Novel & Cerita Bruce X Vance

“No offense, big guy, but you just beat the shit out of a guy in front of me for no reason then manhandled my ass to get me into this cigar lounge of an office. I’m not really gonna tell ya where I live.” “I don’t need you to tell me anything. I can find out whatever I want with one phone call.” “Who the hell are you?” “Vance.” “No, I mean, who are you? Like, what’s your deal? You seem to walk around the place like you own it.” “I do own it.” “No, not the club. Like…you appear as if you can buy and sell anyone or anything. Like real power.”

The chip inside shattered under his heel. Vance’s smile faltered for the first time. “What did you do?” Cedric smiled, cold and tired. “That wasn’t the real drive. The real one is with Marcus. And he’s already on his way to the New York Times.” Vance’s face twisted with rage. “Kill him.”

Vance whined at the sight in total distress. "How did you think she would react? Now it's up to you to fix this." Vance lowered himself, making his posture as non-threatening as possible. Slowly, he crept to the edge of the bed and placed his head down, whining softly. "Now who needs to calm down?" Vance ignored me, his focus locked on Eve. "No, stop. Stay there... I'm not ready for you to come closer." He didn't listen. He climbed onto the bed, still keeping his distance.

The heavy sliding door at the end of the train car slammed open, and Vance Brooks stepped into the cabin. The owner of the Boston Blizzard looked like a man who had spent the last four hours in a corporate knife fight. His tie was slightly loosened, his silver hair immaculate but his face flushed with an unadulterated, ruthless rage. He didn't look at Darren; his sharp, icy eyes locked onto Eve instantly.

"No trains." "No roads." Madame Celeste smiled. "They'll realize eventually." "They're too intelligent not to." "And when they do?" Vance stood. His reflection disappeared into the darkness. "They'll head exactly where I want them." Celeste raised an eyebrow. "The Vatican. Vance smiled. "No." He opened an ancient leather folder marked with a seal centuries older than any modern nation. Inside lay two birth certificates. One belonged to Arthur Blackwood. The other— Vivian Vance. Except that wasn't the name written across the original document.

Seeing Vincent get snubbed was oddly satisfying for him. He had married the goddess Vincent had been pining for. Wasn’t that the perfect revenge? Caitlin didn’t bother commenting on his petty mood and went out to find their son. Recently, Bruce had become obsessed with the Vanderbilt Family's grand library, spending most of his free time there. The private library of the Vanderbilt estate was filled with priceless books. When Caitlin arrived, she saw Xavi trying to coax Bruce down from a high shelf. The boy had his legs dangling and was leisurely reading.

"Bryan is alive! Turn this thing around! He’s on the roof!" Vance didn't look. He didn't even flinch. He just stared straight ahead as the Manhattan skyline began to fade into the distance. "I know he’s alive, Hazel," Vance said. His voice was cold, like a judge passing a sentence. "He had a job to do. The explosion was his exit strategy." I froze. My hand slid off his arm. "What do you mean, his job? He was trying to save me! He was tied to a chair! He had a bomb in his chest!"

Vance looked at Purple straight in the eye, and Purple looked away, not knowing what should she do. “ listen, Purple, you just met Xian, and how do you know that he can love you. what if he used you and then left you?” Vance said whatever came to his mind. His motto was to make Purple understand that Xian was not good for her. “ at least he said that he would try to keep me happy, and what did you do?” “ I --” Vance couldn't form words as he didn't have an answer. What did he do for Purple? he just hurt her. Nothing else.

Vance’s expression didn’t change, but I saw his jaw tighten, just a little. He was listening. I could tell he understood what that meant. He didn’t need me to spell it out. He knew what our father was capable of. Vance’s father, Bernard, had worked for ours for as long as I could remember. And Vance? Well, he knew better than anyone what was at stake here. He didn’t need me to go into details, but I would anyway.

But beneath it, through a crack only Jack could see, black scales moved like abandoned endings waking under the house. Vance smiled again. This time the smile did not belong to Preston Vance. "Well," he said. "That complicates the acquisition."