Novels by Addotei

Alex didn't go home that night. He stayed in his office until 3 AM. Staring at nothing. Melissa's words echoed in his head. *I destroyed a good person. Someone who loved me.* Past tense. Loved. Because that person was dead. The Alex Chen who'd loved Melissa Zhang had died in that hotel two years ago. This Alex—the one who built empires and crushed enemies—he didn't love anyone. Couldn't afford to. His phone buzzed. Isabella. *Still working? You promised you'd come home at a reasonable hour.* He typed back: *Something came up. Don't wait up.* *Alex. You need sleep.* *I know.* *What happened?* He stared at the question. What could he say? That a ghost from his past had apologized? That it hurt more than he'd expected? *Nothing. Just work. I'll be h

Monday morning came too soon. Melissa stood outside Chen Global headquarters at 5:40 AM. She'd called in sick Friday and Saturday. Spent the weekend in her apartment. Thinking. Spiraling. But bills didn't pay themselves. She had to go back. Had to face him. Rita met her at the time clock. "Feeling better?" "Yes. Thank you." "Good. We were short-staffed this weekend." Rita handed her the assignment sheet. "You're on evening shift today. Six to midnight." Melissa's stomach dropped. "Evening?" "Problem?" "No. I just... I'm usually mornings." "We rotate. It's your turn." Rita's expression softened slightly. "You'll be fine. Executive floor is quieter at night. Easier work." Easier. Right. Melissa took the assignment sheet. Evening shift meant the executives would st

The Grand Meridian ballroom glittered like a fever dream. Melissa stood near the entrance, clutching a champagne flute she'd taken from a passing waiter. She hadn't sipped it. Just held it. For something to do with her hands. The room was packed. Five hundred guests, maybe more. Corporate executives. Politicians. Socialites. Media personalities. Everyone who mattered in the city. And Melissa. A cleaning lady in a two-year-old dress. She scanned the crowd for Derek. Couldn't find him. But she found the director. He stood near the center of the room. Surrounded by admirers. Wearing an immaculate black tuxedo and that same black mask. Even from across the room, his presence was magnetic. People leaned in when he spoke. Laughed at his comments. Competed for his attention. Power recognized power. Melissa watch

Saturday afternoon. Derek stood outside Chen Global headquarters. He'd been standing there for twenty minutes. Just watching. People came and went. Employees. Visitors. Delivery drivers. All of them walking into the building like it was normal. Like there wasn't a mystery at the heart of it. His investigator, Marcus Webb, appeared beside him. "You're going to get arrested for loitering." "I'm thinking." "About?" "About how to prove something when the evidence says otherwise." Webb was in his fifties. Ex-cop turned private investigator. He'd seen everything. "The death certificate is real," Webb said. "I checked with the coroner personally. Alex Chen died two years ago. Body was identified by the medical examiner. Cremated. No conspirac

That evening, Melissa couldn't stop thinking about Derek's accusations. She sat in her apartment. The tiny studio with its cracked walls and leaking faucet. The folder Derek had shown her—those papers—they haunted her. But it couldn't be true. Alex Chen was weak. Soft. Kind to the point of being pathetic. He'd bring her flowers from the discount grocery store. Write her terrible poetry. Work three jobs just to afford cheap dates. That Alex couldn't possibly be the masked director. The director was cold. Calculated. Powerful enough to destroy Derek's empire with a phone call. Two completely different people. Had to be. Her phone rang. Unknown number. She almost didn't answer. But something made her pick up. "Hello?" "Miss Zhang?" Professional voice. Male. "This is Chen Global S

The coffee shop on Fifth and Main smelled like burnt espresso and broken dreams. Melissa arrived ten minutes early. Found a table in the back corner. Away from the windows. She ordered black coffee. Cheapest thing on the menu. Waited. Derek arrived at 12:03. She almost didn't recognize him. The Derek Morrison she'd known wore Armani and drove a Porsche. His hair was always perfectly styled. His shoes cost more than most people's monthly rent. This Derek wore a wrinkled button-down from a discount store. Pants that didn't quite fit. Scuffed shoes that had been resoled multiple times. His hair was thinner. Gray at the temples. He looked fifty instead of thirty-five. "Melissa." He sat across from her without asking. "Derek." Silence. He ordered coffee from the waitress. Regular. No modificatio

