Rise of The Abandoned Husband

Chapter 353 - 353 - A Son's Vow: Retribution on North Province Island

Brandon's command hung in the air like a thundercloud. I watched as Morales hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the escalation.

"Sir, are you certain?" Morales asked, his voice low. "The Ashworth name carries significant—"

"I don't care!" Brandon snapped, his face still red where I'd struck him. "Uncle Ivan runs this island, and he doesn't bow to anyone—not even the Ashworths!"

At the mention of that name, Morales's expression hardened. He gave a curt nod to his men.

"The boss's nephew invoked Uncle Ivan's name," he said grimly. "We proceed as ordered."

The men moved with practiced precision, surrounding our table completely. I shifted my stance, preparing for combat. My fingers tingled with gathering energy as I assessed our options. Five men, plus Morales and Brandon. Tight quarters. Civilians present.

Michael must have sensed my intentions because his hand suddenly gripped my wrist with surprising strength.

"Don't," he whispered.

I glanced at him, confused. "Sir, I can—"

"I know exactly what you can do," Michael interrupted, his voice barely audible. "But this isn't the time or place."

Behind us, Isabelle remained seated, her face calm despite the danger. She caught my eye and gave me the slightest shake of her head.

"You should listen to the old man," Brandon sneered, clearly misreading our exchange as fear. "Resistance would be... unfortunate."

I clenched my fists, fighting every instinct that screamed at me to act. But Michael's steady gaze held me in check.

One of the men stepped forward, zip ties in hand.

"That won't be necessary," Michael said calmly. "We'll cooperate."

Brandon's face split into a triumphant grin. "Smart choice."

"However," Michael continued, his voice carrying the weight of decades of authority, "know this—you are making a grave error. One that will cost you dearly."

For just a moment, uncertainty flashed across Brandon's face before his arrogance reasserted itself.

"Save your threats, old man," he spat. "You're on my island now."

As the men moved to escort us out, I leaned close to Michael. "I could take them," I whispered.

This is part of a series from My Virtual Library Empire (*).

"I'm sure you could," he replied softly. "But at what cost? And to what end? We're on their territory, surrounded by their people. Sometimes, patience is the better part of valor."

Outside, a black van waited. The tea house patrons watched in shocked silence as we were led out. Several took photos with their phones before Morales's men confiscated them.

"Delete those images," Morales ordered. "This is a private matter."

As we approached the van, I felt a surge of energy within me. These men had no idea who they were dealing with. I was no ordinary man—I was a Grandmaster.

"Michael," I muttered. "Give me the word."

He shook his head slightly. "Not now."

Brandon watched us with cruel amusement as we were ushered into the van. "Comfortable?" he mocked.

I stared back at him, memorizing every detail of his face. "You'll regret this," I stated flatly.

He laughed, a sharp, nervous sound. "Take them away," he ordered Morales. "I'll be along shortly to enjoy our... conversation."

The doors slammed shut, and the van pulled away from the curb.

---

The warehouse they took us to was small but secure—a storage facility near the island's commercial port. They confiscated our phones and bound our hands with plastic zip ties before leaving us in a small office with a single guard posted outside.

"Was this really necessary?" I asked Michael once we were alone. "I could have handled those men."

Michael sighed, settling himself into a dusty chair. "Liam, I know your capabilities. But this situation calls for a different kind of strength."

"What kind is that?" I asked, frustrated.

"Strategic patience," he replied. "We're not in immediate danger. They won't physically harm us—not yet, at least. They're hoping to intimidate us, perhaps extract some sort of apology or concession."

Isabelle sat beside her grandfather, remarkably composed. "Grandfather is right," she said. "This is a power play, nothing more."

I paced the small room, testing my restraints. The zip ties were tight but breakable with the right application of strength and technique. "And what happens when they realize intimidation won't work?"

"By then," Michael said confidently, "it won't matter. The Ashworth family doesn't leave its own undefended."

I stopped pacing. "You mean Corbin."

Michael nodded. "Among others. My son has many faults, but abandoning family isn't one of them."

"They took our phones," I pointed out. "How will he even know we're in trouble?"

A small smile played at Michael's lips. "When I don't check in at our agreed time, he'll know something is wrong."

---

Two hours passed in tense silence. The guard outside occasionally peered through the small window in the door but made no move to enter. I'd positioned myself between that door and my companions, ready to intercept any threat.

