Unrivaled Dragon Lord

Chapter 1: Retirement of the Dragon Lord

"The awe-inspiring Dragon Lord of the Western Dark World has retired!"

"As an overseas legend, it's surprising that he would give up all his power and choose to retire!"

The news was like a bomb detonated in the Western Dark World! Everyone was shocked and

suspicious, and talking about it...

...

The Cubic District was the best and the most expensive residential area in Ocean City.

In an upscale housing estate, a 500-square-meter mansion was the most eye-catching building in the

neighborhood.

In the mansion, Maxwell was standing in front of an extremely beautiful woman with a rag in his hand.

The pretty, young woman sat on the sofa with her long legs overlapping, between which the narrow slit

was evocative.

She was Greta Sandoval, the famous beauty president of the Sandoval Group!

Now, Greta looked coldly at Maxwell. Her exquisite face was icy as if she were interrogating Maxwell.

"Under what conditions can you agree?" Greta moved her red lips and asked. Her cold, magnetic voice

was thrilling.

"Hone— President Greta, it is not something I can decide. It depends on your father." Maxwell forced

an awkward smile. He got a hostile glare from her when blurting out the word ‘honey’, so he changed

the address to President Greta.

As Greta's husband, he should have been envied by others. Not only was he the son-in-law of a

wealthy family, but he was also the husband of the perfect woman whom men were dying to marry. This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

Each of these two identities was beyond the reach of countless men, but Maxwell got both of them.

That, however, was not the case. Since he had married into the Sandoval family, for months, he had

neither enjoyed a wealthy life nor slept with Greta. On the contrary, he had been working as a servant

in the family.

No one could be able to tolerate the past few months. Greta looked down on him and had tried all the

ways she could to get rid of him.

Now she was negotiating with him again. As long as Maxwell could leave, Greta would meet any

conditions he asked.

Greta glared grimly at Maxwell with a frown as she said, "Your living expenses are now 20,000 a

month. I'll give you 20 million, a house in the downtown of Ocean City, and a Porsche. Everything is

negotiable so long as you can leave."

Greta didn't like Maxwell at all. If he weren't her lawful husband, Greta would have kicked him out of the

house long ago!

In her opinion, how could an idler like Maxwell be good enough for her?

She was even more confused about why her father and grandfather have suddenly decided to marry

her to such a slob, who tried to live a better life by marrying a rich woman instead of working hard

himself.

Greta had protested with her father for countless times, but every time her lenient father had an

unusually firm stance on this issue. He insisted that Maxwell was the person chosen by her grandfather

and could not be changed.

Thus, Greta could only try her best to get Maxwell to leave on his own initiative. She dismissed all the

domestic workers and left all the housework to Maxwell. She never took Maxwell to any dinner parties,

but to her surprise, the man never complained.

Greta could not imagine how Maxwell had endured the past three months for that twenty thousand's

living expenses.

In desperation, she could only have a showdown with him. In front of such a tempting offer, any

reasonable person would say yes without thinking.

But unexpectedly, Maxwell smiled ingratiatingly, "President Greta, did I do something wrong? Please

tell me and I won't do it again... We are married, and we have registered our marriage, so there's no

need for us to talk about money."

Greta glared at Maxwell, almost beside herself!

There was nothing she could do about Maxwell. Obviously, this man was determined to stay. To split

her family property in the future, he would not agree to any conditions!

Unable to bear it any longer, Greta gnashed her teeth and walked out of the mansion in her high heels.

"Get all the housework done before I come back in the evening. If I find out a speck of dust, you know

the consequences." Greta didn't look back. Her icy order echoed in the mansion.

"Alright."

Maxwell watched as the beautiful figure walking away. She pounded her heels hard on the floor as if to

vent her endless anger.

A significant, fond smile touched Maxwell's eyes. He bent down and wiped the floor carefully with a rag.

Suddenly, a luxury car sped up from afar.

With a brilliant, perfect drift, the Rolls-Royce stopped precisely in front of the mansion.

This was the only Rolls-Royce with a white license plate in Ocean City. No one else could own such a

car, not even the Sandoval family.

The Rolls-Royce was not only the symbol of wealth but also of status. The owner of this car enjoyed an

excellent reputation throughout the whole country.

After the car door was opened, a leg popped out, and a leather shoe pounded on the ground.

A handsome young man dressed in a limited edition Armani suit walked towards the mansion.

As he approached the building, through the huge floor-to-ceiling window, he saw Maxwell on his knees,

carefully scrubbing the floor.

The young man's lips twitched, "Boss, are you sure you're not going back to the west with me?"

"Without you there, the entire underground world is in chaos."

Instead of looking back, Maxwell continued to wipe the floor and said to himself, "I've made it clear that

since the moment I retired, I would not interfere in the matters of the underground world. I have my own

life now. You can leave."

The young man smiled bitterly and lit a Cohiba cigar that's rarely seen even in overseas. The full-

bodied, amazing fragrance soon floated in the mansion.

