Alex Carter stood by his car, his tall, lean frame motionless under the unforgiving sunlight.
His long white coat, once elegant, was now dust-streaked, the fabric billowing slightly in the wind. His ash-brown hair caught the light, giving him an almost ethereal glow.
His face was unreadable—calm, poised, but his eyes…
His eyes were rimmed with red.
When he exited the car, several men in black suits rushed forward, grabbing him.
Alex clenched his jaw, swinging a fist into one of them, kicking another.
But he didn't run.
Instead, he walked toward the edge of the bridge, his gaze fixed on the still, undisturbed lake below.
"Mr. Blackwood."
A voice, cold and respectful, cut through the silence.
Alex turned.
A sleek sports car door swung open, and Ethan Blackwood stepped out.
His tall figure was rigid, his expression carved from ice.
The air around him was heavy, dark, suffocating.
A dozen black cars lined the bridge, turning the vast open space into a trap.
