***
The next day.
A sleek, heavily modified black luxury SUV rolled over the heavily rutted dirt roads, finally pulling into a desolate, impoverished village.
The backcountry where Old Mrs. Wynn used to live was painfully remote, the kind of place barely registered on modern GPS.
The winding roads were treacherous.
The paths leading in were little more than dirt trails carved out by decades of villagers walking the same routes.
Serena parked the SUV a short distance from the village entrance.
The road ahead was too narrow for the vehicle to pass.
Stepping out.
Serena was dressed simply in a crisp white T-shirt and black trousers.
She wore a black baseball cap pulled low over her eyes, a faded canvas bag slung casually over one shoulder.
Yet, the cold, radiant, and utterly dominant aura she naturally exuded felt starkly out of place in such a decaying, impoverished setting.
She walked at a steady pace down the muddy path until she reached the village entrance.
Only when she looked up at the weathered wooden sign marking the settlement did she stop.
She hadn't returned to this place in four years.
The moment she stepped past the threshold, the sound of aggressive shouting hit her.
"That's mine! I saw it first!"
"Bullshit! I had my hands on it!"
Serena raised her eyes.
Down in the muddy ditch, two men were violently wrestling over a few dirty sweet potatoes.
They were completely covered in grime, looking absolutely feral.
Serena recognized them instantly.
The once impossibly arrogant eldest son, Benedict Wynn, and the formerly entitled playboy, Logan Wynn.
One used to wear tailored designer suits, while the other spent his days chasing socialites and luxury.
Now, they were brawling in the mud over root vegetables.
Throwing punches and screaming insults at each other for a scrap of food.
"Let go of it, I dug this one up!" Logan shoved Benedict viciously in the chest.
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