The room fell into a suffocating silence. The weight of those words settled on Ochieng's shoulders like a mountain.
"His heir?"
His voice was low, strained. He had spent his life in the shadows, carving his own path, never once considering that his bloodline carried the weight of an empire.
Lucien Zhao watched him, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Yes. And now that you know the truth, the real game begins."
Ochieng's fingers curled into fists. He never wanted this. He never asked to be entangled in the underworld's deepest secrets. But fate had a cruel way of dragging him into chaos.
Bella placed a hand on his arm. "Ochieng..." Her voice was softer than usual, concern laced in her tone.
He pulled away, his mind spinning. Why now? Why had this truth been hidden from him for so long?
Yujin, the ever-calm strategist, stepped forward. "This changes everything. If you're the rightful heir, then every faction—every leader who sought power—will either bow to you... or try to kill you."
A bitter chuckle escaped Ochieng's lips. "Let them try."
Lucien clapped his hands, amused. "Spoken like a true Zhao."
Ochieng's gaze snapped to him. "I'm not a Zhao." His voice was like steel.
Lucien tilted his head. "Then prove it. Walk away. Abandon your birthright. Ignore the war that will come knocking on your door."
Ochieng turned, stepping toward the exit.
He could leave. He could vanish into the night and pretend none of this mattered.
But then he looked down at the photograph in his hand—his parents, alive, standing beside the masked man. The man who had orchestrated their deaths.
His blood boiled. His path was clear.
He wasn't walking away. He was walking toward war.