~Allen Mansion~
The walls of the Allen Mansion stood still, but inside, a storm brewed.
Desmond had just returned from an arranged eting with the mysterious caller. The sa caller who had vanished for months without a trace had suddenly reached out again.
Desmond didn’t expect it. In truth, he had hoped the man would stay gone. But here he was—back, and with him ca a new, unsettling aura. Sothing had changed about him. Desmond couldn’t place what it was, but he could feel it in his bones.
Their conversation had lasted long, yet it had brought little satisfaction. Desmond had asked many questions, eager to know where the man had been hiding all this ti.
But every question was t with silence. It was like talking to a shadow—one that spoke only what it chose and slipped away before being fully seen.
Now, back in his room, Desmond paced restlessly, his hands behind his back, brows furrowed in deep thought. He muttered aloud to himself, unable to shake the sense of urgency pressing down on his chest.
"Sothing has to be done. And it must be done really fast," he whispered.
He stopped by the window, staring at the empty garden below.
"I have no real share anymore. Not just any share, but one that gives power." His tone grew bitter. "If this gets out, I will be finished. Stripped of influence. No one will want to exchange their shares with soone like ."
His fists clenched at his sides. "Who would have thought? In the bid to keep my place in this family, I ended up losing everything. Even Aaron, my own son, now has more shares than I do." He scoffed and shook his head, a mocking laugh escaping his lips.
"But that man—he made sense. If I want to take back what belongs to , I must act now. I need to reclaim my place. My wealth. My worth. It was all mine to begin with."
He turned and began pacing again, steps faster this ti.
"eting him might have been risky... but the enemy of my enemy could be my friend. He could be useful." His voice dropped to a cold whisper. "Unlike that heir who thinks he’s better than everyone else—making a ceremonial vice president while he enjoys the real power."
He stopped before the mirror, studying his reflection.
"What heir?" he sneered. "After Davis died, I should have been the one to take over. It was my rightful place. But they took it from . They handed it to a little boy—my nephew. It’s laughable... ridiculous!"
His jaw tightened, and a shadow crossed his eyes.
With a sigh, he rubbed his temples, feeling a headache forming. That eting hadn’t solved anything, but it had lit a fire in him. Desmond now knew—he had no ti to waste. He had to act before word spread that he was powerless. Once that news spread, even his allies would abandon him.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Alfred’s number.
After a few rings, the call connected.
"Sir," Alfred answered.
Desmond’s lips thinned. "What’s the old man’s condition?"
"He’s out of danger, sir. The doctors say he’s recovering steadily."
The news made Desmond’s heart sink. His grip on the phone tightened.
"Out of danger?" he repeated, voice low. "That’s not what I wanted to hear."
He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed.
If Elder Allen recovered fully, Desmond knew his chances would vanish. The old man would never allow him to take over—not while Davis’s mory still lingered and while Davis’s allies still stood strong.
"But why?" Desmond murmured to himself. "Why is he protecting the Allen Group like this? Is it truly love? Or fear?" He frowned. "Why make things difficult for ?"
The words from his secret eting echoed in his mind:
"Elder Allen will never hand you power. He knows what you’re capable of. He’s afraid you’ll dominate the entire empire and erase the ones he loves."
"Love? Hate?" Desmond thought bitterly. "If he truly hated , he wouldn’t let stay under this roof."
His eyes shifted toward the wooden desk. Slowly, he walked over and opened the drawer, pulling out a brown envelope. It was the sa one he had secretly taken from the study.
"Maybe the answers are in here," he murmured.
He was about to open it when a knock sounded at the door.
He paused, straightened his back, and said coolly, "Co in."
The door opened, and Aaron stepped inside, his expression troubled. He held a folder tightly in his hand.
"Dad... can I speak with you briefly?" Aaron asked, his voice low.
Desmond hesitated. He had hoped to be alone. But sothing in Aaron’s eyes—desperation, pain—made him nod.
"What is it?" he asked, watching him closely.
Aaron walked forward and handed over the folder. Desmond opened it, expecting sothing ordinary. But the first photo made his breath catch. Then the second. The third.
Each photo showed Vera—Aaron’s wife—in compromising positions with another man. A man who, according to the docunts, was assigned to guard her.
Desmond didn’t flinch. Vera had already asked for a divorce. But what ca next in the folder did make him stop.
The back pages detailed another scandal—a girl claiming to be pregnant for Aaron. But according to the report, the baby was never his.
Desmond glanced up, narrowing his eyes. "How did you get this?"
Aaron didn’t answer. As Desmond flipped the folder, a business card fell out. He picked it up and read the note scribbled on it.
"You love people’s brides so much... it won’t hurt to lose yours."
Desmond looked at the card, then at Aaron, who had turned pale.
"You didn’t check the envelope before coming here?" Desmond asked sharply.
Aaron shook his head, eyes unfocused. His world was crashing down—his marriage in ruins, his trust betrayed.
Desmond waved a hand. "If you have ti to grieve over won, then leave. I’m more interested in reclaiming my inheritance."
Aaron slowly looked up, the pain in his eyes replaced by sharpness.
"Your inheritance?" he repeated, a rare smile touching his lips. "I think that’s only in your dreams."
Desmond stiffened. "Why? Davis is gone. So is the wife. Elder Allen has no choice."
Aaron chuckled darkly. "We’ll see about that," he said before turning and walking out of the room.
Desmond stood alone, silence wrapping around him.
But in his heart, the war had already begun.
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