Chapter 125

The moment Nathan Blackwood saw the shadowy figure charging toward him, his combat instincts flared to life. The attacker moved with eerie silence, like a specter from his past.

Maxwell Kingsley's strikes were brutal and precise, each blow aimed to incapacitate. His movements blurred with lethal intent.

Nathan's pupils contracted. He barely twisted away in time, feeling the whoosh of air where Maxwell's fist had been.

"Not bad for a washed-up soldier," Maxwell taunted, his lips curling in a cruel smirk.

Nathan's chest heaved as he steadied his breathing.

Though years had passed since his military service, Nathan maintained peak physical condition through relentless training.

But actual combat? That was a different beast entirely.

Now he relied solely on muscle memory and raw instinct.

As they exchanged blows, Nathan recognized something unsettlingly familiar in Maxwell's technique.

Those moves...they bore the distinct signature of elite special forces training.

Who the hell was this guy?

CRACK!

A vicious kick to the ribs sent white-hot pain through Nathan's torso. He staggered but refused to fall.

"Mr. Blackwood!"

Oliver Sinclair's voice cut through the haze of pain. The young secretary rushed to Nathan's side, his face pale. "You're hurt!"

"It's nothing," Nathan ground out, swallowing the coppery taste in his mouth.

"You bastard!" Oliver's hands balled into fists as he charged at Maxwell.

"Oliver! No!"

Nathan's warning came too late.

Maxwell dispatched the untrained secretary with a single brutal punch, sending Oliver crumpling to the pavement.

Nathan saw red. "We've met before. Who are you?"

Maxwell's smirk widened as he stepped over Oliver's unconscious form. "Let me enlighten you," he purred, closing the distance between them. "The woman I'd die for? She's your ex-wife."

Nathan's entire body went rigid. His hands shook with barely contained rage. "You're dead."

The expensive fabric of Nathan's tailored suit strained as his muscles coiled. He launched himself at Maxwell with a roar.

Their brutal exchange revealed an unsettling truth - despite years away from active duty, Nathan's skills remained razor-sharp. Even constrained by his formal attire, his movements were fluid and precise.

Maxwell's eyes narrowed. He'd underestimated his opponent.

Nathan fought like a man possessed, every strike fueled by white-hot fury.

But alcohol and exhaustion were taking their toll. His movements grew sluggish, his vision blurring at the edges.

Finally, Maxwell landed a crushing blow that sent Nathan sprawling. Pain exploded along his spine.

"Time to finish this," Maxwell sneered, raising his foot for a killing stomp.

A new voice rang out: "Touch my best friend again and I'll put a bullet between your eyes!"

Julian Montgomery came barreling into the fray, his usually charming features twisted in rage. In his hand gleamed the cold steel of a pistol.

Maxwell froze mid-step.

"Back the hell up!" Julian's voice shook slightly as he leveled the gun. "Unless you want your brains decorating the pavement."

"Julian, don't!" Nathan gasped, clutching his injured side.

"Are you insane?" Julian shouted. "This psycho nearly killed you!"

His finger tightened on the trigger. "Last warning - walk away or I swear to God I'll shoot!"

To everyone's shock, Maxwell took another step forward, his eyes locked on Julian's.

"Julian, run!" Nathan bellowed.

BANG!

The gunshot echoed through the night.