The black limo's tinted window slid down like a guillotine being prepared. Javier’s calm gaze met the amused smirk of Gideon Vale, the self-styled king of corporate aggression. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back, his navy pinstripe suit immaculate, and his gloved hand rested atop a gold-tipped cane he didn’t need—but used for intimidation.“Still playing dress-up, Everhart?” Gideon drawled, voice smooth and venomous. “Blending with the peasants to feel morally superior? Or is it because no one remembers the name Javier anymore?”Javier stood motionless, a picture of unshakable stillness. His shadow stretched long beneath the afternoon sun, cutting across the polished floor like a blade.“Funny,” Javier replied calmly. “Coming from a man whose net worth is hemorrhaging faster than his hairline.”The driver winced silently.Gideon’s smirk faltered for a breath. Then it returned, sharper.“I see the rumors are true,” Gideon said. “You’ve been acquiring subsidiaries. Quietly. Like

The ballroom of the Solstice Grand Hotel shimmered with elegance. Crystal chandeliers bathed the polished marble in warm gold, and string quartets played softly in the corners. The air was thick with perfume, champagne, and empty compliments.It was the night of the gala—Everhart Holdings’ annual celebration, attended by CEOs, investors, foreign dignitaries, and those who thrived in corporate facades.In the midst of that dazzling opulence walked a man who didn't fit the aesthetic.Javier Everhart.He wore no tailored tuxedo. No gleaming watch. His outfit was simple: a black button-up shirt, dark trousers, and scuffed dress shoes that had seen too many pavements. His hair, though combed back neatly, held no product, and his expression was unreadable.He looked like the help.And they treated him accordingly.“Is he lost?” someone whispered behind a jeweled hand fan.“I think he’s a driver for one of the guests.”“No, look at those shoes. Maybe hotel staff.”The mockery followed him li

Past midnight, while the city below slumbered or celebrated, Javier Everhart stood before a massive digital screen that spanned the entire wall. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing the quiet rage carved into the tight set of his jaw and the stiffness in his broad shoulders.Behind him, Heather reviewed files at a steady pace, her fingers dancing over her tablet like a pianist conducting war.Javier’s voice cut through the stillness. “Three weeks ago, this vice president was in Seoul for a summit. Who arranged the flight?”Heather answered without looking up. “Michelle Reyes, his assistant. She booked everything through Everhart’s internal system. Standard protocols.”“And the hotel?” he asked, narrowing his gaze.Heather paused. “That… was arranged separately. I flagged the receipt. A Langford subsidiary paid for it. Disguised as an event sponsor.”Javier turned slowly, his eyes cold as steel.“Michelle’s not the traitor,” he said.

The luxury showroom gleamed with imported Italian marble and chandeliers that sparkled like diamonds under the soft lighting. People in designer suits, flowing gowns, and polished shoes sipped on vintage champagne while admiring the rare collection of limited-edition sports cars and luxury watches.At the edge of the room, quietly admiring a sleek obsidian-black timepiece, stood Javier Everhart.Dressed simply in a charcoal grey shirt and a plain blazer, Javier looked out of place, at least to the people around him.A sales assistant spotted him and immediately frowned. He whispered to his colleague, loud enough for a few socialites nearby to hear. “Do you think he wandered in from the service entrance?”The other scoffed. “He looks like a mid-level accountant trying to impress someone.”A woman in a silver dress glanced at Javier, wrinkled her nose, and turned to her husband. “Darling, should we call security? He’s staring at the watches like he can afford them.”The husband chuckl

The ballroom shimmered with a thousand crystal lights, and the music of a live orchestra echoed beneath vaulted ceilings gilded in gold. The annual Delacroix Foundation Gala was one of the grandest affairs in the city — the kind of place where alliances were forged, secrets traded in whispers, and wealth measured not just in currency, but in confidence.Tonight, as guests mingled in gowns and suits tailored by designers flown in from Paris and Milan, a quiet murmur spread from one end of the hall to the other.“Who is she?”“She’s stunning.”“That dress… and the way she walks—who is she with?”Heads turned as Valeria Everhart descended the marble stairs with the kind of elegance that made silence fall. Clad in a sleek off-shoulder midnight blue gown that hugged her form like silk over fire, her poise was untouchable. Hair swept to one side, eyes cool yet gracious, she walked as if the world owed her reverence.But walking beside her, with one hand loosely tucked in his pocket and the