Negotiation begins

The screen flickered, and ten men appeared. They were titans of influence draped in custom suits stitched with inherited dominance. They were politicians, billionaires, corporate hounds. They hailed from different parts of the world, but today, they shared the same expression—ten faces carved from stone, masking the heat beneath.

Donovan sat at the head of the table, directly across from the screen. Not a bead of sweat on his skin. He leaned back as if it were just another casual boardroom meeting, elbows resting lazily, fingers interlocked, eyes half-lidded like a man evaluating the worth of dying embers.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked, voice smooth but dry as a desert wind. "I never imagined I would have the honour of facing the world's finest string-pullers in one sitting. A rare day indeed. Must be an omen."

His tone lingered like smoke while the men on the screen held their postures quite seriously, unreadable but visibly irritated.

The first voice sounded sharp and venom-laced. "Are you mocking us, Mr Magnum?" August Lamborni, Minister of Defence and Roland's father, ground his teeth. "Allow my son to return home. You have already broken his nose and jaw. Haven't you done enough? Why are your men stopping my men?"

Another young man added, "Let's resolve this before unnecessary damage spreads. The boys made a mistake—don't make it a war."

Donovan reached for the water bottle beside him. He poured slowly, deliberately, like a man with all the time in the world. The liquid streamed into the glass without a splash. When he finally placed the glass back down, it was so gentle, so silent, it was terrifying. The kind of silence that makes people hold their breath.

He raised his eyes to meet Lamborni's and others. It was calm, unblinking, inhuman.

"You speak of war," Donovan said, voice like oil sliding over ice. "To the man who manufactures it. Who sells warheads wrapped in silence and flies crafts that aren't even in your military records yet." He leaned forward, elbows on the table.

"This isn't war. This is border control... and your little prince crossed mine without clearance."

Another man, older, with lines that spoke of secrets and deals, whispered over brandy and added, "Let's not escalate, Mr Magnum. Let's resolve this before unnecessary damage spills."

Donovan's lip twitched—half smile, half warning.

"Unnecessary damage?" He exhaled slowly. "Funny choice of words for people who raised hands with rings still stained from lobbying blood."

One man scoffed. "Some of us can pull strings that choke the Triads themselves. We are not here to be insulted or to watch our family member be brutalised."

Donovan didn't even blink. He did not need to. He had no reason to. This is his domain, his empire, his rules, his desires, and his intentions. "Insult?" His voice dropped, losing its humanity. "You are worried about insult while I'm still peeling your sons' fingerprints off her memory?"

He stood....not abruptly...not violently, just with the eerie grace of someone who had buried men for less. He walked toward the screen slowly, each step echoing like a countdown. "You speak of pulling strings," he said. "I own the loom."

He stopped right in front of the screen, eyes narrowing into surgical slits.

"If a pack of wild dogs sunk their teeth into your flesh, would you offer them bones? Or would you slit their throats and hang their carcasses outside your gates for the world to see?" He tilted his head, mockingly curious.

"You want fairness?" Donovan's voice thinned like air before lightning. "Then line up your most precious ones. The ones you pray for. I'll send my men to them. Drunk. Laughing. Just like your sons did. Let's see how understanding you are when it's your blood screaming beneath someone else's hands."

A chair slammed in the background of the video call. "You have lost your mind over some random girl! Do you even know your family-"

"Be careful," Donovan pointed his finger towards each of them on the screen. "You might find your tongue missing from your body next morning... if anyone disrespected her," Donovan warned. "I have finally reached the edge of it." He began pacing slowly, the way generals walk before executions.

"You all sit on oil wells and parliaments thinking that grants immunity. That your boys can bruise, strip, and humiliate—then get chauffeured home because daddy shakes hands with death itself."

The eldest of them, bearded and cold-eyed, spoke carefully now. "Even by Triad law, Roland's punishment is excessive. Breaking bones already crosses a line for a mere...." Donovan's eyes darkened, making the man hold his tongue.

"I am the line," Donovan's head turned slightly. "The day I let whispers rewrite justice is when I become a footnote in history told with laughter. I don't do footnotes. I burn the page." His tone turned clinical.

"You wanted a negotiation. Let me make it simple." He looked directly into the camera. "There will be no mercy for Roland. He doesn't leave Valtham. Not now. Not ever."

One of the brothers tried appealing. "They are still our blood—our family. You think we will spare anyone from your family after this?"

Donovan's voice dropped to a whisper that carried more weight than a scream. "And if your same blood tried to carve open your chest and rip the thing you love most from it—would you save them? Or would you rip them apart to survive?" He let the silence answer. "I already know what you would do," Donovan said. "You would bury them before anyone else found out. So spare me the performance."

