The Countdown to Project Hades

(Samuel's POV)

As the underground arena burned behind us, I exhaled, running a hand through my hair.

That was fun.

But now?

Time to focus.

I pulled up my System Interface, speaking casually.

"System, how much time remains until Project Hades begins?"

A blue holographic window appeared in front of me.

---

[SYSTEM TIMER: PROJECT HADES]

Time Remaining: 48 Hours, 37 Minutes

---

I clicked my tongue. "Tch. Still two days to go."

Henry stretched his arms, cracking his neck. "We burned a whole day already. Guess we need to find something else to do."

I sighed. "Don't tell me you wanna go paint again."

He smirked. "Nah, already did enough. But maybe it's time to prepare for what's coming."

I nodded, glancing at the London skyline. "Agreed. If Project Hades is as bad as it sounds, we should be ready for anything."

Henry's golden eyes gleamed. "Then let's not waste another second."

We turned away from the ruined fight club, stepping into the night.

48 hours left.

Time to prepare for war.

(Samuel's POV – Playing with the Media and Joshua's Ego)

The city was alive, flashing lights and cameras everywhere as I casually strolled through the streets, hands in my pockets.

Henry was off training, sharpening his skills for Project Hades.

Me?

I was already at my peak—there wasn't much more to practice. Instead, I decided to find something useful to increase my Intelligence stat.

But then—

I spotted him.

Joshua Lenin.

The so-called "golden boy" of the entertainment world, the beloved film star, and most importantly—the man Abigail flaunted in front of me like a trophy.

I smirked. "This should be fun."

I wasn't planning to start anything, so I simply walked past him, ignoring his presence entirely.

But, of course, the reporters didn't let that happen.

The moment they saw both of us in the same area, they swarmed in like hungry vultures, their cameras flashing as they rushed toward me.

"Mr. Gebb! Mr. Gebb!" one of them shouted. "Joshua is rumored to be your wife's true love! Are you here to confront him? Are you planning to kill him?!"

I stopped.

Then I turned—and smirked.

I tilted my head slightly, letting the tension build.

"How am I supposed to do that?" I said, my voice smooth, mocking. "I mean, he's my wife's perfect dream guy, right?"

A few of the reporters gasped, some whispering to each other.

Joshua's face twitched, but he kept his fake celebrity smile intact.

I wasn't done.

"In fact," I continued, "I even suggested to Abigail that we should divorce. I mean, let's be real—one of these days, I might die solving dangerous cases. Wouldn't it be tragic if she remained my widow while her perfect man was right there, waiting for her?"

The crowd erupted in murmurs.

Some of the reporters nodded, agreeing. Others were eating up the drama.

Joshua's smile was starting to crack.

But I still wasn't done.

I exhaled, looking around at the reporters, my smirk turning darker.

"Actually, I have just one request for you all."

I placed a hand over my heart, my voice mockingly sincere.

"Pray for my death."

The reporters froze.

Joshua's eyes widened.

I let the words sink in, then continued.

"That way, Joshua and Abigail can finally be together—without me being a problem."

Silence.

Then—

The reporters exploded, their cameras flashing wildly, their voices overlapping as they shouted even more questions.

Joshua's fists clenched. His carefully built reputation was starting to crumble.

He opened his mouth to say something—but I was already walking away.

I had already won.

As I walked inside the hotel, my mind still amused by the spectacle I left behind, I sensed someone approaching.

I turned my head slightly—

And there she was.

Ms. Samantha.

A well-known psychologist and psychiatrist, a woman who dealt with the minds of the powerful, the broken, and the dangerous.

I raised an eyebrow.

Of all people, I didn't expect her to be willing to talk to me.

Especially after all the rumors circulating in the media.

I smirked. "Ms. Samantha, what a surprise. Didn't think you'd be the type to entertain a man like me."

She studied me carefully, adjusting her glasses. "And why is that, Mr. Gebb?"

I chuckled. "Well, let's see. The entire country thinks I'm an unstable, vengeful ex-husband who's just waiting to murder his wife's lover. The media paints me as a villain, and yet… here you are, standing in front of me."

Her expression didn't change. If anything, she looked even more intrigued.

"That's exactly why I wanted to talk to you," she said. "Rumors are just that—rumors. But the way you carry yourself, the way you respond to them… now that is something worth analyzing."

I let out a low whistle. "So, you're interested in how my mind works?"

She gave a slight nod. "You fascinate me, Mr. Gebb. And I don't say that lightly."

I tilted my head. "Most people fear what they don't understand. But you? You want to study it."

She smiled slightly. "It's my job, after all."

I exhaled, shaking my head. "Well, congratulations, Ms. Samantha. You're the first person in this damn city who's actually willing to listen instead of jumping to conclusions."

She adjusted her bag, her sharp gaze never leaving me. "Then why don't we talk?"

I smirked, shoving my hands into my pockets. "Alright. Let's see if you can handle what's inside my head."

For the first time in a long while, I found someone who wasn't just looking at me like a monster.

Maybe this conversation would be interesting.