Seven years—enough time for a city to completely transform, and enough to grind a once-privileged man into dust.

James Morgan stood across the street from Prosperity Group headquarters, gazing up at the towering glass building that reached into the clouds. The piercing sunlight reflected a cold light, just like the day they took him away seven years ago.


Back then, this place wasn't called Prosperity Center, but the Morgan Enterprise Building.

Back then, he was still the heir to this empire.

Memories pounced on him like beasts breaking free from their cages, tearing at his attempt to maintain composure.


Seven years ago. His wedding day.

At the most prestigious hotel in Binhai City, roses filled every corner, the air rich with the scent of champagne and promise.


He wore a meticulously tailored suit, examining himself in the mirror, his lips curved in an undisguisable smile.

The bride was the daughter of family friends. Not his true love, perhaps, but she came from the right social circle and had a gentle disposition—Richard Morgan's ideal choice for a daughter-in-law.

Victor Shaw, his best friend and only groomsman, carefully adjusted his bow tie. His movements were meticulous, his eyes seemingly full of genuine goodwill.

"Nervous?" Victor teased with a smile, his voice gentle yet reassuring.

James Morgan shook his head, patting Victor's shoulder. "With you here? Not a chance. The company will give you more trouble than this wedding ever could."

Victor's eyes flickered slightly, his smile unchanged. "What nonsense. We're brothers."

Brothers.

That word, in the long seven years that followed, became the deepest, most poisonous thorn lodged in James Morgan's heart.

The wedding march played solemnly as guests filled the venue—political and business elites gathered in celebration. Father Richard Morgan sat in the place of honor, his face showing satisfaction and pride. Everything was as perfect as a fairy tale.

Until the very moment before the ceremony began.

The doors of the banquet hall burst open—not for the bride's entrance, but for a group of uniformed police officers who marched in with steady steps. The music screeched to a halt, and the entire hall erupted in chaos.

The lead officer walked straight to the front, past James Morgan's suddenly pale face, Victor Shaw's seemingly shocked expression, and the incredulous stares of countless guests, stopping directly in front of the groom.

"Mr. James Morgan, we suspect you of involvement in massive commercial fraud, illegal appropriation of company assets, and insider trading. This is an arrest warrant. Please cooperate with our investigation."

The cold handcuffs clicked shut around the wrist that should have received a wedding ring.

That metallic sensation, colder than any blade, instantly froze the blood in his veins.

"What's happening? There must be some mistake." He fought to maintain composure as he looked toward his father, then toward Victor Shaw.

Richard Morgan abruptly stood up, his face ashen. "What evidence do you have?!"

The officer displayed photocopied documents with an expressionless face. "We have solid evidence showing that Mr. Morgan has transferred over 2 billion yuan from Morgan Enterprises through offshore shell companies over the past three years. Furthermore, a key witness has provided direct testimony."

Key witness?

James's heart plummeted.

Then, he heard that voice he had never doubted, the voice that had called him "brother" mere minutes ago.

"James... I'm sorry." Victor Shaw stepped forward, his face showing just the right amount of pain and struggle. He avoided James's suddenly knife-sharp gaze and addressed the officer and all the guests, his voice heavy yet clear. "I can't watch you make mistake after mistake, can't let Uncle Morgan's life's work be ruined. Those things you did—embezzling company funds, falsifying accounts... I... I just can't keep covering for you anymore!"

In an instant, the world spun around him.

James Morgan stared at Victor Shaw as if seeing him for the first time. Behind that familiar face and seemingly guilty expression, what was hiding? The satisfaction of a successful scheme? Or cold, heartless calculation?

He wanted to roar in rage, to demand answers, to tear apart Victor Shaw's hypocritical mask.

But he couldn't speak. An overwhelming sense of betrayal drowned him like a tsunami, leaving him gasping for air.

"Unfilial son! You..." Richard Morgan pointed at James, his entire body trembling. Before he could finish, blood violently spurted from his mouth, staining the ceremonial flowers on his chest as he collapsed backward.

"Dad!"

James Morgan's eyes bulged with desperation as he tried to rush forward, only to be firmly restrained by the officers.

The handcuffs restricted his movement, his father's collapse drained his strength, and Victor Shaw's "righteous" testimony against his own friend had completely shattered his world.

Chaos, exclamations, weeping, camera flashes... everything became a blurred background.

The last clear image he saw was Victor Shaw rushing to Richard Morgan's side, anxiously calling out "Uncle Morgan," and then, from an angle no one else could see, Victor Shaw raised his eyes and glanced at him.