Just then, the intercom on the desk crackled. "Mr Sohn is on the secured line." Without waiting for permission, the call was patched in. Mr Sohn's voice came through, crisp as glass snapping under pressure.

"Mr Rothschild," he said, "You asked me to give me an urgent call."

Kai, sitting beside Logan silently, watched Donovan stand his ground and the ten people threatening them to harm their family members instead of accepting their children's mistake?

"Begin shorting Analystis Corporation on every European exchange. I want their shares bleeding by midnight. Make sure the press eats the carcass." Kai's voice was as firm as a mountain. "Ensure that you reach out to Uncle Wolfgang to remove all the necessary rights for conducting business in Europe. Report all the unlawful activities and entries committed by the Analystis."

A man from the screen gasped. "That's my company! You can't—"

Kai's voice cut him off. "You dared to threaten us? Let us the Triadwolfen group remind you all who you are dealing with. Your sons touched what wasn't theirs. Even the devil knows not to touch what belongs to a god."

Donovan sat back down, calm again. "You wish to have a civil negotiation," he said now, deadly polite. "I'll give you three options. Just for sport." He held up his fingers.

"One—your sons are sent to Mountain Metah, where even daylight runs from the woods." The air got sucked out of the room where they all sat.

"Two—they are handed over to Valdor, where the Valtham family will handle their reformation, and none of you will hear from them again." Everyone on the screen felt their chairs trembling.

"Or three—" his voice hardened, "they stay here, under my punishment. I will break them, and once their pride has been fed to rats, I'll return the shells of your sons to you."

He lowered his hand slowly. "But Roland stays. That name is already carved into Valtham's soil." He looked each man dead in the eyes, his stare a mirror showing them what they truly feared. "You have three choices. Choose wisely. Because the fourth one... is war.....war with Capo dei Capi of Valtham, allies of Valtham's Royal family who wholeheartedly gifted me the title, which leads to opposing them."

Donovan allowed the words to sink in. Silence enveloped the room. Nobody uttered a sound, their hearts pounding irregularly, a bead of sweat running down from their temple, their thoughts tumultuously racing, a conflict with Valtham?

The name Valtham has instilled fear in the hearts of many. Mysterious occurrences have been whispered about them. People are not afraid of what they can see; rather, they are terrified of what remains unseen. Valtham embodied that fear. They do not present themselves to individuals, yet their name alone sends chills down the spines of all who have heard their stories. A gruesome legend surrounds the city of Valtham.

No one spoke for five whole minutes, not a cough or shuffle. Not even the static hum of the screen.

Silence filled the room like smoke in a sealed chamber, suffocating those on the call far more than those present. The air felt like it was listening, waiting.

Finally, August Lamborni—Defence Minister and father of Roland—broke the quiet. His voice didn't shake. But it was close."I want my son back."

He looked around as if summoning courage from the other men, but none met his gaze. Still, he pressed on.

"Everyone here might be afraid of you, but I'm not. Listen well, Donovan Magnum," he said, narrowing his eyes into sharpened steel. "You are not undefeatable. You are powerful, yes—but not immortal. You are not the only one who commands armies."

He leaned forward until his face took up half the screen, fury swimming beneath his diplomatic calm. "I am the Defence Minister. I have enough authority to light a military fire across Europe in the name of honour, and I will if my son doesn't return home. I will find the excuse. And if you think your name protects you…"

He sneered now. " Let me tell you a short story—Magnum's were nearly wiped off the earth once by one person. And it can happen again. Ask your father the history."

There it was.—the warning. A father's desperation is masked as a politician's threat.

Donovan didn't raise a brow. His face remained unreadable—like a sealed vault that had never known light. He didn't even look at August. Instead, he turned his eyes slowly to the others on the screen. His silence spoke louder than any threat could. And then, finally, he said calmly: "I will send your beloved members back." His words were sharp, clean, andfinal. "Alive. Eventually. Until then… take care of yourselves."

No one had the nerve to reply. The screen flicked to black.

The moment the silence reclaimed the room, Donovan rose from his seat. His suit didn't crease. His steps didn't hurry.Hegave one angry look toKai and Logan before pushing the door open.

Waiting outside, like a shadow cast by vengeanceitself, stood the woman in the black dress. Her spine straightened the moment she saw him.

"Prepare those bastards," Donovan said, voice quiet and deliberate. "Bring them to the ground."

For a split second, something shimmered in her eyes—excitement.

Her smile arrived without warning. It stretched slow and sharp, shrinking her eyes into gleaming slits.

"I have been waiting for that order," she murmured. Her heels were already moving before the echo of his voice faded behind her. No hesitation. No more questions. It's gonna be fun!