Choice is yours

Donovan Magnum had never been short of women. He had seen all kinds—glamourous, seductive, desperate, and dangerous. Social parties, secret events, wild bachelor nights. He had attended them all, mostly dragged in by his cousins for the sake of social connection. But unlike the others, Donovan and his cousins didn't go for the thrill.

Donovan enjoyed observing people. That was how he always knew about women and men. Who was natural… and who was all plastic and silicon.

The moment the door opened, Peter came into view. Without missing a second, he dropped to his knees as soon as Donovan appeared. His frame trembled like a string about to snap.

"Mr Magnum," he choked, his lips quivering, "I'm sorry. I messed everything up. I—I misunderstood. I judged based on appearance. I should have asked. I should have confirmed her name before jumping to my own assumptions."

Peter's explanation did nothing to Donovan. Donovan narrowed his eyes as he entered the room, standing tall.

"So," he said slowly, "you think my guest's appearance was that poor... that you couldn't tell the difference between my woman and a pole dancer?"

"N-no, Mr Magnum, that's not what I meant," Peter stammered. "I thought it was... a bachelor party. I assumed they had hired someone new and something new to experience..."

And his further explanation only irritated Donovan. 'Something new to experience.'

Peter continued, "And the woman stepped out of a luxury car in designer clothes—"

"Assumption," Donovan cut in, his voice slicing through the air like a blade. "You are no fit to run the Twilight Zone, Peter."

Peter froze.

"It was me who convinced your father to give you a shot at managing the new club. It was I who asked him to transfer the ownership of the building to your name. You begged for a chance to prove yourself. And I—out of pity—gave it to you." Donovan took a step forward, his presence towering. "Now I see why your father never trusted you with anything. Why he never wanted you to inherit that building."

Peter's face crumbled.

"I gave you a chance," Donovan growled, "and you paid me back with grave ignorance and insult."

A clicking sound came from behind as the door opened. A tall man stepped inside, dressed like precision. Every hair on his head slicked back with gel, glasses round, a Rolex on his wrist, pink lips pressed tight, face unreadable, eyes deep brown—cold and calculating. He looked like intellect itself.

Without a word, the man set a briefcase on the table, opened it, pulled out a folder, and extended it to Donovan with one hand.

Donovan didn't even glance at Peter. "Stand up," he said.

Peter obeyed slowly, his legs trembling. Donovan handed him the folder. Petertook one lookat the document—and his eyes widened in horror.

"Mr—Mr Magnum… this property's been in my family for five centuries. I—I can't just—"

"Then die," Donovan replied coldly. "Or sign it. The Valtham family is very interested in that building."

The moment the name Valtham dropped, Peter's knees gave out again. His whole body slumped.

"Mr Magnum, please," he whispered. "My father—he never once accepted any offer from the Valthams. It's a legacy. A piece of our bloodline. Please don't take it. My family will be devastated."

"You should have thought of that before you humiliated yourself and me," Donovan replied coldly, without an ounce of mercy. Running a club for only the elites was no small feat, and making mistakes due to false assumptions could spell disaster for those privileged patrons. Some may be lenient and forgiving, but many would not hesitate to sever a head. Despite this, Peter was still alive, thanks to Raynor. "The Valthams have been waiting. And now... the wait ends."

He stared at Peter like a raging bull poised to charge, ready explode.

"Sign it. This is my final word. Take it or die." Donovan's voice sent the chill over Peter's body, as if a harsh winter had swept into the small room.

Peter looked up at him, desperation flooding his gaze as he silently pleaded for mercy. But Donovan's expression was impenetrable, reminding Peter of a black hole—an emptiness that consumed all hope.

He stood up on his two feet, feeling deflated and defeated, like a marionette with severed strings, each moment weighing him down further into despair.

The Triad company's lawyer extended the pen. Peter reached for it with trembling hands. He paused before signing it, his fingers hesitating at the edge of betrayal. But there was no other way other than signing it. The lawyer took the paper and left silently.

Peter turned to Donovan with broken eyes. "What now… Mr Magnum?"

Donovan looked down at him like he was nothing. "Now," he said slowly, "you renounce your family name. You give up everything. You are no longer a Lewis."