Victoria's Apartment - 2 AM Victoria slept soundly, dreaming of her restored reputation. She didn't hear the window open. Didn't notice the shadows moving through her apartment. Zhang Wei's team worked quickly and silently. Three people, all experts in infiltration. They found Victoria's laptop. Her phone. Her hidden burner phone she'd used to communicate with Ms. White. They copied everything. Every file. Every message. Every deleted email that could be recovered. They also found something Victoria hadn't hidden well enough—a folder in her desk drawer. Documents from Ms. White. Plans for framing Elena. Payment receipts for the first million dollars. One of the team members took photos of everything. Then they put it all back exactly as they'd found it. Within twenty minutes, they were gone. Victoria never knew they'd been there. Shadow Holdings - 3 AM Adrian reviewed the evidence Zhang Wei's team had recovered. It was damning. Completely damning. Messages between Victoria a

Shadow Holdings - Adrian's Office Adrian listened to Elena's explanation, his expression growing colder with each word. "FBI?" he said quietly. "Corporate espionage allegations?" "Adrian, I swear I didn't do anything. Those emails, that account—none of it is real. Someone fabricated everything." "I know you didn't do it." Adrian's voice was ice. "This is a setup. Professional. Well-planned." He stood, pacing. "The Architect. This has his signature all over it." "The Architect is targeting me now?" "He said he would. At the hospital fire. He promised to cost me something I care about." Adrian's hands clenched. "Attacking you distracts me. Forces me to fight on a personal front. Makes me emotional instead of strategic." "What do we do?" "First, we get you the best defense attorney in the country. Second, we find out who fabricated this evidence. Third—" his voice turned deadly cold, "—we make them regret it." Chen Wei burst into the office. "Young Master, we have a problem. The

Victoria Stone's Apartment Victoria Stone sat in her luxury apartment across the city, scrolling through news coverage of her brother's confession. Derek's face on every screen. The Stone family name synonymous with corruption and failure. She'd changed her surname to her married name—Victoria Chen now. Moved to a different district. Cut ties with her family publicly. All to escape the shame. But it hadn't worked. "Mrs. Chen, I'm afraid we're canceling your country club membership." The phone call yesterday. "Victoria, the charity board has decided to accept your resignation." This morning. "I'm sorry, but your application for the board position has been rejected." An hour ago. Everyone knew who she was. No amount of name changes or distance could erase that she was Richard Stone's daughter. Derek Stone's sister. Adrian Kane had destroyed her family. And now, by extension, he was destroying her. Her husband, Michael Chen, was a successful investment banker. But even he was fe

Warehouse District - 7:15 PMAdrian and Elena arrived at the old harbor warehouse. The same location where Adrian had first met the seven elders. But tonight, it was different.Security was everywhere. Shadow Holdings operatives in civilian clothes, positioned at every approach. Underground sentries—territory leaders' own guards—creating an outer perimeter. Two hundred armed people surrounding one building.Wu Feng met them at the entrance. "Young Master. Mrs. Kane." He bowed. "Everyone is inside. Waiting.""Tensions?" Adrian asked."High. These leaders don't trust each other. Many have been rivals for years. Some have killed each other's people." Wu Feng's expression was grim. "Bringing them together was a risk. Keeping them peaceful is going to be harder.""That's why I'm here." Adrian walked toward the entrance. "To give them a reason to cooperate that's stronger than their rivalries."Inside, the warehouse had been transformed. A large round table dominated the center—deliberately

Meanwhile - International Medical CommunityThe footage had spread beyond social media. News networks picked it up. Medical journals requested immediate interviews. Hospitals worldwide wanted to understand what had happened.In Boston, at Massachusetts General Hospital, a team of specialists gathered to watch the videos."It's impossible," one doctor said. "Neurological recovery doesn't happen in minutes.""But we're watching it happen," another replied."It has to be fake. Staged. A publicity stunt—""Then explain the monitoring equipment. Those readings are real. I can see the model numbers. Those are our machines. They don't lie."In London, a traditional medicine researcher was already booking flights to the city. "I have to meet him. This changes everything."In Beijing, professors at the Chinese Medicine University were in heated debate."This proves what we've been saying for decades! Traditional medicine works!""One case isn't proof. We need controlled studies—""One case is

The Evening of the Treatment - Jennifer Walsh's Hospital RoomDr. Morrison sat beside Jennifer Walsh's bed, reviewing monitoring data for the seventh time in three hours. Every metric showed improvement. Not gradual improvement—dramatic, undeniable improvement."Your lung capacity is up another fifteen percent since this afternoon," he said, almost to himself. "Your neurological responses are normalizing. Your organ function readings look better than they have in six months."Jennifer smiled weakly. "I told you it worked.""It shouldn't have worked. Not this fast. Not this completely." Morrison looked at her seriously. "Ms. Walsh, what you experienced today contradicts everything I understand about medicine. Energy meridians aren't supposed to exist. The Celestial Needle technique is supposed to be mythology. And yet...""And yet I'm getting better.""Undeniably." Morrison stood and paced. "I need to contact Mr. Kane. Schedule follow-up treatments. Document this properly. Run comparat