As the taxi approached the towering gates of the Raphael family estate, it became clear just how vast and impressive the place was.

Spanning over a mile, the estate was more like a small city, filled with luxurious buildings, each belonging to different branches of the family.

The sheer size and opulence spoke volumes about the immense wealth possessed by the Raphael family.

Karl, the driver, whistled low as they neared the entrance.

"You sure we're in the right place, Damien? This looks more like a royal fortress than an estate," he said, eyes wide as he glanced at the towering gates and the sprawling grounds beyond.

Damien remained unfazed, his eyes cold and focused.

"We're at the right place. Just keep driving."

But as soon as the taxi got within proximity of the entrance, the air shifted.

Several guards stationed near the gate suddenly sprang into action.

Dressed in black tactical gear, they dashed toward the taxi, their faces hard and determined.

Before Karl could even blink, guns were pointed at the car from all directions.

"Move from this place right now!" one of the guards yelled, his voice booming with authority.

His weapon was trained directly on Karl's head, and his eyes left no room for negotiation.

Karl's hands tightened on the steering wheel, and he muttered under his breath, "Oh, you gotta be kidding me... I knew this was gonna be a bad idea."

Damien, cool as ever, calmly opened the door and stepped out of the taxi, not even flinching at the sight of the guns.

"Let me handle this."

The moment Damien closed the door behind him, Karl didn't even wait for him to finish his sentence.

His heart racing, Karl immediately shifted the gear, slammed his foot on the accelerator, and sped off in reverse, tires screeching against the pavement.

"Nope! Nope! Not my problem!" he yelled out, not bothering to look back.

As the taxi zoomed away, Damien shook his head in mild amusement, watching his so-called driver escape with impressive speed.

One of the guards, still pointing his gun at the retreating vehicle, looked confused.

"Your friend doesn't seem very loyal."

Damien scoffed, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Friend? More like an unpaid therapist. But he knows better than to stick around when things get messy."

He glanced toward the guards, his expression darkening.

"Now, why don't you lower those guns? I'm here on business."

The tension in the air was thick as one of the guards stepped forward, a smug grin plastered on his face as he locked eyes with Damien.

His voice oozed mockery.

"Oh, look who we have here. Isn't it the young master? Wait, no... not young master. Isn't it just Damien?"

The other guards exchanged knowing glances, their expressions darkening as they watched.

Though they served the Raphael family, everyone here knew Damien's story all too well.

He was the worthless heir, the one cast out like yesterday's trash.

They had received direct orders from the new head of the family—to treat Damien like a dog.

And it seemed they were eager to follow through.

The guard's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with cruel intent.

"So, what's a dog like you doing here? Begging for scraps?"

He was about to continue his taunts when—

BANG!

The sharp crack of a gunshot rang out, freezing everyone in their tracks.

The guard's face went blank, his smirk vanishing in an instant as his eyes slowly shifted downwards.

Blood began to pool at his abdomen, soaking his uniform.

His body trembled, and his legs buckled as he stumbled backward, clutching his gut.

"Aghhh!?"

He gaped at Damien in disbelief.

The gun—the one that had just fired—was his own.

Somehow, Damien had taken it in the blink of an eye and pulled the trigger, all without breaking a sweat.

Damien stood there, calm and composed, tilting his head slightly as his eyes gleamed with cold, unrestrained killing intent.

The guard, now on his knees, coughed and managed to scream, "Kill him!"

The moment the order was given, chaos erupted.

The remaining guards reached for their weapons, ready to follow through with the command.

Across the entire one-mile stretch of the estate's entrance, a total of 87 guards mobilized.

Guns were drawn, aimed directly at Damien.

The air buzzed with rising danger as the scent of gunpowder and blood filled the space.

But just as the tension was about to explode into violence, a voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

"STOP. No need to waste bullets."

The voice was smooth yet powerful, its tone unmistakably feminine but amplified by an immense internal energy that echoed through the entire courtyard.

It sent a ripple of shock through the guards, freezing them in place, their fingers hesitating on their triggers.

Damien didn't flinch, but he recognized the voice immediately.

The guards all turned in the direction of the sound, their postures shifting from aggression to respect.

As if an invisible force guided them, they parted, bowing slightly as they made way for the figure approaching.

Through the gap, a woman emerged.

Her steps were slow and deliberate, her presence commanding.

Her deep silver eyes glowed faintly in the dim light as her long, dark hair cascaded elegantly down her back.

She moved with a grace that seemed almost unnatural, each step silent, yet it felt as if the very ground responded to her.

Her white robe shimmered under the moonlight, adding to her ethereal appearance.

For a moment, it felt as though time itself had paused.

The wind stilled, the night air heavy with her presence.

Even the faint rustling of the trees ceased as the guards watched her in awe.

In what seemed like an instant, she closed the distance, her feet landing ten steps away from Damien.

Her gaze, sharp and piercing, met his without hesitation.

Every guard stood still, holding their breath, as if afraid to make even the slightest movement in her presence.

Damien raised an eyebrow, a flicker of recognition in his eyes as a slight smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"I should've known it was you," he muttered under his breath, his voice low but audible in the now silent courtyard.