"Ugh!"

Ethan’s body spasmed, doubling over as a wave of nausea hit him like a physical blow. Cold sweat slicked his forehead in an instant.

"You ungrateful little rat."

Damon pulled his fist back, shaking out his wrist. He watched Ethan curl into a ball on the floor, his face twisted with a sadistic thrill. "Did you really think I wouldn't touch you? I should shatter those hands right now. Let’s see what you’ll cook with then—let’s see how you plan to cozy up to Grace after that."

Damon cocked his fist again, but the front door burst open with a crash. Olivia Hayes stormed in, her eyes darting across the room.

"Damon, stop!"

When she saw the state of the living room, her face paled. She lunged forward, shoving Damon aside to reach for Ethan. Seeing the agony etched into Ethan’s features, she whipped her head toward Damon, her voice sharp with fury. "I told you to show some restraint! I need him in one piece to finish the project."

Her tone was a demand, but beneath it lay a flicker of panic and something else—a shred of lingering attachment she hadn't yet dared to acknowledge.

Damon, shoved away, felt his adrenaline curdle into bitter jealousy.

"Are you feeling sorry for him?" Damon spat, his eyes wild. "I was doing this for you! You’re actually upset that I laid a hand on him?"

"I..."

Olivia hesitated, the words "I am" caught in her throat. Before she could force them out, a dry, raspy laugh cut through the room.

Ethan looked up at Damon, his voice gravelly and hollow. "I wasn't planning on settling the score with you this soon."

He tugged at the corner of his mouth, the expression devoid of any warmth. "You scalded my hands. You staged a fire just to rob me of my sense of smell and taste. You took my skin for your grafts. I’ve kept a tally of every single one of those debts."

Ethan’s eyes were cold, like shards of broken glass. "Consider tonight the first installment of what you owe me."

Damon let out a harsh, mocking bark of laughter. "Do you honestly think a few empty threats make me sweat? What exactly are you going to do?"

Ethan watched the disdain bloom across Damon’s face and let out a low, chilling chuckle. "You’re about to find out."

The moment the words left his lips, a thunderous *BANG* echoed through the house.

The iron gate of the estate was kicked off its hinges. A dozen men in sharp, charcoal-grey suits swarmed into the living room, moving with the precision of a military strike. They fanned out, sealing the exits and trapping Damon, Olivia, and their terrified security detail in a tightening circle.

These weren't hired muscle. Their eyes were sharp, their movements predatory, radiating a level of violence that made the air in the room feel heavy and suffocating.

The room went dead silent. Olivia’s face turned ghostly white. Damon’s bodyguards reached for their jackets, but the intruders were faster, pinning them to the wall before they could even draw a breath.

Damon’s cocky smirk withered, replaced by raw, unadulterated shock. "Who are you people?"

A man in a deep-grey trench coat and gold-rimmed glasses walked through the doorway. It was Lawson Price, the right-hand man to Ethan’s father—a man known for being efficient, merciless, and never wasting time.

Lawson stepped up to Ethan and gave a crisp, respectful nod. "Young Master. Apologies for the delay."

Two men moved quickly to Ethan’s side, gently hoisting him up and slicing through the restraints on his wrists. Ethan took a damp towel from one of them and wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, his movements fluid and unnervingly calm. He turned his gaze toward Lawson.

"You know what he’s done to me, Lawson," Ethan said, his voice quiet but carrying the weight of a judge. "I want it all back, with interest."

Lawson adjusted his glasses, a thin, jagged smile touching his lips. "Understood, Young Master."

He flicked his wrist. Without hesitation, a bodyguard stepped forward and slammed a boot into the back of Damon’s knee. Damon let out a guttural cry as his leg gave way, forcing him down until he was kneeling on the cold hardwood floor. A heavy hand clamped onto his shoulder, pinning him in place.

"Ethan, what the hell are you doing? You think you can touch me? I’m from the Meyer—"

"Agh!"

A muffled thud silenced him. Lawson had driven a fist into Damon’s gut, doubling him over.

"That was for the Young Master," Lawson said, his voice flat and lethal.

Damon gasped for air, his face contorted in agony, unable to squeeze out another word.

Olivia stood frozen in the corner, her entire world shifting on its axis. She watched Ethan, trembling as she finally managed to choke out the question that haunted her.

"Who... who exactly are you?"