Chapter 340: A Prince’s Judgment

Classic's POV

The air was thick with tension, the dimly lit warehouse silent except for the faint creak of shifting metal.

Across the room, the man who had orchestrated the attack on Classic—the one who had dared to challenge the Blackwood name—stood trembling. Blood dripped from his temple where Ethan had struck him earlier.

Classic sat in a leather chair, legs crossed, his demeanor calm, almost bored.

Behind him, a few of his father's personal guards stood at attention, their hands resting on their weapons.

The man—Gerald Vaughn, a former military strategist who thought he could defy the Blackwoods—tried to steady his breathing. He looked at Classic, trying to find any hesitation in his eyes.

There was none.

"You—You're just a boy," Gerald stammered, his voice shaking. "You don't have the guts to pull the trigger."

Classic tilted his head, considering the statement.

Then he smiled.

"That's where you're wrong."

Before Gerald could react, Classic raised the gun and fired.

A single, precise gunshot echoed through the warehouse.

Gerald staggered backward, his eyes wide with shock as blood bloomed from the center of his chest. He gasped, his hands trembling as he clutched the wound, stumbling before collapsing onto the cold concrete.

He hadn't expected it.

His eyes flickered to Classic one last time before the life drained from them.

Silence.

Classic lowered the gun, exhaling slowly. He hadn't hesitated. He hadn't needed to.

One of the guards stepped forward. "What should we do with the body, sir?"

Classic stood up, adjusting his sleeves.

"Make it disappear."

Ethan, who had been watching from the shadows, let out a low chuckle. "Your father will be pleased."

Classic didn't respond. He simply turned and walked toward the exit, his guards falling into step behind him.

He had sent a message tonight.

No one—absolutely no one—challenged a Blackwood and lived to tell the tale.