Chapter 187

Mr. Xavier Atlante had always been a cautious man.

After decades in the business world, he remained reclusive. Faces at annual summits came and went, but he remained an immovable force.

His unshakable composure was chilling.

When Adrian Roland took over New Frontier Group, he too had fought his way through this cutthroat arena. He never noticed when Mr. Atlante first set his sights on him.

Before this, he hadn’t even heard the man’s name.

Night had deepened when Adrian arrived at the coastal villa, nearing nine o'clock.

The villa stood in isolation. The road ended halfway, forcing him to continue on foot.

At the entrance, Mr. Grant had been waiting.

"You're late, Mr. Roland." Grant's smile didn’t reach his eyes. "The old man is growing impatient."

"Traffic."

"Traffic?" Grant arched a brow. "Or did you drop your son off first?"

Adrian’s gaze turned razor-sharp.

Grant raised his hands. "Just a joke. He’s in the study."

Inside, Mr. Atlante sat reading History as a Mirror, his reading glasses perched low on his nose.

"Sit," the old man said without looking up.

"No need." Adrian stood rigid. "I came to settle my debt."

Mr. Atlante chuckled. "You might not stay on your feet for long."

Adrian’s eyes landed on the newly upholstered sofa—white with delicate lavender florals, identical to Stella’s dress today.

"Lovely, isn’t it?" the old man asked.

"...Yes."

"Your taste has always been impeccable." Mr. Atlante closed the book. "Whether in clothes or people."

Adrian clenched his fists. "Leave her out of this."

"Adrian," the old man sighed, "I’m seventy-three. I don’t have time to wait. That woman’s fate means nothing to me. I only need a worthy successor."

"What I owe her can never be repaid."

"And if she discovers you’re Adrian Roland?" Mr. Atlante smirked. "Victor Valence, Hugo Merovingian—she has options. What will you have left then?"

Adrian’s jaw tightened. "I’ll be careful."

"The greatest fear is 'what if.'"

"I’ll take her far away."

Mr. Atlante shook his head. "The young never learn until it’s too late." He removed his glasses. "One last chance—"

"No." Adrian extended his hands. "Choose."

A long silence followed before the old man called, "Grant."

The man entered promptly.

"Take me to the garden." Mr. Atlante waved a hand. "At my age, I can’t stomach bloodshed."

Once the garden doors shut, Grant returned gripping a golf club.

"Recognize this?" He hefted the tungsten alloy head.

Adrian gave a humorless smile.

"The old man’s been good to you." Grant sneered. "Twenty years by his side, yet you surpassed me in six."

"People have different priorities."

"You’d abandon a steel empire for some sickly woman?" Grant thrust the club forward. "Do it yourself."

Adrian took it and swung at his left arm without hesitation.

A sickening crack echoed as blood splattered the marble table.

Grant crouched to inspect the damage, fingers brushing bone fragments.

"Brutal."

Adrian’s face was ghostly pale, sweat beading his brow. "Satisfied?"

He draped his jacket over the ruined limb. "New Frontier Group is yours. From today, Adrian Roland ceases to exist."