes twitching.

But before she could think of a response…

"You don't have to act like your life is over," he added, showing a serious concern. "I mean, I'm not just any man, after all. I'm me."

'Huh?'

Irene's jaw dropped to the ground.

But before she could think of a response, Glenn let out a long, theatrical sigh, placing a hand dramatically on his chest as though he were about to make a vow of eternal loyalty.

"And since I've taken your… first time—even though what I did was nothing but a heroic act purely to save your life," he said, his voice low and brimming with a seriousness that couldn't be feigned, "I've made a bold, noble decision. I'll take responsibility for you."

Irene: "…"

She stared blankly at Glenn. Once. Twice. As if trying to figure out whether this man was for real—or just the best actor the universe had to offer, trying to make her feel less bad.

She had originally wanted to clear the misunderstanding of Glenn assuming her silence and heavy mood were her being affected by what had happened between them.

She had wanted to tell him not to overthink it. That they both had been victims of circumstance.

But now?

Watching him stand there, half-proud, half-saintly, like some righteous hero descending from heaven in crusty pants and a torn shirt, she had no idea how to react.

Ultimately, Irene's eyes dropped subconsciously, scanning Glenn from head to toe.

His outfit was a disaster. Something not even her family's maids would use to clean the floors. And here he was… talking about taking responsibility for her?

She wasn't the type to look down on anyone, and whether below or above her, she treated everyone the same, with respect and humane feeling.

But Glenn…

Her lips couldn't help but curve into a scornful smirk. She didn't need to speak. Her eyes said everything: Who the hell do you think you are?

Glenn noticed the look.

But instead of shrinking, he chuckled softly, as if he'd just heard a joke she didn't understand.

"Don't be so quick to judge a book by its tattered, ruggedly handsome cover," he said with a wink. "Beneath this exterior lies a legend."

Irene felt her brain cells withering.

Glenn leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice as if about to reveal a government secret.

"Not to brag," he whispered, "but I'm actually the strongest man you'll ever meet. Both spiritually, mentally, and physically. I'm basically a walking miracle."

Irene blinked again.

'Was he… for real?'

She couldn't respond, further stunned into silence.

She had no idea whether to call him delusional or just very committed to being absurd.

Glenn, on the other hand, stared at her like a prophet awaiting applause. But when none came, he frowned slightly.

"You don't believe me?" he asked, incredulous.

The look of disdain on her face was answer enough.

He chuckled, undeterred. "Ah… I see. You must be unfamiliar with my background, which is understandable. So I'll forgive your ignorance."

With this, Irene officially ran out of facial expressions.

Should she laugh? Should she cry? Should she clap?

Finally, however, she heaved a deep sigh.

"I've met all sorts of arrogant and conceited young masters in my life," she said slowly, sounding like a teacher scolding a slow student. "But for someone who looks like he just crawled out of a recycling bin, you sure have a lot of nerve."

She stood gracefully, tightening the duvet around herself like armor. Then her expression shifted—cool, calculating. She had a score to settle.

She decided to get dressed and leave.

But before she could act—

A voice rang out from the hallway, dripping with rage and malevolence.

"Are you absolutely certain she came into this room?!"

Glenn didn't flinch.

Irene, however, froze, her eyes suddenly widening in alarm, her breath catching.

But before she could speak—

Bang!

The door slammed open with enough force to shake the walls.

Following this, a young man looking to be in his early thirties stormed in like a madman wearing a fashion label.

His designer clothes were immaculate, but his face was twisted in fury. Behind him followed four muscular bodyguards exuding menace like cologne.

"What's up with this culture of barging into people's rooms uninvited like this?" Glenn muttered to himself, deadpan.

With this, he turned to the furious newcomer, about to tell him he had entered the wrong room—but the man's expression stopped him cold.

"So—it's true!"

The young man's voice suddenly cracked with fury, his trembling finger aimed squarely at Irene.

His face was contorted with disbelief, heartbreak, and pure, unfiltered rage.

Glenn blinked.

"Wait—what's this about?"

"YOU BASTARD!" the man shrieked suddenly, turning his fury toward Glenn like a missile locking onto its target.

His eyes were bloodshot, his teeth clenched like he was moments from snapping.

"How DARE you, you filthy peasant! Touch her?!"

"You—you think you can defile my woman and live?! You are dead meat today! I shall make sure to bury your entire bloodline with you!"

His voice was venomous—deranged, even, echoing like thunder before the storm.

With his sanity leaving the chat, the young man waved to his guards with manic fury.

"What are you fools still staring at?! Break him already! Snap his bones—one by one! I want him begging for mercy!"

The guards instantly stepped forward, each radiating a pressure that distorted the air.

Chapter 007 – One Punch, One Down

*****

James Koch was beyond enraged at this moment.

