"What?" Marcus asked, his tone laced with surprise."What do you mean he rejected the proposal? What didn’t he like about it?" Emily pressed."In his own words, everything. He called it garbage—the worst proposal he’s ever read, and trust me, he’s read some terrible ones," the secretary replied dismissively.Just then, the elevator doors opened, and a group of men and women stepped out, taking seats in the waiting area."But I personally oversaw my secretary drafting that proposal! I proofread it thoroughly afterward. It’s flawless!" Marcus argued, frustration evident in his voice."This is a solid business plan. It’s for the orphanage, and it would benefit your investment company as well," Emily added, trying to reason with the secretary."I’m not the boss, Miss Walsh. He’s made his decision," the secretary replied curtly.Marcus’s anger flared. "How dare he tarnish the Roberts family name? He should respect our reputation!" he shouted, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

The automatic doors of the hospital hissed open and shut as Benjamin stepped outside into the crisp afternoon air. The sun was high, but the weight in his chest kept him grounded in a darker place. Before he could take more than a few steps toward the parking lot, his phone buzzed in his coat pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen—Dean Wilde.“Yes, Dean. What is it?” he answered, voice firm but tired.“I just wanted to inform you that the land’s been sold to Emily Walsh,” Dean reported. “We’ve sent her the contract as you requested.”Benjamin gave a short nod, even though no one could see him. The news didn’t bring him relief, only a fleeting sense of completion.“That’s fine. Handle everything on your end. I don’t want to be involved in any follow-up,” he said curtly, running a hand across his brow as frown lines creased deeper into his forehead.He had bigger things on his mind—more pressing, more dangerous.Just then, the sound of screeching tires drew his attention. A

"But you, what did you do? The first chance you got, you put my brother in a hospital." Emily’s voice trembled with both anger and disbelief. "You are despicable, Benjamin. I don’t even want to see your face right now."Her sudden and fierce defense of Marcus caught him by surprise—but more than that, it thrilled him. Marcus’s lips curved into a smug smile as his ego inflated. He took her words as a badge of honour, convinced he had automatically won her heart."The lady has spoken," Marcus said, stepping forward with theatrical flair. "And I couldn’t have said it better myself."He gestured around them with a flourish. “Look around, Benjamin. This isn’t just any restaurant—it’s one of the finest, most prestigious establishments in the entire city. I brought my fiancée here for lunch.”He let the word fiancée hang in the air like a dagger."A man of your social class would never even dream of setting foot in here. In fact, I highly doubt you’d have made it past the entrance if Emily’s

The sharp edge in the man’s voice brought Marcus to an abrupt halt just as he began dialing.“Before you go making any decisions that might waste my precious time,” the man said, his grin widening with devilish satisfaction, “why don’t I properly introduce myself?”Marcus lowered his phone slowly, his gaze narrowing with mild curiosity and irritation. He crossed his arms, the muscles in his jaw tightening.“This should be good,” he said with a cocky smirk, the air around him thick with bravado. He wasn’t the type to be easily impressed, certainly not by some loudmouthed stranger throwing his weight around.But the man stood taller, with a smugness that oozed confidence. His presence alone was unsettling, and something about his gaze said he was used to getting what he wanted.“My name,” the man began, his voice dropping slightly in pitch, “is Diego Rivera. Son of Antonio Rivera. I’m sure you’ve heard the name.”The second the name left Diego’s mouth, Marcus felt a jolt, like ice water

Word of the restaurant incident traveled faster than wildfire. By morning, the news had filtered through the marble corridors of the city's elite. Shared in whispers at golf courses, murmured at private dinners, and dissected in encrypted group chats that never mentioned names outright but always knew precisely whom they were discussing. Diego Rivera had been humiliated Not just bruised or threatened but publicly dismantled by a man no one recognized, and that made it was. To the uninitiated, it wasn't just a brawl between young men with too much pride. But Rhod,e who understood the game, the ones who dealt in blood-stained money and silent power. At the Rivera estate, chaos reigned behind the wrought iron gates and rose gardens. Don Antonio Rivera, the Mafia Boss of the East, was livid.His face, usually unreadable, was twisted with fury as he paced the sitting room of his private villa. Servants were dismissed. Bodyguards stationed at every exit. His son, bruised and hunched o