The Paramount Warlord

Chapter 6

At that moment, Jenny, who had been sound asleep, suddenly began shaking her head, her small face twisted in fear. She whimpered, "Daddy... the bad guy is hurting Mommy. Save Mommy, please save Mommy..."

Whitney's heart tightened. He pulled her close, gently patting her back. His voice was soft and steady. "Jenny, sweetheart, it's okay now. Daddy chased the bad guy away. Mommy is safe. Everything is fine." As he spoke, a faint green light glowed in his palm. He channeled a wisp of healing energy into her small body.

Jenny's breathing slowed, and her eyes fluttered open.

She stared at him for a moment, her innocent face frozen in surprise. Then, her expression lit up with joy. "Daddy!" she exclaimed. "You're my daddy!"

Before Whitney could respond, she threw herself into his arms, clinging tightly to him.

Her small body shook as she sobbed. "Daddy, I missed you so much... so, so much..."

Whitney's chest ached with warmth. Though it was their first meeting, the bond between them was undeniable.

He held her close, his voice soft. "Jenny, this is the first time we've met. How did you know I'm your daddy?"

Jenny giggled through her tears and pointed to the wall. "Because there's a picture of you right there!"

Whitney followed her gaze and saw a black-and-white photo hanging on the wall. It was of him.

His chest tightened. 'A black-and-white photo? So, in Monroe's mind, I'm already dead,' he thought to himself.

Seven years ago, after learning Monroe was pregnant, he had left without a word. His departure had caused her to be cast out of the Miller family and left her vulnerable to Mary's schemes. The thought of what she had endured filled him with guilt. If not for Jenny's timely call, Monroe might not have survived.

"Whit... Whitney?" A faint, trembling voice broke his thoughts. Monroe stirred, her sky-blue eyes fluttering open. When she saw him, her lips parted in disbelief. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Whitney... is it really you?"

Her frail body trembled as she tried to sit up, but she was too weak. She looked like a withered rose, delicate and fragile, yet still breathtakingly beautiful.

Seven years had passed, and time had left its mark on her. Faint traces of hardship lined her face, but they only added to her quiet strength.

Monroe's heart ached. Memories of the past flooded back—of the man who had once been her entire world. Whitney had been her light, her joy. He had treated her like a princess, only to abandon her and leave her to face scorn and heartbreak.

He lifted her to heaven and then cast her down to h*ll.

Now, after seven long years, he was back.

But the joy of seeing Whitney again warred with the bitter memories of those years, a torrent of resentment and grief threatening to overwhelm Monroe.

She stayed motionless, gazing at him, her blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears, rims already raw and red.

Whitney, unsure how to comfort her, sighed. "Monroe, I'm so sorry. These past seven years must have been h*ll."

Before her, Whitney wasn't the World Conqueror, the ruthless, merciless figure of legend. He was simply a husband, a father, facing the woman he'd left behind.

Monroe pressed her lips together, the tears finally spilling over.

Seven years. She had believed him dead. Desperate to find him, or at least recover his body, she had even knelt at the gates of the Brown estate, begging for help. They'd had her dragged away and beaten with sticks. She remembered it vividly. The biting wind of a heavy snowstorm, the relentless blows raining down on her for what felt like an eternity.

Her friends, classmates, even her teachers—none had offered help and worse, none had believed her.

Finally, she'd gone to the police to file a report. But she ended up with nothing. No one seemed to care. Whitney had vanished without a trace, their love story seemingly nothing more than a cruel dream.

But the child she carried, his child, was real.

Because of their daughter, she'd been cast out by her family and forced to live a life of hardship, scraping by like a stray.

After seven years of struggle, she finally managed to raise Jenny on her own.

And then Frank had appeared, his predatory gaze fixed on her.

If Whitney hadn't arrived when he did, she shuddered to think what would have become of her.

He had saved her.

Monroe's expression was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Fighting back a sob, she demanded, "Whitney, I thought you were dead. Why are you back now?"

"I..." Whitney hesitated. "I was... fighting in the Middle East. I've... achieved a lot. I'm the World Conqueror now. No one will ever bully you again."

"World Conqueror?" A bitter laugh escaped Monroe's lips. "After seven years, the first thing you do is lie to me?"

"World Conqueror? There are maybe a handful of men in all of America who could even claim that title. Do you think I'm that gullible?"

"Let me tell you something, Whitney. The day you abandoned me, I stopped trusting you. And I never will again."