Later in the day, at Dynasty Group, Gregg moved like a man with something to hide, shoulders hunched, eyes flicking to the glass-fronted lobby as if the mirrors themselves might report him. The elevator doors sighed open and he hurried toward the exit, briefcase clutched tight enough to blanch his knuckles. He almost ran straight into Liera as she stepped out of the other private elevator by the exit way, blazer snapped, hair tucked back in that precise, lethal way she always wore it.“Uh…ma’am Liera, I’m sorry. Didn’t see you,” Gregg blurted, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.Liera’s gaze pinched him. She straightened an invisible crease on her blazer with the slow, controlled motion of someone who measured every second. “You seem eager to leave, Gregg. Going somewhere important?”Gregg’s throat worked. He forced a chuckle, glanced at his watch, and said, “It’s almost five, ma’am. Office hours are over.”Liera checked her own watch, lips a clean line. “It’s not five. It’s

Zsiga’s private room in the cursed chamber smelled of wax and old money: beeswax candles guttering in crystal holders, leather-bound ledgers stacked like tired sentries, and the faint metallic tang of a brandy glass left too long in the moonlight. Alaric’s thumb trembled against his phone as he stared at the dark screen for the umpteenth time.“Why isn’t this silly girl answering?” he muttered, voice thin with irritation, and stabbed at the call button again.Across the table, Zsiga watched him with slow, contemptuous amusement. He moved a pawn with the careless arrogance of a man accustomed to exploiting his advantage; the little ivory soldier clacked and rolled before settling into place.“So,” Zsiga said, never taking his eyes off the chessboard, “has Amelia finally run out of your grasp?”Alaric swallowed. The words felt lodged in his throat like a fishbone. “N—no, father.” He avoided Zsiga’s gaze. “I reached her twice. Leo says she’s…busy.”“Busy.” Zsiga’s smile was a blade. He s

The room fell into a thick, uneasy silence.Leo’s gaze was steady, voice quiet but firm. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “He called then, complaining that you’ve not been picking up his calls. I told him you’ve been busy. But I think he suspected you've been avoiding him.”Amelia’s lips parted slightly as her eyes darted across the room, searching for an anchor in the gleaming glass and gold that surrounded her. The air in her office suddenly felt heavier. She had really been avoiding her father, dodging his calls for weeks because she didn’t know how to face him without results. How could she tell him that after still coming over to a new city, she was still nowhere close to finishing the mission he’d given her?Her fingers fidgeted with a pen on her desk. “Leo,” she murmured, her voice soft but shaky, “you should’ve told me sooner.”“I didn't want you to get worried. You were so excited about the launch and felt happier than ever." Her eyes fixated on him. "What was the call about?”Leo’

Gregory met his eyes, understanding the weight behind the request. He gave a slow nod. “I will do my very best, Master Nathan. You have my word.”Nathan leaned back in his seat, the quiet confidence in his posture returning. The shadows from the light stretched across the room, pooling near his feet like soft ink. He stared into the dimming glow beyond the window, silent, but resolute.Outside, the wind stirred the leaves of the olive trees, their rustle faint and wistful. Somewhere deep inside, Nathan felt it, a stirring, a whisper that maybe, just maybe, Lady Kaelea, his mother’s story was not yet over.And neither was his.Gregory drained the final sip of his coffee, setting the cup back on its saucer with a faint clink. He rose, brushing a crease from his coat.“I should take my leave now,” he said, tone even but eyes lingering with quiet respect.Nathan nodded once, his voice low. “Go ahead.”Gregory gave a slight bow and left through the wide door, the sound of his departing foo

The morning sunlight filtered faintly through the tall glass windows of Dynasty Group’s thirteenth-floor conference room, casting golden streaks over the polished long table that could seat at least thirty. The air was heavy with perfume, coffee, and growing impatience. Files sat unopened before the partners, their pens tapping restlessly against their notepads.Gregg leaned back in his chair, the corners of his lips curved into a faint, practiced smile. His eyes darted briefly toward Liera, who sat at the head of the table in her ivory blazer, her posture straight but her face unreadable. He could tell she was trying to remain calm, though the slight movement of her index finger against the table betrayed her irritation.One of the partners, a balding man with a deep voice, broke the silence first. “What’s going on here?” he demanded, his tone laced with annoyance. “We’ve been sitting here for more than twenty minutes. Nothing’s been said, nothing’s been done.”A few others nodded, m