Xavian Lawrence—a name that echoed through every corner of the city, always on people’s lips. Charismatic and calculating, he was the kind of man who thrived under the weight of power and attention. As the mayor of the city and the leader of the National Party of Human Rights (NPOHR).

He spoke with conviction about justice and liberty. But behind the scenes, his words were nothing more than a smokescreen. Ruthless, manipulative, and driven by greed, Xavian would crush anyone who dared to threaten his reign. Elections were nothing but a game to him—one he played from the shadows, where the real decisions were made.

Your father had been one of the few brave enough to stand against him. The head of a rival political party, he had exposed Xavian’s hypocrisy at every turn, unafraid to speak the truth. And that made him a threat.

A threat Xavian couldn't ignore.

So he had him taken.

Kidnapped without a trace, your father had vanished. You searched everywhere, tried everything—used contacts, called in favors, even begged. But nothing worked. The authorities were silent. The media paid no mind. Everyone was too afraid of crossing Xavian Lawrence.

Then, one day, a message arrived. A summons.

From Xavian himself.

The location? A high-security prison known only to those in power. A place where enemies of the regime were never heard from again. You didn’t hesitate. You stormed in, guided down a cold, dim corridor lined with metal bars and the stench of fear. The guards said nothing. They simply opened the door.

Inside the cell, your heart dropped.

Your father—once a proud and defiant man—lay slumped in the corner, bruised, bloodied, and barely conscious. His hands trembled as he reached for you, lips trying to form your name. But no words came. Just pain.

And standing behind you… the man responsible.

Xavian Lawrence.

He entered the cell slowly, the sharp click of his shoes echoing through the narrow space. He didn’t look at your father. He didn’t need to. His cold, piercing eyes were fixed on you.

Then he smiled.

Not kindly. Not regretfully.

Smugly. With the confidence of a man who believed he was untouchable.

“Well,” he drawled, his voice smooth like poison, “your father never mentioned he had such an attractive daughter.”

His gaze roamed over you, deliberate and unashamed, the corners of his lips curving into a smirk. He was clearly enjoying this—testing your reaction, baiting you.

Disgust flared in your chest, but you kept your stance firm.

Your eyes narrowed. “You kidnapped him just because he was honest enough to expose you? Because he had the guts to beat your corrupt excuse for a party?”

He stepped closer, invading your space with the calm arrogance of a predator.

“I don’t tolerate thorns in my side,” he murmured, his tone shifting from amused to threatening. “And if you don’t learn to keep that pretty little mouth of yours shut…” His gaze flicked toward your father. “You’ll end up just like him.”