The air in the penthouse didn’t just feel cold anymore; it felt lethal. Damian stood in the center of his study, the shattered remains of a crystal glass crunching beneath his Italian leather shoes. He didn’t notice the blood trickling from a small cut on his palm. His entire world had narrowed down to a single GPS coordinate on his monitor—a luxury high-rise owned by Vane Industries.
"Sir, the security team is ready," Marcus said, his voice unusually strained. Even the seasoned bodyguard looked pale as he stood at the doorway. He had worked for Damian Black for ten years, but he had never seen the man like this. This wasn't the Ice King. This was a man who had been stripped of his armor and left with nothing but a raw, bleeding need for vengeance.
"Did I tell you to wait for the team?"
