Rise of The Abandoned Husband

The early morning light filtered through my apartment windows as Eamon and I sat at my small kitchen table. Sleep had evaded us both, our minds too occupied with plans and possibilities.

"The Hawthornes' main business is health products," Eamon explained, sipping the tea I'd brewed. "Supplements, herbal remedies, specialized treatments—all aimed at the wealthy who fear aging and illness."

I couldn't help but smile. "Health products? That's their empire?"

"Don't underestimate them," Eamon warned. "They've cornered the market completely. Every major pharmacy chain in Havenwood City stocks their products exclusively."

"But are their products actually effective?" I asked, already seeing an opportunity.

Eamon's expression told me everything. "Marginally. Just enough to maintain their reputation, not enough to truly heal. They rely more on marketing than medicine."

My fingers tapped against the table thoughtfully. "That's a field I can disrupt."

"With your medical knowledge, you could create products far superior to theirs," Eamon agreed. His eyes studied me carefully. "But you'll need backers, connections. The Ashworth family could—"

"No," I cut him off firmly. "I won't rely on Isabelle or the Ashworths."

"May I ask why?" Eamon looked genuinely curious. "Their support would make things significantly easier."

I stood and walked to the window, watching as the city slowly awakened. "When I was with the Johnson family, I had no status of my own. Everything I had—or thought I had—came through my connection to them. And when they decided I was worthless..." I trailed off, the memories still bitter. "I won't make that mistake again. Whatever I build has to be mine."

Eamon nodded slowly. "I understand. Independence is valuable."

"What can you tell me about the different levels of martial artists?" I asked, changing the subject. "You mentioned you were once a cultivator."

"Ah," Eamon's expression brightened. "Most people in Havenwood City are at the Outer Strength level—using physical training to enhance their bodies. Inner Strength practitioners like yourself can channel qi through meridians to strengthen abilities."

"And beyond that?"

"The southeast sect recognizes nine ranks of Inner Strength," Eamon explained. "Each rank is a quantum leap beyond the previous. Sebastian is at the third rank, which makes him formidable in Havenwood City." He paused, studying me. "You're unusual. Your technique seems... different. Ancient, even."

I nodded, digesting this information. The world of martial arts was larger than I'd realized. If Sebastian was only at the third rank and commanded such power in this city, I needed to grow stronger. Much stronger.

"Rest," I told Eamon, helping him to the couch. "Tomorrow will be busy."

---

The next afternoon, my phone buzzed incessantly with messages. Local business owners canceling meetings. Suppliers backing out of agreements. Even my landlord sent a terse message about "reconsidering" my lease.

"The Hawthornes move quickly," Eamon observed grimly, watching me scroll through notifications.

I showed him a news alert that had just popped up: "Hawthorne Family Issues Public Statement Against Local Troublemaker."

The article detailed how the Hawthorne family had declared that anyone doing business with Liam Knight would be considered an enemy of their family. Given their influence, local businesses were rapidly aligning themselves with the Hawthornes.

"They're trying to isolate you," Eamon said. "Cut you off from resources."

"Let them try," I replied, putting my phone away. "I've been alone before."

Evening came, bringing with it a surprising call. I didn't recognize the number.

"Liam Knight?" a hesitant male voice asked when I answered.

"Speaking."

"This is Damian Prescott. We've never met, but I need your help. It's about my father."

I frowned, not recognizing the name. "How did you get my number?"

"From someone at the hospital who saw what you did for Julian Hawthorne," Damian replied. "Please, my father is in bad shape. The doctors can't help him."

I considered refusing—I had my own problems mounting by the hour—but something in his desperate tone moved me.

"Where are you?"

"I can pick you up," he said quickly. "I'll be there in twenty minutes."

True to his word, a modest sedan pulled up outside my building. The driver was a young man around my age with dark circles under his eyes and rumpled clothes.

"Thanks for agreeing to see us," Damian said as I slid into the passenger seat. "My family—the Prescotts—we're in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" I asked as he pulled away from the curb.

"The Hawthorne kind," he replied grimly. "My father refused to pull our products from stores competing with Hawthorne-affiliated pharmacies. Now they're crushing us. My father collapsed three days ago—stress, the doctors say, but he's not improving."

I nodded, understanding the Hawthornes' tactics all too well. "And you think I can help?"

"I heard you're a miracle worker with medicine," Damian said, hope evident in his voice. "And that you're not afraid of the Hawthornes."

As we approached the exit of my community, a sleek black car swerved in front of us, blocking our path. Damian slammed on the brakes.

"Shit," he muttered. "That's Gideon Blackwood's car."

The driver's window rolled down, revealing Gideon's smirking face. "Well, if it isn't Damian Prescott, the soon-to-be-bankrupt heir to a failing company. Heard your father's one foot in the grave."

Damian's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "Move your car, Gideon."

"I hear Mr. Hawthorne personally struck your name from the guest list for next month's business association dinner," Gideon continued, ignoring the request. "Your family's finished in this city."

I watched Damian's face crumple slightly, confirming the truth of Gideon's words.

Then Gideon noticed me. "And look who you're associating with now! The famous Liam Knight." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Birds of a feather, I suppose—both of you destined for the gutter."

I'd had enough. Without a word, I opened my door and stepped out.

Gideon's eyes widened momentarily before his smug expression returned. He quickly rolled up his window and locked his doors.

"What's wrong, Gideon?" I called out, my voice carrying clearly in the quiet street. "Suddenly not so talkative?"

"Go back to your apartment, loser," Gideon's muffled voice came through the glass. "Before I run you over."

I approached his luxury vehicle calmly. Through the window, I could see fear beginning to replace his arrogance.

"You know," I said conversationally, "I've noticed something about men like you and Julian. You're all very brave when you have protection."

Gideon revved his engine threateningly. "Last warning, Knight!"

I placed my hand on the door handle. Gideon laughed, the sound slightly hysteric.

"It's locked, idiot!"

I smiled then—not a pleasant smile, but one that promised consequences. "Is it?"

With a swift, powerful motion, I gripped the door and pulled. Metal screeched in protest as the door tore completely off its hinges. I held it casually in one hand, as if it weighed nothing.

Gideon's face turned ashen white. The street fell silent except for the gentle clatter of the car door as I set it down on the pavement.

"You were saying?" I asked softly.