The Maybach slid through the tall wrought-iron gates, which closed behind them with a low hum that sounded almost like a final verdict. Inside the car, Valeria turned slightly toward Javier, her gaze sharp.“Who was watching from across the road?” she asked, as if sensing something beyond what she’d seen.Javier didn’t answer immediately. His fingers tapped lightly on the armrest, the only outward sign of his thought process. He had seen the shadow too—just for a second. Someone else had been there. Someone who hadn’t meant to be seen.“Eyes that linger in silence often belong to those with something to hide,” he finally murmured.Valeria’s eyes narrowed. “You think he was followed?”“No,” Javier replied, his voice even. “I think I was.”She said nothing more. She knew better than to interrupt when he sank into that distant, calculating stillness. It wasn’t anger. It was preparation.The car coasted up the long, curved driveway, past the hedges trimmed with obsessive precision, past t

Javier didn’t move for several seconds after the stranger disappeared, his mind already calculating at speeds most men could never comprehend. The words echoed in his ears like a ticking clock:“Not what… who.”“You’re already too late.”The idea that someone had been taken from the Tokyo vault—that carefully guarded piece of his past—twisted something inside him. Not fear. Never fear.Something colder.Retribution.He turned back toward the estate, issuing a single command into the mic on his collar.“Activate Black Line Protocol. Scramble Tokyo, Geneva, and Reykjavik. I want satellite feeds, internal reports, and all vault logs pulled. Send a jet.”His head of security, Miles Chen, responded instantly. “Destination?”“Tokyo,” Javier said sharply. “Wheels up in twenty minutes.”“And Valeria?” Miles asked cautiously.Javier’s steps didn’t falter. “She stays here. Guard her like she’s the crown jewel.”“Yes, sir.”He reached the private elevator and descended into the sublevel of the e

Javier stared at the screen, unmoving, while the Tokyo skyline pulsed in silent rhythm behind him."Don’t trust Valeria."Three words.Three words that detonated inside his chest louder than any missile could.His grip tightened around the phone, knuckles whitening. Mira wasn’t just scared—she was deliberately warning him, risking whatever hell was behind that camera just to send a message. And if she was right...Then he had been playing on the wrong side of the board the entire time.“Sir?” one of the agents approached cautiously, holding a data pad. “We’ve got a match on the body. Name was Kenshi Yamada. Ex-intel. Defected five years ago. Went off-grid. Valeria had a red mark on him.”Javier didn’t answer.Because that was exactly the problem.Valeria had marks on everyone who opposed her. Mira included.“Dispose of the body,” Javier said coldly. “No trace. No press. Not even whispers.”“Yes, sir.”He turned away before the man finished saluting, walking to the edge of the rooftop,

The boutique gleamed with a sterile, haughty elegance — polished marble floors, velvet seats, and a wall of timepieces that cost more than most people’s annual salary. Beneath the soft golden lighting, every tick of every luxury watch sounded like money.Javier Everhart stood near the display, quietly observing a vintage Vacheron Constantin model. He wore a plain black T-shirt, faded jeans, and worn boots. His jacket was utilitarian — military-grade leather, scuffed at the elbows. His hair, longer than Wall Street’s standards, was pulled back in a lazy tie.To the casual eye, he looked like a tourist who had wandered in out of boredom.The sales associate behind the counter clearly thought the same.“Sir,” the woman began, her voice la

The laughter hadn’t faded yet.Even as Javier sat inside the driver’s seat of the Valkyrie—his Valkyrie—the sound of mockery laced the air, clinging to every marble tile and pane of glass. The receptionist was chuckling nervously with the salesman. Trevor had crossed his arms smugly, reveling in the moment of regained superiority.The door to the showroom suddenly opened again, this time revealing a man in an immaculate navy suit, flanked by two assistants. His presence demanded attention like thunder before a storm.He was Marshall DuVernay, CEO of Titan Venture Holdings, one of the most influential private equity firms on the East Coast. The kind of man whose signature alone could make or break billion-dollar deals. The moment his Italian leather shoes touched the floor, silence fell.Except for Trevor, who instantly straightened and waved. “Mr. DuVernay! Sir, a pleasure—what a surprise!”Marshall nodded briefly, his eyes moving past him toward the commotion.“What’s going on here?”