Furious didn't even begin to cover what he felt—no, he was seething, livid, driven to the brink of madness.

Last night was supposed to be his moment. The night everything finally went according to plan. The night he would finally claim what he had obsessively longed for.

He had meticulously plotted every detail, spending millions just to acquire an aphrodisiac so potent that the government had outright outlawed it—due to its alarming ability to induce uncontrollable desire or even cause death.

He had slipped the drug into Irene's wine, fully expecting her to fall into his arms, powerless to resist.

He had even taken the drug himself, just to make sure he could keep up with her once its effect kicked in.

But due to one inexplicable, agonizing twist of fate, he had entered the wrong hotel room.

Instead of awakening next to the youthful goddess he had fantasized about since the day he set his eyes upon her… he had woken up next to someone's grandmother.

A wrinkled, saggy-skinned elder woman—her snores still echoing in the room as he shot up from bed in utter horror.

It was only then that he realized the full scale of his mistake. And now…

As he stood inside the crumbling, old-fashioned hotel room, barely able to keep his breathing steady, completely disorganized from the result of what he found difficult to accept, his face was a portrait of fury and humiliation.

He had turned down the finest hotels in the country, left his comfort, and rented a room here so he could do everything he wanted without being questioned, yet… someone else had eaten the work of his labor while he ended up being defiled in the most grotesque way imaginable.

To say he had lost his mind was an understatement. James Koch had gone berserk.

—

Meanwhile, Irene…

She hadn't moved an inch since James had barged in like a madman.

Instead, her lips parted slightly, her expression frozen in stunned realization.

Because now—there was no doubt left in her heart.

The truth… it had finally, undeniably taken shape.

Just moments ago, she had still clung to the hope that everything was a mistake. That somehow, someway, someone else had drugged her.

James was her brother-in-law after all.

She had tried to convince herself that it wasn't him, that it was a mix-up. A coincidence.

But now, standing here, seeing the sheer rage in his eyes, the way he stared not at her but at Glenn—his jealousy, his frustration, his madness—it all fit together like pieces of a horrific puzzle.

There was no mistaking it anymore.

It was James Koch who spiked her drink, wanting to rape her.

Her breath caught in her throat, tears welled in her eyes, and her body trembled uncontrollably.

She wanted to scream.

She felt like striking him.

She felt like murdering him.

She wanted to hurl every insult she knew and demand justice.

But…

An innocent man was about to suffer because of her.

Who else could it be, if not Glenn?

She subconsciously glanced at him, and immediately, her heart sank deeper.

He looked confused at this moment. Clueless. Like a man who had just walked into a nightmare without the faintest idea why everyone was losing their minds.

In the following second guilt… crippling and overwhelming washed over her.

'And to think… I doubted him all this while,' she thought bitterly. 'I didn't believe his story.'

'I thought he made up the thing about the aphrodisiac.'

'I believed he had taken advantage of me… even when all he did was help me.'

The more she remembered, the heavier the weight on her chest became—until finally, her hands clenched into fists.

'I must protect him.'

She wrapped the bedsheet tighter around her body, concealing everything but her furious, determined face, and stepped forward, her face ablaze with rage as she stepped in front of Glenn like a lioness shielding her cub.

Pointing directly at James, her voice rang through the room like a war horn.

"You and your animals better step back right now—or I'll tell my sister everything!" she roared. "I'll expose your disgusting crime and let the world see you for the filth you are!"

Her chest heaved. She was trembling with fury, but she didn't care. Not anymore.

She was certain her words would crush him.

After all, James had done everything to win over her older sister, Selene.

He had invested years of manipulation, charm, wooing, and cunning to finally get engaged to her. And tomorrow—their engagement ceremony was scheduled.

Surely he wouldn't dare risk losing it all, right?

That was what Irene believed.

But, unfortunately for her… her mind was far too innocent for the darkness in James Koch's heart.

Instead of stepping back in fear, his expression twisted into something terrifying.

The fury in his eyes reached a fever pitch, his face contorting with pure, rabid hatred.

He trembled uncontrollably, like a machine about to explode from internal pressure.

"You… you…" He snarled, pointing at her, his voice dripping with venom and envy.

And then, he laughed.

Not a normal laugh.

No!

A jagged, maniacal, hideous laughter that chilled the air.

"This bitch finally gets laid for the first time in her miserable life and now thinks she's in heat?!" he spat, his words crueler than daggers. "Defending the scumbag who raped her?!"

He shouted it loud enough to rattle the windows.

Irene flinched—but held her ground.

And Glenn?

He looked different now.

The laid-back, disinterested, and calm man from before was gone.

A quiet intensity enveloped him.

He scanned the room—the furious James, the four bodyguards approaching with menace, and the trembling Irene standing in front of him like a human shield.

