Chapter 219

Clins, shocked, quickly picked up the phone. "Owen! Owen… Hello?"

The voice was hostile and hoarse. Gina recognized it wasn't her son's. "Owen is about to die. If you want to save him, come now."

Gina was initially shocked, then disbelieving. Her voice trembled. "Who are you? What did you do to Owen? Don't hurt him! My husband won't let you get away with this."

The Allen family, prominent in Troln City, held considerable influence, though less than the Burnsons or Halls. Silas’s thriving business ensured connections at high levels.

Gina attempted to intimidate the man, but he laughed disdainfully. "You can ask your husband to see your son's current situation. Oh, but don't be late. If you are, he won't survive."

Terrorized, Gina screamed. The smart TV in the living room inexplicably switched on, broadcasting Owen's plight in real time. She couldn't see his face clearly, but a young boy was thrown into a pitch-black septic tank, choking, nearly unconscious.

"Ah!" Gina cried, nearly losing her mind. This person controlled her television! She felt utterly helpless, her blood running cold.

The voice continued, "Think carefully. Tell your husband, and he'll learn about your son's misdeeds. You know what Owen's been up to. He'll lose his position as CEO, and you'll be cast out of the Allen family."

"No! Please don't tell him!" Gina panicked, pacing frantically. Her voice wavered. "Don't tell him… How much do you want? I'll come. I'll come now."

The man hung up. An address appeared on the television screen. Gina’s body went cold, her legs giving way as she collapsed onto the sofa.

Night Bar.

Troln City's vibrant nightlife buzzed. People mingled, some conducting business, others simply enjoying the evening.

Erza had lost count of his wild nights. He'd become even more detached, sometimes unconcerned if someone stole his belongings while drunk. No one dared to reprimand him anymore.

"Erza, tonight's girl is unusual," a young man beside him announced excitedly.

"How so?" Erza lazily swirled his wine, his shirt half-open.

"She's not here for men, but for money… You'll see," the young man replied.

The door opened and closed. A woman in a well-tailored navy blue business suit entered. She appeared no older than twenty-six, with long hair and a delicate face, unlike the other women who frequented the establishment. They often displayed a flirtatious manner, but Alyssa was exquisite, beautiful yet cold.

"Who is she?" Erza asked. He was the club's owner, yet he couldn't recall the woman's name; the Allen family was too insignificant for him to know.

The young man suggested, "She's interesting. Tell her you have a project for her, she'll drink with you. Tomorrow, you can pretend to forget. It'll be fun, hahaha."

Erza's face darkened; he kicked a nearby object, the clang expressing his displeasure. The young man fell silent.

"Get lost," Erza commanded. "Asshole."

The young man, incredulous, stared. "Do I need to repeat myself?" Erza demanded.

The private room's occupants watched, the atmosphere strained. It was the young man's first day; he'd summoned Alyssa to entertain Erza, and had failed miserably.

He found an excuse to leave, unaware that Alyssa watched him with raised eyebrows, as if he’d walked into a trap.

Alyssa, with manicured fingers, filled a green, flat, pentagonal glass with whiskey and slid it toward Erza. "Mr. Burnson, since I'm here, why don't we have a drink?"

Alyssa's intentions were twofold: to humiliate the young man and to meet Erza, someone she couldn't normally encounter.

Erza, however, surrounded by two women, ignored her. "I don't have any project for you. You can leave."

Alyssa smiled, lowering her eyes. "Mr. Burnson, you've been away for a month or two. Everyone knows you're idle now."

The room froze. Everyone looked at Erza, fearing his anger.

Alyssa continued, "I simply wanted a drink to celebrate meeting you. Since you prefer I leave…"

She collected her bag and departed without looking back. Outside, she breathed deeply, relaxing slightly. Her outward composure masked intense nervousness; she'd prepared for a week but failed to connect with Erza or the Burnson family.

She lit a cigarette. Unlike Owen, who was loved by his mother, Alyssa had always had to fight.

Her phone rang. "Hello?" she answered.

"Big trouble," the caller said. "I've been watching your brother and that woman. They hired a murderer! The victim almost died, suffered brain damage, is disabled."

"What?" Alyssa was shocked, despite knowing Owen's recklessness. "Murder? That’s too much! Who's injured?"

"Lane Kemp," the caller replied.

"Lane Kemp? Disabled?" Alyssa repeated, as a tall young man in black sportswear overheard. Erza's steps faltered.