The black limousine carrying Ethan and Congressman Thompson sped toward the secure compound. Inside, Thompson was doing his best to appear composed while simultaneously fawning over Ethan.

"Mr. Blake," Thompson said, leaning closer with calculated humility. "I want you to understand how grateful I am for your, ah, assistance tonight. A man of your undeniable financial leverage and... influence deserves nothing but the highest regard."

Ethan merely glanced at him. "Focus on the path ahead, Congressman. Don't worry about my gratitude."

Thompson nodded quickly. "Of course, Mr. Blake. You set the agenda."

The Congressman was practically groveling, attempting to flatter Ethan as much as possible. Thompson understood that while they should appear to be equals—political mover and financial backer—the power dynamic was entirely one-sided. He recalled his earlier attempts to sell Ethan the "favor" of getting him out of prison; knowing Ethan now, Thompson realized the situation had always been entirely in Ethan's hands.

Furthermore, the deeper Thompson investigated the world, the stranger everything became. He had even presented Ethan with intelligence regarding the immense power of organizations like Olympus and Celestial Garden, yet Ethan had not flinched. It was as if these global threats were nothing more than a minor annoyance, a pebble in his shoe.

This dynamic filled Thompson with an overwhelming sense of urgency: he had only two options—confront this man, or completely submit. In his mind, he couldn't muster enough courage to contemplate the former.

The limousine slowed to a stop at the heavily guarded perimeter of the Celestial Garden safehouse. Two massive guards, dressed in black tactical gear, stepped forward and opened their doors.

"Congressman Thompson," one guard said, his voice clipped and professional. "Welcome. Please step out."

Thompson stepped out, smoothing his expensive suit. Ethan followed, radiating cold, immense wealth and power.

"We need to escort you inside now, Congressman," the second guard instructed.

The first guard turned his attention to Ethan, holding up a metal detector wand. "Sir, we require a quick security sweep. Please step over here."

Ethan stopped dead in his tracks. He had already deposited all his conventional weapons into his internal inventory, knowing this was coming, but the request was an insult to the façade he was maintaining. He looked down at the guard with an expression of pure, icy disdain—an expression that spoke volumes about the guard's status versus his own.

Congressman Thompson immediately sensed the shift in atmosphere and the imminent breakdown of decorum. He stepped swiftly between Ethan and the guard, his own nervousness momentarily replaced by fierce loyalty to his financial partner.

"Hold on, Agent," Thompson said firmly, addressing the guard. "You will not be sweeping Mr. Blake. He is not security; he is my personal guest, a key investor whose time is far too valuable for this petty indignity."

The guard hesitated, surprised by the Congressman's sudden assertiveness. "Sir, standard procedure requires all non-sanctioned personnel to be checked before entry—"

Thompson cut him off, maintaining his deferential posture towards Ethan while being resolute with the guard. "I understand protocol, Agent, but Mr. Blake is a friend of the highest levels of the organization—he is my priority tonight. You will not risk disrupting this entire event over a simple metal detector. Show some respect for the guests we bring into your establishment."

The two guards exchanged a nervous look. Thompson was a political target they needed to control, not alienate. They couldn't afford to spoil the delicate evening over a formality.

"Our sincere apologies, sir," the first guard said, lowering the wand and trying to keep the humility in his voice. "Please proceed. We apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Blake."

Ethan didn't acknowledge the apology with a single word. He maintained his glacial gaze, sweeping past the guards with utter arrogance and disgust, his suit jacket moving subtly around his immense frame.

Thompson quickly fell into step beside him. "Right this way, Mr. Blake. The main event is just through these doors."

Ethan and the Congressman walked forward, stepping through the ornate mahogany doors and into the secure house.

The interior was ostentatious and aggressively luxurious. The reception hall was vast, featuring polished dark wood floors, crystal chandeliers, and accents of gold everywhere. Impeccable catering staff moved silently with trays of expensive champagne, high-grade caviar, and small, delicate appetizers. The air smelled of money and expensive cologne.

Ethan moved through the opulent space with a presence that suggested everything around him—the wealth, the people, the very air—was beneath him. He was the most powerful person in the room, and he didn't need to try to prove it.

Congressman Thompson, however, immediately slipped into politician mode, eager to network and leverage his presence at the elite gathering.

A man in a navy suit, holding a flute of champagne, approached Thompson immediately.

"Congressman Thompson! A pleasure to see you here," said the man, extending a hand. "Senator Morris said you wouldn't miss this. Congratulations on your impending victory. I hear the polls are looking solid for the governorship."

Thompson puffed out his chest, a genuine, wide smile spreading across his face. "It's certainly a strong cycle, Robert. Just tying up a few final financial commitments tonight. Things are looking good."

Before Thompson could elaborate, a woman with sharp, tailored clothes and a diamond necklace interjected.

"Nonsense, Congressman! You've already won! State Attorney General, Clara, said the opposition is collapsing," said Clara Hayes. "We're just here to celebrate your inevitable success and ensure the right legislative future for the state."

"Clara! Always the realist," Thompson chuckled, beaming with satisfaction. "I appreciate the confidence. Allow me to introduce you to—"

Ethan cut him off with a subtle, dismissive wave of his hand, indicating he had no interest in being introduced to the Attorney General. Thompson instantly understood the command and turned back to his conversation, ignoring the slight.

Ethan turned his back on the networking politicians. He began to walk slowly through the reception hall, his gait measured, acting as if he were merely admiring the opulent decor or seeking a specific acquaintance.

But beneath his façade of arrogance, his heart was racing. Emily could be anywhere within this compound. Since entering, he had felt dozens of hostile, assessing gazes fixated on him. His pability was screaming at him; he was already being hunted, even while posing as a legitimate guest.

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