The Paramount Warlord

Chapter 7

Whitney was silent, his words caught in his throat.

It was true. Seven years ago, he had been nothing more than the abandoned son of the Brown family, cast aside and forgotten. But now, he had returned as a war hero, a name known across the United States. The transformation was hard to believe.

He let out a heavy sigh, his gaze dropping to Jenny.

"Monroe," he began, his voice low and steady, "I know you won't believe anything I say. But for Jenny's sake—"

Before he could finish, Monroe pulled Jenny into her arms, her emotions boiling over. "Jenny? Jenny is my daughter. She has nothing to do with you!" she shouted, her voice trembling with anger and pain.

Her body shook as she tried to hold herself together, but the tears came anyway, streaming down her face in uncontrollable waves. These weren't just tears of anger—they carried the weight of seven years of suffering, loneliness, and heartbreak.

Whitney's chest tightened, the pain in his heart like a knife twisting deeper with every tear she shed. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a quiet, broken apology. "I'm sorry, Monroe. I'm so sorry..."

"Sorry?" Monroe's eyes burned with fury as she glared at him. "Do you think that is enough?" She let out a bitter, hollow laugh, her face flushed with emotion. "Do you have any idea what I've been through these past seven years?"

Her voice cracked as she continued, the words spilling out like a dam breaking. "Do you know how desperate I was when the Miller family kicked me out? I was four months pregnant, Whitney. Four months! With no money, no home, no one to turn to. I wandered the streets for fifteen days, eating scraps I pulled out of trash bins just to survive."

She clutched Jenny tighter, her hands trembling. "If it weren't for Trina, my best friend, I don't know if I would've made it. She helped me get into a hospital just before I gave birth. But do you know how it felt to give birth alone?"

Her voice broke completely. "Every other new mother had someone there—someone holding their hand, someone sharing in their joy. I was the only one, sitting in that hospital room, completely alone. Do you know how much I envied them?"

She pulled Jenny behind her, shielding her as though from an enemy. Her voice dropped, cold and distant. "Leave, Whitney. From now on, we have nothing to do with each other. Don't come looking for me again."

Her strength seemed to drain away the moment she finished speaking. She collapsed onto the bed, clutching Jenny to her chest as sobs wracked her fragile body.

Watching her break down, Whitney felt as though his heart were being ripped apart.

He knew her words were spoken in anger, born from the unbearable pain she had endured. Seven years of suffering couldn't be erased with a simple apology. She needed to let it out, and he couldn't blame her for that.

"Monroe," he said softly, his voice steady but filled with resolve. "I know I've failed you. But now that I'm back, I swear to you—I'll make things right. Those who hurt you in the past, I'll make them pay. Every single one of them."

He added, "And not just that. I'll give you the life you deserve. I'll hold a grand wedding for you, so you can stand tall in front of the Miller family. No one will ever look down on you again."

Just then, the sound of car horns echoed from outside the building. Whitney's instincts told him it was Kenson and Peter waiting for him. He turned to Monroe, his expression softening. "I have something I need to take care of," he said gently. "Wait for me."

He glanced at his wife and daughter one last time, his heart heavy with reluctance. But he turned and left the apartment.

'The Edwards, Mary, how dare you humiliate Monroe like this? How dare you put her through so much pain?'

His once gentle expression hardened, his eyes cold and filled with a deadly resolve. A chilling killing intent radiated from him, sharp and suffocating.

He had failed his wife and daughter for seven years, but he would make up for it—starting with the destruction of the Edwards family.

When Whitney reached the bottom of the building, a fleet of armored vehicles was already waiting for him.

Kenson stood at the forefront of the armored vehicles, with thousands of soldiers lined up behind him in perfect formation. The moment Whitney appeared, the entire crowd stepped forward in unison, saluting sharply. "Greetings, World Conqueror!"

These men were Whitney's subordinates, and to them, he was more than a leader—he was a god.

Whitney strode to the front of the group. His voice rang out, steady and powerful. "Everyone, listen to my command!" The familiar words sent a ripple through the soldiers. They snapped to attention, their reverence palpable.

Whitney raised his arm high, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Follow me. We're charging into the Edwards family estate!"

"Yes, sir!" The soldiers roared in unison, their voices deafening. The sheer force of their momentum felt as though it could shake the heavens.

Without hesitation, the soldiers began boarding the armored vehicles. Engines roared to life, growling like dragons ready to unleash their fury. The convoy surged forward, speeding toward the Edwards family estate with unstoppable force.

Inside one of the lead vehicles, Whitney sat in silence. The image of Monroe's tear-streaked face haunted him, and the thought of everything she had endured over the past seven years filled him with a rage so deep it threatened to consume him. He wanted nothing more than to destroy the Edwards family, to make them pay for every ounce of pain they had caused her.

At that moment, Kenson turned to Whitney, his face grim, and handed him a phone. "General, you need to see this."

Whitney frowned and took the phone. The moment his eyes landed on the screen, his expression grew even darker.

A glaring headline blazed across the screen: [Slut Monroe Seduces Married Man Frank Edwards.]

Below the headline was a photo of Frank confessing to Monroe. The angle of the shot was deliberately misleading, making it appear as though Monroe was the one throwing herself at Frank.

The comments beneath the post were even worse. "What a slut. She already has a daughter and still goes after someone else's husband. Shameless."

"Ha! What can you do? Her husband abandoned her, so she has to make money somehow. Disgusting, but understandable."

"Exactly. But seriously, why did her husband leave her in the first place?"

"Isn't it obvious? Didn't you read the news? She's a slut. Who knows how many men she's been with? Her husband couldn't take it anymore."

Each comment was like a dagger, twisting deeper into Whitney's chest. He didn't say anything, but his eyes burned with a murderous intensity.

This was a blatant, malicious fabrication.

The photo, the headline, the comments—it was all designed to smear Monroe's name, to drag her through the mud. Whitney's jaw clenched so tightly it ached. His fists creaked as he squeezed them. "These past seven years have already been unbearable for Monroe," he muttered through gritted teeth. "Why won't they leave her alone?"

Kenson's face was flushed with anger, his own frustration evident. "It has to be the Edwards family. Absolutely despicable!"