He wasn't dumb. The picture was crystal clear now.

It was James who had spiked her drink with the evil poison that he, Glenn, had unintentionally ended up saving her.

And now, he was the target.

He wasn't someone who liked getting involved in other people's drama. That wasn't his way.

But he had just promised to take responsibility for Irene, and she had also just stood up for him, shielding him.

Glenn couldn't help but stare at the back of the woman shielding him, her slender, hourglass frame shaking, yet firm.

Something stirred in his chest.

Something ancient. Forgotten.

In the following second, his heart, which had frozen and turned indifferent, fluttered back to life and became filled with admiration.

A sweet sensation bloomed within him, like warmth breaking through a bitter winter.

He almost gasped aloud.

But no.

As much as he enjoyed the feeling of being defended, he was still a man at the end of the day, and no matter how dire the situation was, he would never hide behind a woman.

That was not in his nature.

Without hesitation, Glenn stepped forward.

"So, you are the beast, worse than an animal who drugged this innocent beauty?" He asked suddenly, his voice calm and cold, sharp enough to slice through steel.

Everyone froze, and James blinked, visibly shaken.

But then his face contorted in rage and unbearable humiliation.

"Attack this eyesore already!" he barked, veins bulging from his neck. "Break that bastard's bones!"

His bodyguards didn't hesitate.

They rushed forward with thunderous steps, moving like trained predators, their eyes burning with malice and murderous intent.

Witnessing this, Irene screamed in panic

She tried to pull Glenn back to her, but it was already too late.

The men closed in like a wolf pack on him, ready to crush his bones and tear his flesh.

But—

Bang!

A fist rocketed forward.

Then, to everyone's shock, one of the bodyguards went flying, his body slamming into the wall like a wrecking ball.

Baaang!

Another followed—this one flipped mid-air before colliding with the ceiling.

Baaaang!!!

The third tried to dodge, but Glenn's knee met his ribs with a bone-crunching crack, sending him spinning like a ragdoll.

And…

Baaaaang!!!!

The last flew straight through the wall, creating a gaping hole as dust exploded through the air.

In the next second, pin-drop silence settled over the room.

Chapter 008 – Shattering James' Feet

*****

At this very moment, the entire room was frozen in disbelief.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

No one even dared to blink.

Their eyes remained glued—glued to the incredibly handsome but lean man.

Glenn.

Right now, he was standing smack-dab in the center of the chaos he had just created, looking as if he hadn't exerted the slightest bit of effort.

His breathing was calm, his stance was very relaxed, and not even his hair was out of place.

It was unnatural, as though he hadn't moved even a finger.

Every soul present stared at him dazedly for what felt like an eternity, as if they had just witnessed something otherworldly.

Their minds refused to comprehend what had just unfolded before them.

Just a moment ago, four towering bodyguards—each of whom was built like mountains and trained to subdue threats at any cost had lunged at Glenn like starving wolves.

Their combined presence alone was enough to send most people trembling. Their bulging biceps, their coordinated movement, their confidence—it had all screamed invincibility.

Yet…

They had been completely flattened and obliterated.

And it was not in some long-winded brawl. No.

Everything had happened in seconds.

Before anyone could even process the fight, the four were already sprawled across the room, groaning in pain, their massive bodies reduced to limp bags of meat.

As if that wasn't even shocking enough, Glenn proceeded to casually dust off his palms after a moment, as though he had merely brushed against a dirty wall.

That sound—the crisp clap of his hands instantly echoed like thunder in the dead silence, sending a fresh wave of dread crashing into everyone.

The hearers flinched and stepped back unconsciously, thinking another wave of destruction was coming.

But Glenn?

He simply whistled casually as though he couldn't feel the room's fear and turned his head to Irene, who looked no less stupefied.

With the same calmness, he tilted his chin toward James Koch—the supposed predator that has now turned into trembling prey—and asked nonchalantly:

"So, how do you want me to deal with that bastard for you?"

That one question instantly sent a cold shiver crawling up James's spine like a venomous serpent.

All the color drained from his face in the next second, and before he knew it, his eyes widened in abject horror.

His lips quivered involuntarily. And his legs felt like melting candle wax.

His brain screamed run, but his body refused to obey.

Glenn had just decimated his personal guards who, although they weren't among the strongest, were amongst the finest—as if they were paper dolls, and now he was asking Irene how to dispose of him?

James's chest heaved as panic choked him.

'Dear God, what have I gotten myself into?'

'Why the hell did I even show up here?!'

The same arrogant man who had swaggered into the room like a king just minutes ago was now one breath away from wetting himself.

His pride crumbled like sand under Glenn's shadow, and he almost sobbed with regret, trembling as though he was in an ice-room in the middle of a strong winter.

But then…

"You… you can't hurt him."

