An eerie silence filled the hospital room.

Audrey Sullivan and Ethan Sullivan both watched as Shane Prescott took bite after bite of cake.

"That's enough," Audrey suddenly spoke. "Ethan, take your brother to the hospital."

Shane flexed his wrist, joints cracking. "Just minor injuries. No need for hospitalization." His tone was light. "After years of martial arts training, I know my limits."

Audrey's delicate brows furrowed. "You're going!"

Eventually, Shane was admitted to the hospital.

Ethan arranged a full battery of tests: X-rays, CT scans, blood work. Results showed strained arm ligaments, soft tissue contusions, and minor rib fractures.

"No surgery required," the doctor adjusted his glasses. "Just immobilization and rest."

Ethan insisted on a VIP ward.

"I'll stay with you," he said.

Shane immediately refused. "No need."

He couldn't stand his younger brother's excessive concern. Last hospitalization, Ethan had even followed him to the bathroom.

Reluctantly, Ethan left after assigning bodyguards and nurses, giving repeated instructions.

Early next morning...

Adrian Sullivan lay in his hospital bed, neck brace secured, arm in a cast. Through gritted teeth, he asked, "What's the update on the car accident?"

Leonard Laurent briefed him.

"Bullshit!" Adrian slammed his good hand on the bed. "Shane did this on purpose! I want him dead!"

Leonard gestured for the servants to leave.

"Keep your cool," he whispered. "Failed attempts in Dorset Village and Myanmar—do you want to repeat those mistakes?"

Adrian's face twisted. "He's humiliating me!"

"Shane's not the real threat." Leonard narrowed his eyes. "Your true opponent is Ethan."

"If I keep tolerating this, I'll be dead!"

"He wouldn't dare kill you outright." Leonard stroked his beard. "With surveillance everywhere, reckless action would backfire."

As Adrian prepared to retort, the door burst open.

Nathan Laurent stormed in. "Who did this to my nephew?"

"Uncle!" Adrian's eyes lit up.

Leonard frowned. "Who called you?"

"I did," Adrian interjected.

Seeing his nephew's condition, Nathan's rage ignited. "That bastard did this?"

Receiving confirmation, he turned to leave.

"Stop!" Leonard barked.

Nathan didn't look back. "I'm teaching him a lesson today!"

"You—"

"Enough patience! The Laurents will become laughingstocks!"

After a pause, Leonard relented. "No fatalities."

Outside the VIP suite, four bodyguards stood guard.

Nathan arrived with his men, radiating menace.

"Move," he ordered.

The guards stood firm. "Mr. Sullivan's orders—"

Before they could finish, a brawl erupted.

Amid the chaos, Nathan barged into the room.

Shane leaned against the headboard, coldly lifting his gaze. "Can I help you?"

Nathan grabbed his collar. "You bastard! Daring to touch my nephew!"

Shane easily evaded. "Leave if you value your life."

"Arrogant!" Nathan threw a punch.

Shane blocked with one hand, rolling off the bed. "Final warning."

Nathan snatched a chair and swung.

Shane dodged, reaching for his waist—no throwing knives. He'd forgotten he wore hospital garb.

As he turned to retrieve a weapon, Nathan raised the chair toward his skull—

A figure flashed in.

Luna Valentine seized the chair, executing a flawless shoulder throw that launched Nathan into the hallway.

"Thud!"

Silence fell.

Eight bodyguards froze.

Nathan groaned on the floor, just as Ethan approached.

"Mr. Laurent," Ethan arched a brow, "performing acrobatics?"

Nathan's face darkened.

"Let me help you." Ethan firmly grasped his arm.

"No need!"

A crisp "crack" sounded.

Nathan howled in pain.

Ethan smiled apologetically. "My apologies. Slipped."