Peter's jaw dropped. "W-what?"

"I'm sending you to Kongtrainor."

The blood drained from Peter's face.

"No... no, please—please don't!" He dropped again to his knees, but this time, he clutched Donovan's leg like a beggar in the gutter. "Please, Mr Magnum. Anywhere but there. I'll leave my family, go live like a monk, disappear—just don't send me there."

Kongtrainior is a region of Africa. A place untouched by time. Tribes living like their ancestors, without technology, without mercy. Any outsider who entered—never returned. Cooked. Eaten. Bones tossed across the jungle's edge as warnings.

Donovan's voice was steel. "Maybe I would have shown you mercy. But you brought harm to her." His eyes glinted with silent rage. "If I let you walk away after what you did, what message does that send? Does the Capo dei Capi spare men who disrespect his woman? That anyone can do the same and expect a pardon?"

Donovan stepped back and yanked his leg free. "I am giving you one chance. Survive Kongtrainor. Win them over. If you live—maybe—you can return."

Peter's body shook out of fear. His hands refused to stop shaking. He had heard the stories. Explorers. Journalists. Even government officials. All gone. Eaten. Their remains were found days later, scattered like butchered animals outside the jungle's reach.

"No…" he wept. "Please… Mr Magnum… please…"

But Donovan was already walking away with no final words or sympathy.

Peter was left on the ground, sobbing, defeated… and sentenced to hell.

Before meeting the rest of Roland's nine friends, Donovan followed the woman in the black dress down a quiet hallway. They entered the quiet room bathed in low light, where a laptop sat open on a table like a loaded weapon disguised in plastic. An SD card had already been slotted in.

They stopped near the table. One hand slid into his pocket while the other tapped the table. His gaze flicked to the laptop, eyes narrowing just enough to draw a silent line of suspicion between them."What is it?"

The woman in the black dress stood elegabtly beside him. Her posture was like a knife sheathed in silk. "Our men found a hidden camera," she informed him. Her voice was smooth but underscored with grit. "From the room where the incident with Liora took place."

Donovan didn't speak, but his fingers curled slightly on the corner of the table as if resisting the urge to crush something invisible beneath them.

She continued, not meeting his eyes now. "It seems Peter was… very naughty. He wanted to record everything that was about to happen. Probably, he wanted to extort money from them after."

His jaw locked, and his eyelids almost lazily lowered like a lion blinking before a kill.

She glanced at him once, then quickly looked away. "I haven't watched it. Before you face the rest, you should know what really happened."

She turned on her heels and left, the scent of expensive perfume trailing behind her like a silent warning. And the door clicked shut.

Donovan stood still like a storm wrapped in human skin.

He moved to the laptop and lowered himself into the chair. His finger hovered over the play button, and when he pressed it, he didn't lean forward. He leaned back as if distance would help him absorb the impact.

The video was played. The sound was faint and distorted, but the imagery needed no volume. His expression didn't change—not even once. But beneath the surface, it was as if the temperature in the room had dropped a full ten degrees.

He replayed it.

Once!

Again!

Then again!

With each breath, he grew quieter, every exhale slowly stripping away his humanity.

When he finally shut the laptop, it was with a softness that felt more violent than a slam. The room had become too small for him. His chair scraped back, and he rose. He walked out to meet those nine condemned. However, the lady in the black dress was already waiting outside the door as if she had been standing guard over silence itself.

"We have an urgent call," she said, her voice firmer this time. "And I strongly advise you take it before making any decisions."

Donovan's gaze was unreadable, like a storm frozen in amber. Still, a flicker of understanding passed between them in the silence. He tilted his head slightly. "Family?" he questioned.

She nodded once. "Yes. And you must settle it with them before you decide what comes next." Her words carried a weight, warning Donovan.

They both stepped into the elevator and the doors closed behind them. It took them to the floor, where decisions weren't made with pens but with power and words.

As they entered the conference room, the tension was already seated in the room. Kai leaned forward, his arms crossed like a barricade. Logan sat next to Kai, his jaw tight as he looked up towards the door.

And then the screen lit up. Ten men appeared, some faces carved in old stone—weathered by blood, betrayal, and survival and some young.

Their stares weren't greetings. They all had similar expressions of anger.