A soft voice cut through the thick tension, dumbfounding both James and Glenn.

They both looked for the speaker, and then their mouths opened.

Glenn's brows knit together, his expression filled with confusion. "Why?" he asked, his voice calm but brimming with questions.

Irene bit her bottom lip nervously, and then her hand slowly rose as she pointed toward James, her finger trembling.

"H-He's the eldest son of the most influential and powerful family in the region," she stammered, fear glimmering in her eyes. "If you harm him… If you even touch him… the consequence would be dire and there would be a severe retaliation which would possibly drag my family into disaster."

Glenn's jaw slackened.

He stared at Irene for a long beat, unsure whether she was serious or joking. But one look at her face, and he knew—she was absolutely sincere.

In the following second, he did not know whether to laugh or cry, thinking:

'This animal had drugged you with malicious intent… and you're still worried about fallout?'

'This guy was ready to violate you, and you're protecting him because of his last name?'

He did not know whether to admire Irene or open her head and check what was inside.

Meanwhile, James was equally dumbfounded.

He hadn't expected Irene to speak on his behalf.

His eyes flicked toward her, confused for a moment—until realization hit.

'That's right… This is my turf.'

'Who dares to lay a hand on me in MY territory?'

The arrogance he had lost moments ago came rushing back like a returning tide. The fear in his eyes evaporated like water under the sun.

In the next second, his chest swelled, and his chin lifted.

Then, he was once again the lion in his mind's jungle.

A smug smirk curled on his lips as he swaggered forward with newfound bravado.

"You heard that, don't you?" He asked arrogantly, suddenly staring at Glenn like he was filth way below him.

"But I might be willing to forgive your outrageous behavior and let go of the past," he sneered. "Maybe you just didn't know who I am."

He lifted his chin even higher.

"All you need to do is get on your knees, grovel like a dog, and beg for forgiveness. Maybe, just maybe, I'll let you walk out of here in one piece."

He paused—his eyes darkening.

Then his voice dipped, venom dripping from each word.

"…Otherwise, I'll make you pay. And trust me, the price won't be something you or your family could afford."

Silence.

Even Irene's face paled at his brazen threat while Glenn…

For a moment, he remained still.

Then—

His eyes narrowed.

His face darkened.

And the atmosphere in the room changed again, sharply.

Then without a word…

Without even the slightest warning…

He moved and:

Crack!

A deafening snap echoed as Glenn's foot smashed brutally into James's leg.

James didn't even scream right away.

His brain took a second to register the agony.

Then, he looked down, and what he saw nearly sent him into a coma.

His leg.

It was twisted at an unnatural angle—bent like a broken stick.

The bone had clearly shattered.

Finally, James's mouth opened wide as a bloodcurdling scream erupted from deep inside his lungs.

"AAAAAAAARGHHHHHH!!!"

He kicked James's leg hard, which instantly made a loud cracking sound.

James froze, unable to react for a second, and then he lowered his head.

His leg had crooked, obviously shattered.

He collapsed to the floor, clutching his leg, writhing like a wounded animal.

All that arrogance?

All that swagger?

Gone.

Now, he was just a broken man, squealing on the floor, begging for mercy through tears of agony.

Chapter 009 – Brother-in-law?

*****

Glenn towered over James with an unyielding stillness, his presence exuding an oppressive weight that seemed to suffocate the very air.

His arms folded casually across his chest, and yet, the coldness glinting in his eyes was so sharp it sliced straight through James's spine like a dagger of ice.

"If you have a problem," Glenn said coolly, his tone razor-sharp and void of mercy, "then come find me. My name… is Glenn. Glenn Avery."

He didn't shout. He didn't roar. Yet, the quiet menace in his voice struck harder than a thunderclap.

It was the kind of threat that bypassed ears and went straight to the soul.

James's entire body convulsed involuntarily.

His jaw quivered, and he swallowed the scream clawing at the back of his throat.

Not even a whimper dared to escape his lips because at that moment, Glenn didn't resemble a man anymore. No, he was a walking specter, an embodiment of wrath and authority.

To James, he looked like a demon born from his deepest nightmares. A being so far out of his league that trying to resist or retaliate was the equivalent of throwing a pebble at a raging hurricane.

And then, as if dismissing a bothersome mosquito, Glenn gave a lazy flick of his hand, as if waving off a bothersome insect.

"Off you go," he muttered without even looking at James again.

That single sentence shattered the final thread holding James's mind together.

Covered in sweat so profuse that it soaked his collar and trickled down his temples, James trembled uncontrollably. His lips barely moved as he forced out a feeble command, "Take… take me home…"

The words barely left his mouth before his eyes rolled to the back of his head, and he crumpled like a ragdoll, unconscious.

