Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby

Chapter 123: Let’s Hear a Story

Anthony was startled by the second voice in his study.

Other than the cleaning lady, no one had the permission to enter this room. Even she only came when he was out of the house. That was the strict rule he had imposed himself. This study was his sanctuary... a place where he could reflect, read, and work in solitude. His personal thoughts remained behind this door, and he guarded them fiercely. When he was reading or writing, even the faintest presence nearby would disrupt his concentration.

Though surprised and admittedly unsettled by the sudden presence, Anthony managed to keep his composure. There, seated casually in one of the armchairs across from him, was a figure dressed head to toe in black.

"Who are you?" Anthony asked, voice calm but tinged with tension.

Although his voice quivered slightly at the end, it was remarkable that he hadn’t screamed or raised an alarm.

"That’s not the right question," the man in black said, his tone slow and deliberate. "The correct question is: What do you want?"

The man’s entire body, including his face, was shrouded in black cloth. He sat with the air of someone who owned the place... completely at ease, almost disdainfully so.

Barron Anthony Hayward Chapman had never encountered such a brazen intruder in all his years. Taking a deep breath, he replied, "Fine, then. What do you want?"

The man leaned forward just slightly. "I want you to become the party chief... and work under my boss."

Anthony scoffed at the sheer audacity of the request. "You think becoming party chief is that simple? Although I’ve never pursued leadership, even if I tried, it’s a brutal uphill battle. There are alliances, deals, and decades of positioning. You can’t just waltz in here and hand me a crown."

don’t know how you managed to sneak into my study. And frankly, I’m not interested in finding out which of my staff helped you. But I’m giving you one polite warning: leave

black chuckled softly, the sound strangely devoid of humor. "Why the rush, Barron? We’ve only just begun. I want to tell you a story. I think

recorded for some hidden camera show? Or is this some bizarre live show? Where did you hide

around the room instinctively, eyes searching for a

voice calm. "There are no recordings. No

throat, then

sick one Sunday. Her family, as was their custom, went to church without her.

His voice grew solemn.

of her family died in the explosion. The

eyes narrowed.

girl. The deacon, moved by the girl’s story and resilience, took her to a church-run boarding school. She arranged a stipend for the girl and monitored her progress over the years."

as if letting the

education and eventually gained admission to a prestigious university. The deacon was so

now, his earlier wariness

local man with influence, wealth, and the means to destroy lives. The girl had fallen in love with his son. The powerful man disapproved of the relationship.

The story grew darker.

the girl turned to the deacon for help. By that time, the deacon had become an archbishop. She wielded some political weight. Although she

for longer. Anthony’s gaze never left