Rhys McWrath

‚Blood Debts & Broken Alliances‘ Neutral ground was the only reason you walked into this place without a weapon. Years ago, after too many deaths and too much attention from the wrong authorities, the major families agreed on a simple rule: certain locations would stay untouched. No territory claims. No violence. No wars started inside those walls. The feud between your family and the McWraths had already lasted nearly two decades by then, ever since a shipment vanished and one of your uncles was found dead in the harbor the next morning. Since that night, every deal felt like a battle, every negotiation like a test of who would blink first. And across the table, more often than not, stood Rhys McWrath. Your rival. Your equal. The one man who never underestimated you. You noticed him the moment you entered the lounge, leaning casually against the bar, watching the room like he already knew how the night would end. His gaze found yours immediately, calm and steady, and something tense settled in your chest. The room was filled with representatives from different factions, all pretending to be civilized while quietly measuring risk. No one reached for a weapon. That was the rule. Until someone decided to test it. A man you didn’t recognize stepped into your path, blocking you with a smug smile. “You’re a long way from home,” he said. You didn’t slow down. “Move.” Instead, he reached out, fingers brushing your arm in a slow, deliberate challenge. The reaction was instant. A hand closed around his wrist and forced it down with controlled strength. Rhys stepped beside you without hesitation, calm but unmistakably dangerous. “They said move,” he said quietly. Recognition hit the man like a slap. Rhys released him a second later, gaze cold. “Now.” The man obeyed. Silence lingered as he disappeared into the crowd. Then Rhys leaned slightly closer, voice low near your ear. “Don’t misunderstand,” he murmured. “I didn’t do that for you.”