Chapter 21：Dragon at the Doorstep

Sebastian Lockwood paced before the floor-to-ceiling windows, his reflection fracturing in the rain-streaked glass. "What if Daniel refuses?" His voice tightened. "You know how he gets—pressure only makes him dig in."

Alistair Lockwood's ) cane struck the marble with a gunshot crack. "Then he'll join his birth parents in unmarked graves." The jade dragonhead grip gleamed under chandelier light. "Li Fujiang's helicopters are circling Jiang City. This is no time for soft hands."

Yang Rongjuan adjusted her pearl choker, the lustrous strands suddenly resembling a noose. "Darling, Elena Vanderbilt fled like a scalded cat. Without her protection, Daniel's just another gutter rat." Her scarlet nails tapped the divorce papers. "And rats... disappear."

Sebastian's throat constricted. Moonlight caught the family portrait behind them—eight-year-old Daniel grinning between them at Disneyland, his Mickey ears askew. "But Elena's connections—"

"—Are continental." Alistair cut him off, swirling twelve-year Macallan. "Li Fujiang's power is provincial. Blood-soaked. Immediate." Ice cubes clinked like bones in his glass. "No mercy makes the man, Sebastian. Your grandfather buried three brothers for these estates."

Second Floor - 21:03

Daniel's fingers brushed the hidden compartment beneath his windowsill—the USB drive containing Li Fujiang's son's toxicology reports. Distant rotor blades throbbed in sync with the shouting below:

"—sign or I'll torch that free clinic you love—"

Yang's shrill threat dissolved as headlights slashed through the downpour. Six black SUVs materialized like wraiths, their engines growling through the iron gates.

Daniel pressed a palm to the chilled glass. Li Fujiang emerged from the lead vehicle, a surgeon's scalpel glinting in his breast pocket.

Right on time.

Downstairs Parlor

The Lockwoods froze as bodyguards flooded the foyer. Li Fujiang's crocodile loafers left wet imprints on the Persian rug. "Apologies for the hour." His smile revealed gold-capped molars. "But poisoners and liars... thrive in darkness."

Alistair's grip whitened on his cane. "This is a family matter—"

"Precisely." Li Fujiang tossed a tablet onto the mahogany table. Security footage played—Yang Rongjuan slipping powder into a champagne flute at last year's gala. "Your wife's been dosing my family."

Sebastian's gaze darted to the second-floor balcony. Daniel stood silhouetted against lightning, holding something that glinted metallic.

The USB drive.

The scalpel.

The truth.

Sebastian's knuckles whitened around the bannister. They were right—Li Fujiang's favor was a golden ticket, and Daniel's defiance was nothing but a pebble on his path to power.

The divorce must happen.

Those assets must be mine.

Cold resolve crystallized in his chest. "I'll bring him down myself."

He took the stairs two at a time.

Second Floor Hallway

Daniel stood by the window, silhouetted against the storm. He didn't turn as Sebastian entered.

"Daniel." Sebastian forced warmth into his voice. "Come downstairs. Let's talk this through."

A beat. Then Daniel turned, his expression unreadable. "Talk?"

The word hung between them, fragile as the lie it was.

Downstairs Parlor

Yang slid the folder across the polished mahogany. "Sign."

Daniel scanned the documents—divorce papers, asset transfers, all neatly notarized and waiting for his name.

Sebastian clapped a brotherly hand on his shoulder. "It's for the best, Daniel. You and Elena... it's over."

Daniel didn't flinch. "And if I refuse?"

Yang's smile curdled. "This isn't a request."

Alistair tapped his cane—once, twice. "China sees countless disappearances every year. Tragic, really. How easily people... vanish."

The threat landed like a blade between ribs.

Daniel's breath hitched.

He'd been counting on their fear of Elena to keep him safe. Counting on time to outmaneuver them.

But this—this was a kill order.

And the clock had just run out.

Daniel's fingers hovered over the documents. "I need time to think."

Alistair's laugh was a dry crackle. "Time? Elena's gone, boy. Sign now, walk free." His knuckles whitened around the cane. "Or stay forever."

Yang's perfume—something expensive and floral—clung to the air like poison. "Don't make this difficult."

Sebastian edged closer, his smile a razor wrapped in silk. "We're still family, Daniel."

Family.

The word curdled in Daniel's gut. How had he never seen it before? The way their eyes gleamed—not with affection, but the cold hunger of wolves circling wounded prey.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Then Alistair moved.

"Sebastian, hold him!"

Daniel reacted on instinct. He vaulted over the sofa just as Sebastian lunged, their grasping hands closing on empty air.

He didn't head for the doors—he knew the estate was crawling with guards. Instead, he took the stairs two at a time, his pulse hammering in his throat.

The room. Get to the room.

Behind him, Alistair's bellow echoed through the hall:

"You'll regret this, you ungrateful bastard!"

The door slammed shut just as Sebastian's fingers brushed his collar.

The door shuddered under the onslaught of fists.

"Daniel! You think hiding like a coward will save you?" Sebastian's voice dripped with venom.

Alistair's cane struck the wood in a steady, ominous rhythm. "Last chance, boy. Open this door."

Inside, Daniel worked silently. The mahogany desk scraped across the floor as he wedged it against the entrance, followed by the oak dresser—a makeshift barricade of splintering wood and desperation.

A pause in the pounding. Then Alistair's voice, cold and clear:

"Sebastian. The gasoline."

Daniel froze.

The smell hit him first—that acrid, chemical tang seeping beneath the door. Memories flooded back: the searing heat, the choking smoke, the way his skin had blistered and peeled in his past life's final moments.

Footsteps circled his room as liquid splashed against the walls. Sebastian's laughter filtered through the keyhole.

"Should've signed the papers, brother. Elena's shadow can't protect you now."

Alistair struck a match. The scritch-scratch of phosphorus igniting was louder than any scream.

Sebastian's sneer dripped through the door cracks. "You did this to yourself, Daniel."

The gasoline sloshed in rhythmic splashes, its nauseating sweetness permeating the air. Alistair's voice cut through the haze: "Enough. Light it."

A click.

The crisp snap of Sebastian's Zippo pierced the silence.

Daniel's lungs seized—that sound, that smell, it was all the same as before. Death had come knocking once more.

Ding-dong.

The doorbell's chime sliced through the tension like a scalpel.

Sebastian's phone buzzed violently. A bodyguard's panicked voice blared through the speaker:

"Mr. Lockwood! Li Fujiang's convoy is at the gates—he's here."

The Zippo's flame guttered out.