Watching Maxwell doing housework, the young man sighed, "Boss, you are regarded the God of War in

the West and own half the world's wealth. Why would you give up everything you have to do the

housework?"

"I just want to repay the kindness I owe to the Sandoval family. I don't like to owe others favors."

"But boss, do you really not care about overseas? Without you, the underground world isn't peaceful

lately." The young man leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed around his chest.

"Aren't you there? Didn't I tell you to maintain order overseas?" Maxwell answered without looking

back.

"But without you in charge, other forces are making moves. Only the return of the Dragon Lord can

intimidate them."

"Do they need to be intimidated?" Maxwell's gaze turned cold and dark, "Those who disobey should be

killed without mercy!"

The young man sighed in resignation. He shook his head and walked out of the mansion. "You win!

Looks like you have forgotten about your brothers when you got a wife. So that's it, boss. Keep in touch

with us when you are free. I'll be leaving."

The young man walked out of the villa but suddenly stopped at the thought of something. He turned to

look at Maxwell's dirty shirt and smiled meaningfully. "Boss, you made your custom-made shirt so dirty.

If Master Peters found out, he would probably burst a blood vessel, wouldn't he?"

Maxwell took a glance at his shirt. "Clothes? Isn't clothes meant to be worn? Is it more important than

scrubbing the floor?"

The young man pulled a wry smile but didn't say anything. In fact, he knew that the shirt would be

much more expensive than the floor if they were auctioned off.

But Maxwell was rich enough to squander. The subordinate knew his boss had a large wardrobe of

such hand-made shirts.

The Rolls-Royce let out a roar and disappeared from the entrance of the mansion.

After Maxwell took off this custom-made shirt and casually threw it aside, the phone in his pocket rang.

He took it out and realized that the phone call was from overseas.

After Maxwell put through the phone, a fluent foreign language sounded on the other end of the phone.

"Mr. Maxwell, we beg you to personally protect our general during his diplomatic visit. We are willing to

give you half of our negotiated profits and will treat you as well as the general in Australia!"

Without waiting for the other party to finish, Maxwell hung up the phone and mumbled disdainfully,

"How dare an obscure warlord from overseas to have the audacity to seek my protection? Since when

do I care about such a speck of place?"

After blacklisting the number, Maxwell stuffed his phone back into his pocket and continued to clean the

floor.

In a quiet, solemn office abroad, a minister held a phone and smiled bitterly, "Deputy Prime Minister, he

blacklists us again... His temper is exactly what the rumor has said."

The deputy prime minister's expression remained unchanged. "Don't be discouraged. With his status, if

he can protect the general, we won't need any bodyguards. He alone is enough."

"Yes." The minister nodded respectfully, not dare to go against the Deputy Prime Minister.

...

By the time Maxwell finished the housework of the mansion, it was already seven o'clock in the

evening.

As night fell, a pitch-black Maybach S sped up and stopped at the entrance of the mansion.

Maxwell heard the roar of the engine and hurried out of the building.

The door opened, and an exquisite red high-heeled shoe stepped on the ground. Following a long, fair

leg, a stunning young woman got out of Maybach.

The moment she appeared, everything around was overshadowed by her breathtaking beauty. Even

the beauty queens of Ocean City couldn't match her.

"President Greta, welcome back." Maxwell greeted enthusiastically.

Ignoring Maxwell, Greta walked slowly into the mansion in high heels.

Obviously, she hadn't cooled down yet.

As soon as she sat on the sofa, Maxwell served her a cup of freshly made tea.

"President Greta, you've been working all day. Are you tired? Please have a drink of tea." Maxwell

pulled a flattering smile.

Greta glanced up at the obsequious man and felt sick.

Maxwell had done a very good job at home these past few months. Even if Greta wanted to be nitpicky,

she couldn't find a single mistake.

She asked Maxwell to kneel and clean the floor, wash the toilet, and to do housework. She forbad

Maxwell to smoke or drink. The food he made could not be too salty and light... In short, she asked so

much of him, but her plans all failed eventually.

Maxwell promised not to smoke or drink and he lived up to his word. Many times she had come home

early to catch him on the spot, only to found there was not a whiff of smoke in the house.

She made Maxwell kneel down and clean the floor. As a result, every day she returned home, she

found the 500-square-meter floor looked like it has been polished and was free from any dust.

Greta had never seen any single domestic worker do such a great job.

Maxwell left Greta no room to complain. She couldn't find anything wrong with him and therefore

couldn't get rid of him.

Greta stared at the fawning, obedient man with her alluring eyes and got angrier and angrier.

'You can take it, huh? Alright! Then bear with it!'

Greta thought hatefully, and a wicked idea came to her.

Sitting on the sofa with her arms crossed, she kicked off her expensive high heels and ordered coldly

with those delicate red lips, "Come over and give me a massage."