Maurice had ordered Harvey sent down as a boxed set.

Harvey's smug grin froze. Disbelief morphed into anger as he glared at the man in the wheelchair. "You cripple! I'm the head of the Walsh family now. Do you dare to kill me?" One of Maurice's men immediately retaliated with a forceful kick to Harvey's stomach, sending him sprawling and coughing up blood. His face paled.

"What makes you think you can speak to Mr. Glovers like that?" the man spat.

"Take him away!"

Several men seized Harvey and dragged him off. Only then did he notice the plane had landed at Ablil Airport; the Glovers' name was prominently displayed on the jet. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks: the "cripple" was Maurice Glovers, the ruthless head of the Glover family. Harvey froze, trembling violently.

Years of arrogance had made him dismissive, even when he suspected the other party's identity might be significant. Though unease flickered, fear wasn't in his nature. He never imagined this man was Maurice Glovers. The Glovers were notoriously discreet, but their reputation for ruthless efficiency was legendary. If Maurice said he'd throw someone from a helicopter, he would.

Panic seized Harvey. Desperate, he called out to the only person he thought could save him.

"Help me! Felicia, help me! I'm your cousin—your blood cousin! You can't just leave me to die like this!" He thrashed and screamed, his voice raw with desperation.

Inside a nearby Bentley, Felicia leaned back, watching the commotion in the rearview mirror. Her gaze was calm as she observed Harvey's pitiful struggle.

"Are you going to save him?" Maurice asked from beside her, having just been helped into the car. "If you ask, I might consider it."

Felicia glanced away from the mirror. "Let's go."

Maurice raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised. "If he hadn't insulted you on the plane, would you have saved him?"

Felicia tilted her head. "Why would I?" Her voice was indifferent. She could barely protect herself—how could she afford to worry about saving anyone else? Especially someone like Harvey. He had brought this upon himself. Why should she intervene? Even if she saved him, he wouldn't be grateful; he'd only make her life harder.

Maurice seemed intrigued. "If you never planned to help him, why say you'd spare his life?" He'd expected Felicia to beg him, but she hadn't.

Felicia gave a soft "oh," feigning confusion. "Did I say that? I don't remember."

Maurice was speechless. He hadn't realized Felicia was deliberately playing him—offering hope only to snatch it away. It was calculated, ruthless. Harvey continued to struggle and shout, his pleas eventually turning into curses.

By the time the men dragged him onto the helicopter, the weight of his predicament hit him fully. He thought back to Felicia's words on the jet: "Good luck." If only he hadn't berated her during the flight. If only he'd kept his mouth shut. Maybe she would have helped.

Regret and terror filled Harvey's chest as he was forced to the helicopter floor. He watched helplessly as it lifted off, climbing higher and higher—toward Khogend.