His guards—those four who had once exuded arrogance and muscle—exchanged glances of pure horror. They dared not look Glenn in the eye.

Their bodies moved instinctively, like prey fleeing a predator, as they rushed to hoist their boss off the ground. One of them fumbled, almost dropping James's limp form in his panic.

Every motion was laced with urgency, as if remaining in Glenn's presence for even one more second would be a death sentence. They dragged James away as fast as their broken pride and body would allow, limping out of the room in shameful defeat.

Meanwhile, Irene…

She had seen everything.

The calmness and casualness Glenn had worn like a second skin while dealing with James. The composure in his stance, the indifference in his eyes as he dismantled a powerful man's pride without raising his voice.

It made her heart race.

It wasn't from fear, no. It was from something far more dangerous… fascination, admiration, and finally, attraction.

She couldn't explain it, but every second that passed in Glenn's presence made her feel as though she were being pulled closer to his commanding presence, a flame she couldn't resist touching.

But beneath that warmth of admiration, a growing coldness seeped in—worry.

Grave, pulsing worry.

Why?

James may have been an arrogant bastard, but he was no ordinary man.

He was the direct heir of the most terrifying family in the region—the Kochs. A family whose influence blanketed the city like a shadow, whose wrath could level entire legacies without breaking a sweat.

"You… you need to leave. Right now," Irene said abruptly, her voice strained with urgency as she suddenly pushed Glenn toward the exit.

Glenn instantly blinked, his eyebrows lifting ever so slightly at Irene's unexpected reaction. But before he could speak—

"You need to leave the city immediately," she pressed, her voice rising in desperation. "The Koch family—if they retaliate, it won't just be you they destroy. They'll come for anyone remotely associated with you. Their reach is boundless. Their strength is unmatched. Glenn, they'll crush you."

For a moment, Glenn simply stood there, processing her frantic words. His eyes searched hers—not for answers, but for understanding. And then it clicked.

She was trying to protect him.

That realization brought a subtle smile to his lips. But instead of leaving, Glenn stood firm and simply shrugged, as if the weight of Irene's warnings were little more than a passing breeze.

"I don't know who this so-called Koch family is, and I don't want to know," he said softly, his voice steady, calm, and resolute. "But I can say with absolute certainty… they mean nothing to me."

Irene's breath hitched, her lips parting slightly as she stared at Glenn in disbelief.

How could anyone speak like that about the Kochs? That wasn't courage—that was insanity… wasn't it?

But looking into Glenn's eyes, she saw no madness—only calm. Confidence. Conviction.

"Moreover, I have something more important to deal with here," he added.

"Huh?" This finally made Irene react.

Her brows creased. "What could possibly be more important than your safety?"

Glenn didn't hesitate.

"A divorce."

He turned slightly, reached into the on the chair and pulled out a crisp divorce letter and the one-million-dollar cheque that had been shoved to him the previous day, handing them to Irene.

His jaw was clenched.

His breathing slowed.

And the emotion in his eyes turned turbulent—like a storm held at bay.

This… this was the real reason he had returned to the city in silence.

Avery.

The woman who had been everything to him.

He had sacrificed his freedom for her—five years of his life rotting away in the scariest prison in the world for a crime he hadn't committed.

He had taken the fall to protect her. To give her a future.

He had exchanged his freedom for her for a whole five years.

But the moment he was released… a divorce letter was shoved to his face.

No explanation.

No visit.

Just betrayal wrapped in silence.

'I still can't believe it,' Glenn thought, pain surging through his chest like a rising tide. 'I went to prison for her. Protected her with everything I had. And she… did this?'

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

'I need to see it for myself. I need to look her in the eyes and find out if she was really so heartless to abandon me… or if there's something more.'

He closed his eyes briefly, forcing himself to breathe.

On the other hand, Irene stood frozen, staring at the name written on the divorce letter in a daze at this moment.

It wasn't a common name.

It was Avery. Her very own sister.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Her eyes widened.

And a chill gripped her spine.

'No… no way…' she thought. Her heartbeat accelerated, a bead of cold sweat sliding down her neck.

'Was the man I just slept with… my brother-in-law?'

The realization crashed into her like a tidal wave, slamming into every corner of her mind.

Her thoughts spiraled.

'Was this a coincidence? Two people with the same name?'

No . Impossible.

The surname. The city. The timing.

It was too specific. Too aligned.

And now… now she couldn't breathe.

Her legs weakened, her mind racing with confusion, anxiousness, and something worse—dread.

'Oh my God… what have I done?'

The paper trembled in her hands as she read the name again and again, hoping it would somehow change.

But it didn't.

Avery. Her sister's name. Her sister's husband.

The man she had just spent the night with… the man whose child she might now be carrying… was her own brother-in-law.

"No, no, no…" she whispered, her voice barely audible, her face growing paler by the second.