That look no longer contained any brotherly affection—only the cold, indifferent gaze of a victor.

……

The trial proceeded without suspense.

The "evidence" chain provided by Victor Shaw was terrifyingly complete, with all fund flows clearly pointing to James Morgan. His authority and trust within the company had become the sharpest knife against him.

Morgan Corporation's stock price plummeted, throwing the company into chaos.

His father, Richard Morgan, devastated by the blow, died suddenly in the hospital a week later, never seeing his son one last time.

James Morgan was sentenced to seven years in prison.

From heaven to hell in just over a month.

On the day he entered prison, a drizzle fell steadily. Wearing his prison uniform, he gazed at the raindrops beyond the iron bars, with no tears in his heart—only burnt ashes and a plant called hatred, growing wildly among them.

Victor Shaw.

This name became his only reason to live.

Seven years of imprisonment was both refinement and torment.

He concealed his sharp edges, learned to endure, and throughout countless nights, honed his mind by recalling every detail and repeatedly analyzing Victor Shaw's schemes.

During this time, only a lawyer named Gregory Gould visited him. He was an old friend of his father and among the few who didn't believe James capable of such crimes.

Gregory Gould told him that the Morgan family business had been restructured by Victor Shaw and renamed Prosperity Group, with Shaw taking the CEO position and now enjoying unlimited glory.

With each visit, the news Gregory Gould brought poured another spoonful of oil onto the fire of James Morgan's hatred.

Now, he was finally free.

Penniless and alone, but the heart in his chest was harder than steel.

He took a deep breath of the city's polluted air, stepped forward, and vanished into the bustling crowd.

First, he needed a place to stay—a base where he could hide in the shadows and re-examine this familiar yet strange city.

Following the address provided by Gregory Gould, he found a shabby rental apartment in the old district.

The landlady was a chatty middle-aged woman who had misgivings about his ex-convict status, but after Gregory Gould paid three months' rent in advance, she handed over the keys.

The room was small and damp, with only a bed and an old desk. James didn't mind; compared to his cell for the past seven years, this was luxury.

He put down his meager belongings and walked to the window, looking at the bustling street below.

What was Victor Shaw doing now? Probably sitting in his luxurious office at the top floor of Prosperity Group, looking down at the city he manipulated in the palm of his hand.

James Morgan's fist clenched silently, his knuckles turning white.

Seven years of injustice, his father's death, everything that was taken away... he would claim it all back, one by one, with interest.

Just then, someone pressed the old doorbell, its sound piercing through the silence.

James Morgan's gaze sharpened. He'd just been released from prison, and only Gregory Gould knew about this place. But Gregory had mentioned he had an important meeting today and wouldn't come over.

Who could it be?

He walked to the door and peered through the peephole.

A woman stood outside, someone he never expected to see.

Sylvia Sterling.

Seven years ago, she was the intern reporter who brought a camera to his wedding, trying to press the police for details. Now, she seemed to have shed her former naivety, her features showing competence and composure, though that determination in her eyes remained unchanged.

How did she find this place?

James's heart skipped a beat, countless thoughts racing through his mind. Was this a coincidence? Or did she have ulterior motives?

He remained silent, not opening the door.

Sylvia Sterling rang the doorbell once more, then seemed to give up. She took out an envelope from her bag, bent down, and slipped it under the door.

After doing this, she lingered for a moment, as if hesitating, but ultimately turned and left without a word.

Her footsteps gradually faded away.

James Morgan waited a moment before slowly bending down to pick up the thin envelope.

There was no letter inside, only a photograph.

The photo was blurry, as if captured and printed from surveillance footage. The background showed the underground parking garage of Morgan Corporation headquarters from seven years ago, with a timestamp showing the night before his arrest.

In the photo, two men were conversing under dim lighting.

One of them, standing with an upright posture, wore the tailored suit he often wore back then—that was him.

And the other man, facing him, had features somewhat distorted by the pixelation, but James Morgan recognized him immediately—Victor Shaw.

In the photo, Victor Shaw's face showed no "painful struggle" like on the wedding day, but rather a cold, determined expression James had never seen before, as he handed a small USB drive toward "James's" hand.

James's breathing suddenly stopped.

He had no memory of meeting Victor Shaw in the underground parking lot the night before his father collapsed! Much less of such an exchange!

What was this photo about?

And what was inside that USB drive?

What was Sylvia Sterling trying to tell him by giving him this photo?

The truth from seven years ago seemed far darker and more complex than he had imagined.

A cold chill crept up his spine, gradually spreading throughout his entire body.