In this gripping tale, our fierce protagonist, named 𝐊𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐘𝐧, finds herself stripped of everything after a devastating divorce. Determined to seek justice for herself and her family, she hits rock bottom, struggling to even put food on t...
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As soon as Philip’s entourage disappeared beyond the dusty horizon and the last of the convoy cars rumbled out of sight, Barron sprang into action. His composure, which had been barely held together in front of the General, cracked the moment Philip was gone.
He barked sharp orders into his walkie-talkie, his voice tinged with frustration and panic. Within minutes, his men scrambled to unlock cells, halt the beatings, and gather the detained individuals.
The shift was immediate. Where there had been screams and cruelty only moments ago, now there was an eerie rush of activity.
Miles away, Sam’s group—wounded, exhausted, yet wired with adrenaline—heard everything through the comms fitted discreetly in their ear-mics. They found it very hard to believe that Yn managed to force Barron to let them go.
The moment Barron’s reluctant surrender came through, their bodies froze, as though the pain that had ravaged them was momentarily paused by sheer disbelief.
Did Yn really just do that?
The thought struck them all simultaneously.
She actually pulled it off.
She went toe-to-toe with Barron—the most arrogant, untouchable son of a bitch in the system—and made him cave.
Goddamn. That woman must be a superhuman.
A low, breathless chuckle escaped from one of the them: Sam, despite the blood on his lip. Cairn, groaning from a almost broken jaw, still managed to mutter, “She even brought that conceited, egoistic motherfucker down to his knees…”
Even in the haze of pain, it felt like a divine moment.
Not even lying, just hearing Yn’s voice—calm, sharp, full of spine—and hearing Barron’s composure crack like fragile glass had been the only balm in this hellish torment. Her threats were not just words—they were laced with the confidence of someone who knew she was in control. And that shook Barron to his very core.
Every phrase Yn had thrown at him, every time he growled and cursed back, only to backpedal again—it was a kind of poetic justice. The group, bruised and aching, found themselves smiling through split lips and bloodied teeth.
If only they could have seen Barron’s face in real time. They could already imagine the shade of red crawling up his neck, the way his jaw clenched with impotent rage, and the helpless fury burning in his eyes. It would have been the cherry on top—witnessing the downfall of the tyrant who’d humiliated them.
And they owed it all to Yn.
“Watch yourself when you’re out there, and if you come for me again, I will not hesitate to kill all of you!” Those were Barron’s parting word to them.
He spat the words like venom, his voice low but charged with fury. It wasn’t just a threat—it was a promise delivered with the cold confidence of a man who had long basked in the illusion of control.
