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... s fingers clenching his phone so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Zhao Ming's voice still echoed in his ears—cold, merciless, filled with a confidence that sent a rare chill down his spine.

He slammed his fist onto his desk, sending stacks of documents flying. His most trusted men had failed. The ambush was supposed to be flawless, yet Zhao Ming had turned it into another massacre. Even Shen Li had betrayed him.

A knock on the door interrupted his furious thoughts. A tall ...

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“Now… where should I put you both?” he asked casually, not expecting a reply. “It’s regretful that I only have one chandelier.”

“Underneath my bed? No, no, too dirty. My dust bunnies don’t deserve this,” Atticus mused to himself. “The mantlepiece? How about the vanity table? I suppose if I lop off one of your heads I could mount it over… Wife, which head do you want to stare at while you do your hair?”

“Atticus!” Daphne screamed. “I don’t want any heads! Let them go.”

“Fair enough.” Atticus shrugged, and flicked his fingers.

There were two identical cracks as both necks snapped at once.

Daphne gasped, horrified. This man, her husband, had just killed two men with a flick of his finger, as though he was snuffing out candles.

“I told you to let them go!” Daphne cried out.

“Yes, I let them go,” Atticus said. Then, his eyes darkened. “To receive divine judgment from the heavens.”

……………………………………………………………

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