Freedom comes with a price: vengeance.
The ride was silent. John sat in the back of the black SUV, the world blurring past the tinted windows. He hadn't seen a streetlight, a free road, or the pale shimmer of the moon without iron bars between them in five long years. Every breath felt foreign, too light, too unreal.
Alex sat in the front, his posture relaxed but his presence heavy. The driver didn't speak, didn't even glance at the rearview mirror.
John's mind churned. Who is this man? Why me? What does he want in return?
Finally, he found his voice. "Why did you help me?"
Alex's reflection in the glass turned slightly. His voice was calm, steady. "Because I need someone like you. Someone who's been broken, stripped of everything, but still refuses to die."
John frowned. "You don't even know me."
"I know enough." Alex leaned back in his seat. "Your brother's ambition put you in hell. Your uncle sealed the door. Yet you survived. That tells me two things: you hate them, and you want them to pay. Am I wrong?"
John's silence was answer enough.
The car stopped in front of a secluded mansion on the outskirts of the city. It wasn't flashy, but its high walls and guarded gates screamed of power. Inside, John was led to a room that didn't feel like prison, yet didn't feel like freedom either. A bed, a desk, clothes neatly folded. Too clean. Too prepared.
Alex handed him a folder. "Read it."
John opened it and froze.
Inside were documents, photographs, and files—evidence of every move his brother Godwin and his uncle Raymond had made in the last five years. Fraudulent transactions, secret accounts, board manipulations, even paid bribes to prison guards.
"This…" John's voice cracked. "How do you have all this?"
Alex's lips curved slightly. "I have eyes where others don't. And I've been watching your family for a long time."
"Why?"
"That's not your concern—yet. For now, you need to decide who you are. John Mark, the disgraced heir who was crushed by betrayal? Or someone else. Someone who takes back everything that was stolen."
John's hands trembled as he closed the file. His heart raced with equal parts fear and fury.
"What do I have to do?" he asked quietly.
Alex's eyes locked with his, cold and piercing. "You'll train. You'll learn to fight, to think, to control the battlefield instead of being its victim. And when the time comes, you'll strike. Not like a man—but like a monster they created."
For the first time in years, John felt something burn in his chest. Not hope, not yet. But purpose.
He nodded slowly. "Then teach me."
Meanwhile, miles away, Sophia stood at her office window. The riot still dominated the news. Reports mentioned unconfirmed escapes, but no names were public. Her gut twisted. She remembered the last day she saw John in court—the look of betrayal in his eyes as the sentence was passed, as her silence cut deeper than any words could. She had wanted to speak, to defend him, but her superiors had warned her. Godwin Mark had influence, and the system bent to his will.
You should've fought harder, her conscience whispered. Her phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number:
"He's not gone. Not yet."
Sophia's hands shook. She reread the text over and over. It could be nothing. A prank. A cruel joke. But her heart… her heart knew better.
"John…" she whispered again, tears stinging her eyes. "If you're alive, please… don't become like them."
But deep down, she feared it was already too late.