The Blackwood estate was quieter than usual that evening, the soft glow of chandeliers casting long shadows across the polished floors. Lance stepped through the front doors, his tailored suit impeccable, his presence commanding—even in the grand halls of the family that had once cast him out.
His father, Mr. Blackwood, looked up from his papers in surprise. "Lance… you're… back," he said, masking his curiosity with a hint of condescension.
Lance's dark eyes met his father's, cold and unwavering. "Yes, Father. I'm back," he replied smoothly, stepping closer, every movement measured. "And I've come to make something very clear."
Mr. Blackwood leaned back, wary but unconcerned. "And what exactly is that?" he asked, trying to maintain control in a situation that suddenly felt unfamiliar.
Lance's gaze hardened, the fire that had been building for years blazing quietly beneath the surface. "Do you remember the night you cast me and Maria out? The night you threw us into the cold, made us nothing?" His voice was steady, but every word carried the weight of years of betrayal and suppressed rage.
Mr. Blackwood's expression stiffened, but he said nothing.
Lance continued, each word precise and deliberate. "I've grown, Father. I've learned. I've built everything you denied me. And now… I've returned."
His father's brows knitted. "What are you implying?"
"I'm implying," Lance said, a faint, dangerous smile touching his lips, "that the little girl you cherish—Jenny—is about to understand just how wrong it was to destroy us."
Mr. Blackwood's eyes widened slightly. "Lance… that's—"
"Don't interrupt," Lance cut him off, his tone icy. "I'm not here to beg, to plead, or to apologize. I'm here to warn you. I will… destroy her family. Piece by piece, exactly as you did to me. And there's nothing you can do to stop it."
The words hung in the air, heavy with promise and threat. Mr. Blackwood opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, perhaps to deny, but Lance's presence alone silenced him. There was no boy here anymore. This was a man forged in betrayal, trained in power, and armed with every tool necessary to exact revenge.
"And don't think this is just about revenge," Lance added, leaning slightly closer, his eyes burning with intensity. "This is about justice, about balance, about showing the world—and you—what it means to cross me."
Silence followed, broken only by the ticking of a distant clock. Mr. Blackwood's pride and arrogance had always been his armor—but now, facing Lance's unyielding gaze, that armor seemed brittle, fragile, and exposed.
Lance turned away, his expression calm, but every step echoed authority. "Consider this a warning, Father. The game has begun. And when I win, you'll remember the night you destroyed your own children… and wished you hadn't."
With that, he left the room, the door clicking softly behind him, leaving a stunned, uneasy patriarch in his wake.
Outside, Lance paused for a moment, looking at the sprawling estate under the night sky. The fire inside him had grown hotter, more controlled. The past had shaped him, but the present—and the future—was now his to command.
And he would not fail.