25 Years Ago
Wile stood firm, his feet planted solidly against the cold marble floor of his father’s grand estate. The morning light filtered through the towering windows, casting long shadows across the hall—shadows that stretched between him and the man who had orchestrated his suffering.
“I have come back, Father.”
Pacifico did not immediately respond. His gaze was calm, unreadable, a mask of silent authority that had commanded empires and crushed rebellion, his expression betraying nothing—not anger, not regret, not even curiosity. Just quiet observation, as though Wile were merely another piece in his grand chessboard.
Wile refused to flinch under his scrutiny.
“It’s already weeks past your hunting game,” he continued, voice unwavering. “I survived.”
A beat passed.
“I can see t
