'They're using this as a way to get rid of him,' William thought grimly.
His eyes narrowed slightly, a sharp glint flashing in their depths. 'I told them not to touch Max… and yet here they are, preparing such a sinister plan to kill him.'
The thought stirred a deep, quiet anger within him, though outwardly he remained composed. His voice carried no trace of his inner fury as he looked back at Max, but the tension in his gaze betrayed the fact that he was already weighing the next move—and considering how far he was willing to go to make sure certain factions regretted crossing that line.
President William leaned forward, folding his hands atop his desk, his sharp gaze fixed on Max. "How do you think we should handle this problem?" he asked, his tone measured but carrying the weight of authority.
Max didn't hesitate. "I'll go alone," he said firmly. "This is my problem. My friend was taken because of me, and I intend to bring them back with my own hands."
