Urban System in America-Chapter 122 - 121: Flames Of Revenge

If Rex were here, he would have recognized the young man in an instant. Logan Whitmore. He was the same student he had knocked unconscious with a single punch in the university cafeteria—a moment that would spiral into one of the biggest scandals the campus had ever seen.

Yes, this was that, Logan Whitmore. The heir of the Whitmore empire. And the self-proclaimed arch-nemesis of Rex.

And the man beside him was none other than his father, Leonard Whitmore — the current head of the Whitmore family.

Leonard didn’t turn around, his gaze still focused beyond the glass pane at the estate’s fountain. "So," he said, his voice smooth, calm, but filled with the weight of authority. "Why are you here?"

His tone wasn’t unkind, but it wasn’t welcoming either. It was the voice of a man who already knew the answer but was testing whether the other had the courage to say it aloud.

Logan swallowed hard. The weight of his father’s presence was immense. But when the image of that face—Rex’s smug, defiant face—flashed in his mind, the humiliation returned like a slap to the face. His jaw clenched.

"Father, I’ve investigated that bastard thoroughly," Logan said, voice sharp but slightly tremulous. "That bastard. The one named Rex. Other than having some money, he’s just a parentless orphan. No connections. No real power. Nothing." ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

Leonard raised an eyebrow, not looking away. "Oh?" The single syllable was laced with curiosity, maybe even skepticism.

Logan stepped forward, hands curled into fists. "I believe everything that happened was just luck. A series of coincidences. And I’ve waited long enough. Every night when I sleep, every time I close my eyes... I see his face. That punch, the way everyone laughed..."

His voice cracked slightly with rage. "Please, Father. Let me teach him a lesson. Just once. I swear—"

Leonard didn’t reply. He simply stared out at the Italian marble fountain, a masterpiece imported at great cost, worth more than most homes.

The silence stretched. Logan’s chest heaved.

Seeing his silence as indifference, Logan’s voice rose. "That bastard dared to punch me—in public! The heir of the Whitmore family!" Logan hissed, voice rising. "And he’s still walking around freely, while everyone whispers behind our backs. They say the Whitmores have gone soft. That we don’t—"

"Enough."

Leonard turned at last.

His voice was sharp and commanding, a blade slicing through air. His narrowed eyes bore into Logan like searchlights.

The young man flinched, falling silent. But he didn’t look away. He stood his ground, his breath shaky but his resolve burning.

Leonard observed him for a moment longer before his gaze softened slightly. The edge in his voice dulled—but only slightly.

"You think I don’t know?" Leonard asked. "You think I’ve gone senile and can’t see what’s happening?"

"N-no, Father. That’s not what I meant."

"I know what you’re thinking. I understand your anger. I even understand your need for revenge. But Logan..." Leonard stepped closer. "As the heir of the Whitmore family, you must learn restraint. Patience is your best friend. It is your strongest weapon. Time will ripen every grudge into opportunity. And opportunities... are far more powerful than emotions."

Logan said nothing, but his jaw remained tight.

"We’re still investigating the person behind your uncle’s incident," Leonard added. "And takin—"

Suddenly, the heavy oak door of the study slammed open.

A shrill voice pierced the tension like a bullet. "Leo! When did you become so long-winded? Have you really gone senile with age?"

The woman entered the room like a storm, her designer heels clicked sharply against the marble floor, echoing like war drums. The scent of expensive perfume filled the room, heavy and suffocating. Her hair, dyed a rich auburn with streaks of gold, was styled with precision. Her makeup was flawless—sharp cheekbones, blood-red lips, eyes framed by lashes as long and dramatic as feathers.

She was adorned in gold and diamonds, layered so lavishly they seemed almost to mock gravity. Rings sparkled on every finger. A silk blouse clung to her frame, branded, tailored, and unmistakably expensive.

She was power in heels.

This was Cynthia Whitmore—Logan’s mother and Leonard’s wife.

And more importantly, the only person who could challenge Leonard and get away with it.

She strode forward, not even glancing at Leonard. "Your son—our son—was humiliated. Broken nose. Public shame. And you call this a ’small matter’? Do you know what people are saying? That our family has lost its teeth!"

Leonard didn’t speak. His face twitched for just a moment—an expression halfway between frustration and resignation.

Logan turned to her, eyes wide, flickering with the kind of relief one feels when reinforcements arrive. The moment her arms opened, he stepped into them like a wounded child. His expression shifted into innocence—like he was the most wronged person in the world.

"My poor boy," Cynthia cooed, running her fingers through his hair. "If I had known sooner, I would’ve flown back the same day. And you," she turned to Leonard, her glare blistering, "—you didn’t even tell me something like this happened? What kind of father hides this from the boy’s mother?"

"It wasn’t a big deal," Leonard muttered, his voice gentler now. "That’s why I—"

"Not that serious!?" Cynthia’s voice spiked. "Our son was hospitalized with a broken nose! Humiliated in front of everyone! Do you even understand what this does to our reputation?"

"I meant it’s... complicated." Leonard tried again, his voice calm but strained. "Someone has been targeting our family behind the scenes. We don’t know who yet, but—"

"I don’t want to hear your excuses, Leo," Cynthia cut in sharply. "Just answer me this—can you deal with this, or not? Because if you can’t, I’ll contact my brother, and he will take care of that bastard personally."

Leonard winced. The last thing he wanted was for Cynthia’s East Coast family to get involved. "Fine," he muttered. "I’ll find someone. We’ll teach him a lesson."

"Hmph." Cynthia folded her arms, clearly satisfied. "That’s how it should’ve been from the start."

Logan, who had remained silent, suddenly spoke. "Father... please. Let me handle this personally. I need to be the one to do it. I need to see that bastard broken with my own eyes, or else I’ll never be at peace."

Leonard frowned. "What are you talking about?"Isn’t it enough if I have someone do it? I’ll tell them to send you pictures, videos—"

Cynthia, sensing his unspoken request, flared again. "What’s the matter with you, Leo? He just wants to be there. It’s not like he’s asking to burn down a city. Can’t you fulfill this simple request?"

Leonard let out another sigh, rubbing his temple. "Fine. You win. Go. But be discreet. And don’t do anything stupid."

Though Leonard was the head of the Whitmore family, everyone in their world knew—Cynthia Whitmore held the real power. Her family from the East Coast was one of the most prestigious in the country. Their old money influence, political ties, and criminal connections made even Leonard tread lightly.

As the tension slowly ebbed from the room, Cynthia turned back to Logan and cupped his cheek lovingly. "Don’t worry, darling. Mommy will make sure that low-life pays for what he did to you."

Logan’s lips curved into a cold smile.

Far from the vulnerable image he had portrayed moments ago, his expression darkened with a satisfaction that bordered on sadistic.

(End of Chapter)