A man in an impeccably tailored black suit approached Rebecca.
His features were chiseled and severe, his eyes holding an innate, unshakable elegance. Every movement spoke of inherited grace and authority.
Behind him trailed no fewer than thirty bodyguards—all in dark suits and sunglasses—their collective presence silencing the air.
Everyone in the yard seemed to hold their breath.
Bruce Quinn's gaze swept past the crowd and landed directly on Rebecca, crumpled and bleeding on the ground.
When he reached her, the man known for his icy composure found his voice rough and strained. "Does it hurt?... I'm sorry. I'm late."
Rebecca managed a faint shake of her head. Her lips parted, but no sound emerged. All she felt was pain—a raw, cellular agony.
Without hesitation, Bruce removed his s
