Chapter 172: Caught on Camera

"Your subordinate?" Sarah repeated, her fingers digging into the strap of her bag.

She stared at Luke in the bright foyer, the air frozen in her lungs.

"General Thunder commands the entire city garrison," Sarah said, her voice rising in the quiet hall. "He answers to the regional ministry, not to an ex-convict."

Luke didn't move away from the door. He kept his hands in his pockets, watching her face with calm patience.

"Think back to the hotel, Sarah," Luke said quietly.

The memory hit her with sudden force.

She remembered the wedding hall, the broken doors, and Thunder marching down the aisle with armed troops. The three-star general had slapped his own nephew across the face, dragged Luke into an armored vehicle under the guise of an arrest, and released him five minutes later with warm food.

She remembered the Jade Pavilion, where Thunder covered a five-million-dollar private bill while claiming he was apologizing for a mistaken identity.

The excuses collapsed in her mind. The truth tore down every single lie he had told her since returning from prison.

"You were never arrested," Sarah whispered, stepping closer to him. "He was playing along with you the entire time."

Luke gave a slow nod. "Yes."

"Why did you lie to me?" Sarah asked, her voice cracking with frustration. "You let me believe you were a broke felon who got lucky. You let me cry over your prison record for weeks."

Luke reached out and placed his hands on her trembling shoulders.

"Look at your hands right now, Sarah," Luke told her softly.

Sarah looked down at her fingers. They were shaking uncontrollably, her palms still cold from the gunfight under the overpass.

"You're terrified," Luke said, his thumbs resting against her collarbone. "If I told you my background on day one, you would've spent every single night waiting for men with rifles to kick our doors down."

Sarah didn't argue. She lowered her head, the truth settling heavily in her chest.

"I just wanted to give you a normal home," Luke added. "I wanted to be a regular husband."

Sarah let out a long, ragged breath.

The explanation made sense. Seeing bullets tear through car doors minutes ago had terrified her down to her bones. If she had known about his active military ties, the paranoia would have consumed her long before tonight.

She looked up at his broad shoulders, another realization striking her.

His terrifying speed and lethal hand-to-hand combat weren't dirty survival tricks from a prison cell. He had dismantled twelve armored mercenaries because he was a trained military commander.

"We've talked enough down here," Luke said, gently nudging her toward the stairs. "Zoe is waiting on the upper floor."

Sarah wiped the remaining dampness from her cheeks and followed him up the marble steps.

They walked into the spacious second-floor living room.

Zoe sat cross-legged on the thick rug in front of the sofa, holding a small toy car in her lap.

The television on the wall was playing on high volume, casting flashing blue and white lights across the dark furniture.

The little girl turned her head, spotted them in the doorway, and dropped her toy onto the floor.

"Mommy! Daddy!" Zoe cheered, scrambling to her feet.

She sprinted across the room, her small shoes slapping against the polished wood before throwing her arms around Sarah's knees.

Sarah dropped down immediately, wrapping her arms tightly around her daughter's back. "Zoe, baby. You're still awake?"

Zoe pulled back with a wide grin, turning her bright eyes toward Luke.

"Daddy is so cool!" Zoe giggled, pumping her tiny fist in the air. "He beat up all the bad guys who tried to shoot Mommy!"

Sarah froze in place on the rug, her hands going still against Zoe's shoulders.

"Zoe," Sarah asked, her brow furrowing in confusion. "How do you know about that?"

The shootout had happened miles away in the middle of a dark underpass. No one had called the house, and Thunder had kept the radio lines private during the entire drive.

Zoe didn't answer with words. She simply turned around and pointed her small finger toward the screen on the wall.

Sarah stood up, her hand sliding into Luke's grip as they walked around the side of the velvet sofa to get a direct view.

The screen was tuned to the primary regional news channel.

A bold red banner flashed across the lower third of the display: BREAKING: MASS SHOOTING AT CENTRAL UNDERPASS.

A female news anchor sat in the studio corner with a pale face, but the main feed was playing full-screen video.

The broadcast was running high-definition traffic surveillance footage captured from the overhead highway cameras.

Sarah's breath caught in her throat. Her jaw dropped open in complete disbelief. Her pulse hammered against her temples as the news anchor described the violent ambush.

During the ambush, she had spent the entire fight curled in the footwell beneath the dashboard, hearing only the deafening roar of automatic weapons. She had never seen what actually happened on the pavement.

Now, she was watching it in sharp, unedited detail.

The video showed the black Bentley boxed between the delivery truck and the concrete barrier.

It showed Luke stepping out into the open roadway alone, facing four armored shooters with rifles raised.

He moved before the first muzzle flash appeared.

His body blurred across the asphalt with impossible speed, slipping beneath the line of fire with terrifying agility.

He struck the first shooter in the throat, dropped the second with a barehanded neck strike, and shattered the third man's knee before the spent casings even hit the ground.

The second wave of eight mercenaries poured out from the transport truck, spraying a solid wall of automatic fire across the lanes.

Luke wove through the barrage without slowing down.

He dodged rifle rounds at point-blank range, used an empty steel pistol to block a rifle barrel, and broke limbs with effortless, single-hit precision.

Every movement was clean, mechanical, and completely unnatural.

He dismantled twelve heavily armed killers in under ninety seconds, standing untouched in the center of the road while bullets sparked uselessly off the concrete around him.

It was not an ordinary street brawl. The display looked like an impossible cinematic stunt broadcast live across the entire province.

Sarah stood rooted to the floorboards, her eyes wide as she stared at the man standing right beside her.