?Chapter 1382:


    The sound of slow, deliberate apuse rang out—soft and rhythmic, yet each p sliced through the silence like a de. Darian’s stomach twisted in humiliation. It wasn’t praise. It was mockery.


    A single light flickered to life overhead, illuminating the space.


    And there he was. Not far ahead, a man satzily in a chair, posture rxed, aura lethal.


    His features were impossibly refined: high cheekbones, cold sapphire eyes, and a faint, knowing smirk. His skin hinted at mixed heritage, his presence one of dangerous sophistication.


    Darian frowned, struggling to mask the dread in his chest. “Who are you?”


    The man—Terrence—let out a soft chuckle, smoke curling from the cigar between his fingers. His voice was smooth and rich, yet carried the chill of indifference.


    “That,” he said with quiet amusement, “is an interesting question.”


    Not the answer Darian wanted. “Don’t y games with me!” he snarled. “Who the hell are you?!”


    Terrence didn’t flinch. He simply exhaled a stream of smoke, his expression unreadable—the look of someone so used to power that the concept of fear no longer existed for him.


    The faint smirk returned as he studied Darian like a specimen under ss.


    And in that instant, Darian saw something terrifyingly familiar. That cold arrogance, that casual cruelty—it was the same look he’d worn countless times while others begged before him.


    The realization hit him like ice. Darian’s pulse spiked. The man before him wasn’t just calm—he enjoyed watching people squirm.


    “Who are you?!” Darian screamed, thrashing in rage and desperation.


    So this was what his own victims had felt—the helplessness, the suffocating fear, the bitter taste of humiliation.


    Terrence finally rose, the chair creaking softly behind him. The cigar glowed faintly in the dark as he took a slow, deliberate step forward.


    The two men locked eyes, tension crackling between them. Terrence looked down at him like a predator—cold and unyielding—radiating the arrogance of someone entirely in control.


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    Cold sweat drenched Darian’s back, soaking through his tailored shirt. His pulse hammered in his ears as he forced himself to stand tall, pretending to be calm even as fear wed through his chest.


    “I’m the heir of the Lloyd Group,” he said, his voice trembling despite his effort to steady it. “If you let me go, I can give you anything you want. Money—you’re after money, aren’t you? I can give you half of everything… no, the entire Lloyd Group!”


    His tone cracked, desperate. The words tumbled out not as a bargain, but as a plea.


    He was willing to give up his shares of the Lloyd Group to stay alive.


    Because the Lloyd family’s public fortune was only a fraction of their true power. Their hidden businesses brought in far more than the corporate empire ever could.


    For Darian, the Lloyd Group was nothing but a shell—a name for the world to admire while the real wealth flowed unseen. Even if the Lloyd Group folded, he would still be able to maintain his luxurious lifestyle.


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