The derelict chemical plant on the outskirts of Los Angeles stood silent, its crumbling walls veined with moss. Faint light seeped through shattered windows, painting the concrete floor in jagged stripes.

A thick layer of dust coated the ground. In the corner, a man writhed inside a burlap sack. His Armani suit was soiled, nylon ropes biting into his wrists. The once-glossy leather shoes had dulled to a lifeless sheen.

Four black-clad bodyguards stood like statues, the air thick with tension.

The iron door screeched open.

Ethan Roscente stepped inside, his Oxford shoes gleaming. The black dress shirt clung to his broad shoulders and tapered waist. Platinum cufflinks caught the dim light, mirroring the ice in his gaze.

"Mr. Roscente." The bodyguards bowed in unison.

He stopped before Howard Wen. Slowly, he peeled off his gloves. The sack was yanked away, revealing Howard's ashen face.

"Wake him."

Ice water cascaded over Howard's head. He gasped awake, coughing violently—only to meet Ethan's abyssal stare. His entire body trembled, dark stains spreading down his trousers.

"You promised to spare me!"

Ethan's lips curved. The cigar between his fingers glowed crimson. "I did." Smoke curled around his sharp jawline. "But I never said there wouldn't be consequences."

Howard's pupils contracted.

The first punch landed with a sickening crack. His scream echoed through the empty factory, sending crows scattering from the windows.

"Do you know what Jenna Roland's virginity was worth?" Ethan ground his heel into Howard's twisted fingers. Bones crunched. "Ten of your family fortunes couldn't cover it."

Howard spat blood, begging through split lips. His swollen eyelids fluttered as Ethan accepted a baseball bat from a bodyguard.

The last thing he saw was cold metal flashing in the dim light.