Glenn noticed her distress immediately.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his brow furrowing with concern.

Irene looked up at him, her eyes wide with horror and disbelief.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

How could she tell him? How could she explain that the woman who had betrayed him, who had thrown divorce papers in his face after he sacrificed five years of his life for her… was her own sister?

"I…" she started, then stopped.

Her throat felt like it was closing up.

Glenn stepped closer, his expression softening with worry.

"Irene? What is it? You look like you've seen a ghost."

'Worse,' she thought. 'I've become the ghost.'

The weight of the situation crashed down on her like an avalanche.

Her sister—her own flesh and blood—had abandoned this man after he had gone to prison for her. Had left him to rot for five years while she lived in luxury and planned to marry another man.

And now, through some cruel twist of fate, Irene had ended up in his bed.

She felt sick.

"Glenn…" she whispered, her voice breaking. "I need to tell you something."

But before she could continue, Glenn's phone buzzed.

He glanced at it, and his expression immediately darkened.

"What is it?" Irene asked, momentarily distracted from her own crisis.

Glenn's jaw clenched as he read the message.

"It's from my… wife," he said, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. "She wants to meet. Tonight. To 'finalize things.'"

He looked up at Irene, and she could see the storm raging in his eyes.

"Well," he said with a cold smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Looks like I'm about to get some answers."

Irene's heart sank even further.

She knew she had to tell him the truth. But how could she, when he was about to face the sister who had destroyed his life?

How could she add to his pain by revealing that she—the woman he had just promised to take responsibility for—was part of the very family that had betrayed him?

"Glenn, wait—" she started.

But he was already moving, grabbing his jacket and heading for the door.

"I'll be back," he said without looking at her. "We'll talk when I return."

The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving Irene alone with her devastating realization.

She sank onto the bed, still clutching the divorce papers, tears finally spilling down her cheeks.

What had started as the worst night of her life had somehow become even more complicated.

She was in love with her brother-in-law.

The man her sister had thrown away like garbage.

And she had no idea how to fix any of it.

Chapter 010 – The Confrontation

*****

The evening air was crisp as Glenn made his way through the city streets, his mind a whirlwind of emotions he hadn't felt in years.

Five years of prison had taught him to bury his feelings deep, to become stone when the world tried to break him.

But now, walking toward what might be his final confrontation with the woman he had once loved more than life itself, those buried emotions were clawing their way to the surface.

Rage. Betrayal. And beneath it all, a pain so deep it threatened to consume him.

The restaurant she had chosen was upscale—of course it was.

Everything about Avery had always been about appearances, about status.

He should have seen the signs earlier.

Glenn paused outside the glass doors, catching his reflection.

He still wore the simple clothes from the hotel, still looked like a man who had just walked out of prison.

Which, technically, he had.

But the man staring back at him in the glass wasn't the same broken soul who had been led away in chains five years ago.

This man had power. Real power.

And tonight, Avery was going to learn exactly what she had thrown away.

He pushed through the doors.

The hostess, a young woman with perfectly applied makeup and a practiced smile, looked him up and down with barely concealed disdain.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we have a dress code—"

"I'm meeting someone," Glenn said quietly. "Avery Cross."

The hostess's attitude shifted immediately at the mention of the name.

"Oh! Yes, of course. Right this way, sir."

She led him through the restaurant, past tables filled with the city's elite, their conversations and laughter creating a backdrop of affluence and pretension.

And there, at a corner table with a perfect view of the city skyline, sat the woman who had once been his entire world.

Avery Cross.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered, if that was possible.

Her auburn hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders, and she wore a designer dress that probably cost more than most people's monthly salary.

She looked up as he approached, and for just a moment—a single, fleeting moment—something flickered across her face.

Surprise? Regret? Fear?

But then her expression hardened into the cold, practiced mask he had seen in his nightmares for five years.

"Glenn," she said, her voice steady but lacking any warmth. "You look… different."

He slid into the seat across from her, noting how she unconsciously leaned back, as if trying to put distance between them.

"Prison changes a man," he replied simply.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them.

Finally, Avery cleared her throat and reached for the designer purse beside her.

"I assume you received the papers?"

"I did."

"Good. Then this should be simple. Sign them, and we can both move on with our lives."

Glenn leaned back in his chair, studying her face.

"Move on," he repeated slowly. "Is that what you call what you did? Moving on?"

"Glenn, please don't make this harder than it needs to be—"

"Harder?" His voice remained calm, but there was an edge to it that made her flinch. "You think this is hard for you?"

Avery's perfectly manicured fingers drummed nervously on the table.

"Look, I know you're angry—"

"Angry?" Glenn let out a soft laugh that contained no humor whatsoever. "Avery, I spent five years in the worst prison on earth. For a crime I didn't commit. A crime you committed."

