The room was dim, shadows pooling in the corners. A tall man lounged in a chair, the sharp line of his brow casting darkness across chiseled features. Long, pale fingers idly turned a knife between them, the blade catching flickers of cold light. "I hear you've been gathering old allies," Sterling said lazily, his voice smooth as smoke. "Pulling in foreign money. So all that playing dead—just to prep for your big comeback, huh? Still got some bite left in you, old man." Henry was a wreck—tears, snot, and blood smeared across a face that had once screamed arrogance. He'd been sure Charles's army of killers would finish Sterling off. Dozens of top-tier assassins, and Sterling had survived. Now Charles's base was ash. Every mole Henry had planted inside Romero Corp had been dug out and burned. The proud swagger Henry had been strutting around with these past weeks now looked pathetic—a bad joke told by a dying man. Sterling's methods were far more terrifying than Henry had ever imagined. Sitting there in the half-light, his nephew looked less like a man and more like something that had crawled straight up from hell. "Sterling, I'm your uncle," Henry rasped. "If you kill me, your grandfather won't let you go." "Kill you?" Sterling gave a low chuckle, eyes glinting. "You've got it wrong. I'm not going to kill you." He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping to a cold murmur. "But a man answers for what he's done. Tonight, I'm just inviting you to watch a little show." Henry's stomach dropped. His gaze darted to the other side of the room—his son, Tyson, bound to a chair, blindfolded. "What are you going to do?" "Your boy's been busy," Sterling said mildly. "A month ago, he slept with another man's fiancée—her fiancé nearly stormed your house down. And two weeks back, he and his buddies toyed with an underage girl. You cleaned it all up using the Romero name. Rotten genes like that shouldn't be passed down. Don't you think?" Henry's voice cracked, wild with panic. "No! Don't hurt him! Please—spare Tyson!" For all the filth Henry had rolled in his whole life, Tyson was his only true heir. His only weakness. Sterling raised a hand. Masked men stepped forward, their tools gleaming under the harsh light. Tyson jerked in his chair, thrashing. "Stay away from me! Don't touch me!" A sharp crack split the air. His scream ripped through the basement like a knife. "Sterling, I'll kill you!" Henry howled, veins bulging, face purple with rage as his son slumped, unconscious. "Finished," Sterling said coolly. Henry's hatred twisted into madness. "You bastard! This is revenge, isn't it? Hah! Fine, I'll tell you the truth—your mother was a whore. A filthy slut! And you—her freak of a son! You've always been Romero's curse! No one will ever love you. They'll only fear you, hate you!" Sterling sighed, bored, and dug a finger into his ear. "Ugly words," he muttered. Then, to his men: "Cut out his tongue." "Yes, sir." "Sterling, you wouldn't—" The scream ended halfway through. Father and son both went limp, collapsing into silence. They'd live—but they'd wish they hadn't. The air was thick with blood, heavy and still. Sterling rose, tall and composed, a shadow merged with the darkness itself.Then his phone buzzed on the nearby table. His men froze. Just moments ago, he'd been the embodiment of death. But now, glancing at the screen, his entire expression shifted—softening into something startlingly warm. Almost tender. He typed quickly, peeled off his black gloves, and tossed them aside. "Clean this up," he said. "I'm leaving." "Sir, there's a meeting with the East European partners—" Clint began hesitantly. "Reschedule." Sterling didn't even break stride. Clint exhaled hard. Their boss was getting more and more… unpredictable. David walked in just as Sterling disappeared through the doorway. "What's the hurry? Doesn't he still have business to handle?" Clint gave him a look that said everything. "He said he's going home," he replied dryly. "To water his Rosebud." David choked. "The Reaper? Watering flowers? The hell—did the sun start rising from the west?" ... From the moment Sterling said he was coming home, his phone hadn't stopped lighting up. "Hurry up, I'm starving." "What's for dinner? Can we have pickled fish?" "We're out of green onions. If you're buying fish, grab some on the way." "I want strawberries. And yogurt. Please, please!" "Mr. Romero, snack emergency." To anyone else, it would've looked like she was the one paying him ten million to stay.But after half a month of living together, neither of them saw anything strange about it anymore. If Clint or David ever saw Claudia bossing the Reaper around like a grocery delivery boy, they'd probably faint on the spot. Good thing—for now—they weren't allowed anywhere near her little apartment.