The hospital smelled like antiseptic and death.
Machines beeped, slow and steady, as Ethan lay in his private ward, silent, unmoving, a maze of wires attached to his chest and arms. His once unshakable presence had faded into fragile breaths and stillness.
Across town, Gerald Reid lay in an even colder room. His condition was worse, multiple organ damage, internal bleeding no surgeon could fully repair. The doctors had already whispered what his staff feared:
*He wasn't going to make it.*
And in the middle of it all stood Asher, no longer just the rich heir or the boy in love, but a man caught between blood and morality.
He stared out the hospital window, jaw clenched, fists curled.
"Enough is enough," he muttered.
Behind him, Zane crossed his arms. "You sure about this? It's not just about your father anymore. It's the entire operation. Black money, manipulation, pawns in politics, tech, media, your family's name is deep in it."