"That was different—"

"I took the fall for you," he continued, his voice growing quieter, more dangerous. "I sat in a cell, surrounded by killers and monsters, while you were out here living your best life."

Tears began to form in Avery's eyes, but whether they were from guilt or frustration, Glenn couldn't tell.

"I never asked you to do that!"

"You didn't have to ask. I loved you."

The past tense hit her like a physical blow.

"Glenn…"

"I loved you so much that I was willing to sacrifice everything for you. My freedom, my future, my life. I thought… I thought that meant something to you."

"It did!" she said quickly. "It did mean something. But Glenn, be realistic. Five years is a long time. I couldn't just put my life on hold—"

"So you moved on. Found someone richer. Someone who could give you the lifestyle you wanted."

Avery's composure cracked slightly.

"James can provide for me in ways you never could—"

"James," Glenn repeated, testing the name on his tongue. "James Koch."

Something in his tone made her nervous.

"How do you know his last name?"

Glenn's smile was cold and sharp.

"Let's just say we've met."

Before Avery could process what that meant, Glenn leaned forward.

"Tell me something, Avery. When you were planning our future together, when you said you loved me, when you cried in my arms about your troubles… was any of it real?"

She opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again.

"I see," Glenn said softly. "That tells me everything I need to know."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out the divorce papers, placing them on the table between them.

"You want me to sign these?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Fine."

He pulled out a pen and, without hesitation, signed his name with bold, confident strokes.

Avery blinked in surprise. She had expected him to fight it, to beg, to make some desperate plea for reconciliation.

"That's it?" she asked.

Glenn slid the papers back across the table.

"That's it. We're officially done."

He stood up, straightening his jacket.

"But Avery?"

She looked up at him, and for the first time since he had arrived, she saw something in his eyes that made her blood run cold.

"You might want to reconsider your engagement to James Koch."

"What do you mean?"

Glenn's smile was enigmatic.

"Let's just say he's not the man you think he is. And after tonight, he might not be in any condition to marry anyone."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Avery sitting alone at the table, staring after him with growing dread.

As Glenn stepped out into the night air, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders.

One chapter of his life was finally, officially closed.

But as he thought about Irene, waiting for him back at the hotel, he realized another chapter was just beginning.

And this one… this one might actually have a happy ending.

If he could figure out how to handle the fact that the woman he was falling for was his ex-wife's sister.

Chapter 011 – Secrets Revealed

*****

Glenn walked back to the hotel through the neon-lit streets, his mind still processing the confrontation with Avery.

The divorce was finalized. That chapter of his life was officially closed.

But as he replayed the conversation in his head, he realized something that had been nagging at him since he left the restaurant.

Avery had seemed genuinely shocked when he mentioned knowing James's last name.

Which meant she probably didn't know about James's… extracurricular activities.

The attempted drugging. The assault on Irene.

A cold smile played at Glenn's lips.

Poor Avery. She really had no idea what kind of man she was planning to marry.

As he approached the hotel, Glenn's thoughts shifted to Irene.

The way she had looked when she saw the divorce papers… there had been something more than surprise in her eyes.

Recognition. Fear. Guilt.

He needed to find out what that was about.

Glenn made his way up to the room, using the key card he had pocketed earlier.

He opened the door quietly, expecting to find Irene asleep.

Instead, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, still wrapped in the bedsheet, staring out the window at the city lights.

She had been crying. He could tell from her posture, from the way she held herself.

"Irene?"

She turned at the sound of his voice, and he could see the tear tracks on her cheeks.

"You're back," she said softly.

"I told you I would be."

Glenn closed the door behind him and moved to sit in the chair across from her.

"How did it go?" she asked.

"It's done. We're officially divorced."

Irene nodded, but didn't seem relieved or happy about the news.

If anything, she looked more miserable.

"Irene, what's wrong? And don't tell me it's nothing. You've been upset since you saw those papers."

She was quiet for a long moment, wrestling with herself.

Finally, she looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy.

"Glenn… I need to tell you something. And you're going to hate me for it."

"I could never hate you," he said automatically.

"You will when you hear this."

She took a shaky breath.

"The woman you just divorced… Avery Cross… she's my sister."

The words hung in the air between them like a bomb waiting to explode.

Glenn stared at her, his mind struggling to process what she had just said.

"Your sister," he repeated slowly.

"My older sister. We… we have the same parents. The same last name before she married you."

Glenn felt like the ground was shifting beneath his feet.

"You're telling me that the woman I just spent the night with, the woman I promised to take responsibility for… is my ex-wife's sister?"

Irene nodded miserably.

"I wanted to tell you earlier, but I didn't know how. And then when you went to meet her…"

She broke off, unable to continue.