Finally, the sound of approaching footsteps signaled a change. The door swung open, and Brandon Lee strode in, followed by Morales.

"Enjoying your accommodations?" Brandon asked smugly.

Michael regarded him with the same expression one might give an insect. "I've been in worse places."

"I doubt that," Brandon scoffed. "But don't worry—your stay will only last until you learn your lesson about respecting your betters on this island."

I stepped forward. "You're making a mistake you can't undo."

Brandon's eyes narrowed. "Big talk from a man in zip ties." He turned to Michael. "Three days. That's how long you'll stay here to think about your position. After that, if your attitude improves, we might let you go."

"Three days," Michael repeated, his voice deceptively mild. "You believe you can hold me—Michael Ashworth—for three days without consequence?"

For the first time, uncertainty flickered in Brandon's eyes. "My uncle—"

"Has clearly failed to educate you about the realities of power," Michael finished for him. "Even on this small island, there are forces at play beyond your understanding."

Something in Michael's tone must have unsettled Brandon because he took a step back. "We'll see who understands power when your family comes begging for your release!"

With that, he stormed out, Morales following with a troubled expression.

When they were gone, I turned to Michael. "Now can I break us out of here?"

Michael shook his head. "Not yet. Let events unfold as they must."

---

Meanwhile, in Veridia City, Corbin Ashworth glanced at his watch for the third time in ten minutes. His father was late checking in—something Michael Ashworth never was.

"Try his phone again," Corbin ordered his assistant.

The assistant dialed, then shook his head. "Still going straight to voicemail, sir."

Corbin's jaw tightened. That was the fourth attempt in the past hour. Something was wrong.

"What about Isabelle or Knight?"

"Same result, sir. All phones appear to be off or out of service."

Corbin drummed his fingers on his desk, unease growing into concern. His father had insisted on this day trip despite Corbin's objections about his health. Now all three were unreachable.

"Track their phones," he ordered. "Use the family security protocols."

The assistant hurried to comply. Minutes later, he returned. "Sir, all three devices are pinging from the same location on North Province Island. A warehouse near the commercial port."

Corbin's expression darkened. "That's not where they were supposed to be."

Reaching for his own phone, he dialed his father's number one more time. This time, to his surprise, someone answered.

"Hello?" A young man's voice—unfamiliar and smug.

"Who is this?" Corbin demanded. "Where is Michael Ashworth?"

A laugh came through the line. "So the family finally calls! I was beginning to think the great Ashworths didn't care about their patriarch."

Corbin's grip tightened on the phone. "I'll ask once more. Where is my father?"

"Your father is currently learning a valuable lesson about respect," the voice replied. "Don't worry—we're taking good care of him."

Cold fury washed over Corbin. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?"

"Do you?" the voice shot back. "This is Brandon Lee. My uncle owns North Province Island."

"I don't care if your uncle thinks he owns the sun and stars," Corbin snarled. "Return my father immediately."

Brandon's voice hardened. "He stays with us for three days. After that, you can come personally—with an apology—to collect him."

"An apology?" Corbin's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.

"That's right," Brandon said, oblivious to the deadly storm he was unleashing. "For the disrespect shown to me by your father's lapdog. The one who struck me."

Corbin stood, his entire body rigid with controlled rage. "Listen carefully," he said, his voice deadly calm. "Release them now, and perhaps—perhaps—you might survive what comes next."

Brandon's laugh was the final mistake. "Big threats from someone so far away! Three days, Ashworth. And come alone." The line went dead.

Corbin stared at the phone for a long moment before crushing it in his fist. The shattered pieces fell to the desk as he pressed the intercom.

"Assemble our security team," he ordered. "All of them. And prepare the helicopter."

His assistant appeared in the doorway, his face pale. "Sir? What's happened?"

Corbin's eyes were cold as winter. "Someone has taken my father."

"The authorities—"

"Will not be involved," Corbin cut him off. "This is family business."

Ten minutes later, Corbin stood before thirty of the Ashworth family's elite security personnel—former military specialists and martial experts, all fiercely loyal.

"My father, my niece, and Knight have been taken on North Province Island," he announced. "We move immediately."

One of the security leads stepped forward. "Sir, what are the extraction parameters?"

Corbin's expression was carved from stone. "There are none. Today," he declared, his voice resonating with deadly promise, "I will crush North Province Island!"