Glenn stood up abruptly, running his hands through his hair.

This was insane. The universe had to be playing some kind of cosmic joke on him.

"Does she know?" he asked. "About us?"

"No. At least, I don't think so. We… we don't really talk much anymore."

"Why not?"

Irene's expression grew even more pained.

"Because I never approved of how she treated you."

Glenn stopped pacing and looked at her.

"What do you mean?"

"I knew about the charges against her. I knew you were innocent. I begged her not to let you take the fall, but she…"

Irene's voice broke.

"She said it was better this way. That you were expendable. That she could find someone better."

The words hit Glenn like physical blows.

"You knew," he said quietly. "All this time, you knew what really happened."

"I tried to help you," Irene said desperately. "I went to lawyers, tried to find evidence that would clear your name. But Avery… she's very good at covering her tracks."

"Why didn't you come forward? Testify on my behalf?"

"I wanted to. But I was young, and scared, and Avery threatened to destroy our family if I said anything. She had connections, power… I was just a college student."

Glenn sank back into the chair, his head in his hands.

"This is unbelievable."

"I know how it looks," Irene said frantically. "I know you must think this was all planned, that I sought you out on purpose—"

"Did you?"

The question was quiet, but it cut through her like a knife.

"No," she whispered. "I swear to you, Glenn. Last night was an accident. I had no idea who you were until I saw those papers."

Glenn looked up at her, studying her face for any sign of deception.

All he saw was pain, guilt, and desperate honesty.

"The drugging," he said suddenly. "James Koch. That was your future brother-in-law who tried to assault you."

Irene nodded.

"Avery has no idea what kind of man she's marrying."

"Are you going to tell her?"

Glenn was quiet for a long moment.

"I don't know," he said finally. "Part of me thinks she deserves whatever she gets. But another part of me…"

He looked at Irene, seeing the family resemblance now that he knew to look for it.

"She's your sister. You still care about her, even after everything."

"She's made terrible choices," Irene said softly. "But she's still family."

Glenn stood up again, moving to the window.

The city spread out below them, millions of lights representing millions of lives, all interconnected in ways they might never understand.

"What happens now?" Irene asked.

"I don't know," Glenn admitted. "This complicates things."

"Do you… do you regret it? Last night?"

Glenn turned to look at her, this beautiful, complicated woman who had stumbled into his life at the exact moment when everything was falling apart.

"No," he said firmly. "I don't regret it. What I regret is that it happened because of someone else's cruelty."

He moved back to her, kneeling down so they were eye level.

"Irene, I meant what I said earlier. About taking responsibility. About protecting you. Learning who your sister is doesn't change that."

"But it changes everything else."

"Maybe. Or maybe it just makes things more interesting."

Despite everything, Irene let out a small laugh.

"Only you would call this situation interesting."

"I've had an interesting life," Glenn said with a slight smile. "What's one more complication?"

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, Irene spoke.

"What do we do about James? About what he tried to do to me?"

Glenn's expression darkened.

"Leave James to me."

"Glenn, I don't want you to get in trouble—"

"I won't. But he can't be allowed to get away with what he did. And if he's planning to marry your sister…"

"You're going to tell her."

"Someone should. The question is whether it should be me or you."

Irene considered this.

"It should be me," she said finally. "Avery and I need to talk anyway. About a lot of things."

Glenn nodded.

"And us?" she asked quietly.

Glenn reached out and took her hand.

"Us is complicated. But I've never backed down from a challenge."

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it gently.

"Besides," he said with a roguish grin, "I've always been told I have a type."

"What type is that?"

"Beautiful women who are way too good for me."

Irene felt her cheeks flush.

"I'm not too good for you, Glenn."

"You are. But I'm selfish enough not to care."

As Glenn pulled her closer, Irene realized that despite all the complications, despite all the potential consequences, she didn't want to be anywhere else.

The universe might be playing a cosmic joke on them.

But maybe, just maybe, it was also giving them exactly what they needed.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

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The mag-lev train screamed beneath me, a thousand feet above the neon-drenched abyss of Neo Haven City.

My back pressed against cold steel as I clung to the edge of the carriage, the stolen data-slate burning in my grip.

They were closing in—corporate enforcers in black armor, rifles humming with plasma charge.

Ahead, the maintenance hatch offered a death-defying climb down.

Behind, the passenger car door meant surrender… and erasure.

Five years ago, I'd have run.

But not now. Not after Blackthorn.

I took a breath, feeling the dormant fire in my core—the cultivation energy honed in silence, in blood, in pain.

The lead enforcer raised his weapon.

'Drop the slate, convict. You're already dead.'

I smirked.

'Funny. That's what they said in prison too.'

I stepped forward—not away from the edge, but toward it.

The wind howled.

The city blinked below.

And I made my choice.