Lucas’s face burned red, not just from Sophia’s slap but from Nathan’s cold words slicing through what was left of his pride. The laughter from Nathan’s table, low, controlled, cruel, rattled in his ears like nails.He clenched his fists.“That smug bastard!"Lucas muttered, his eyes locked on Nathan, who remained casually seated, fingers leisurely swirling his wine. "You scum, you just got a little spending money because of your pathetic hotel and suddenly, you think you're better than me?” he growled.Without any warning, he lunged across the table. The table between them nearly overturned as Lucas charged, a growl ripping from his throat. “Say that again, you piece of—!”But before he could lay a finger on Nathan, two of Nathan’s companions sprang to their feet. One caught Lucas by the chest, the other grabbed his arm, holding him back like a wild dog straining at a leash.“Back off!"One of them warned. “Don’t make it worse for yourself.”“Let go of me!” Lucas shouted, thrashing

The grand hall of the historic Windmere Estate pulsed with soft violin music, champagne toasts, and the polite laughter of the city’s elite. Crystal chandeliers shimmered overhead, casting fractured rainbows over tuxedos and floor-length gowns. It was a night of generosity and glamour, where donations flowed as freely as the vintage Dom Pérignon.Sophia Belmont arrived on Ethan Cross’s arm, a vision in sapphire silk. The gown was custom-made, courtesy of a designer she’d begged favors from, her earrings borrowed from a stylist friend, her shoes charged to a card already gasping for breath. But tonight, none of that mattered. All anyone saw was the poised woman beside the most coveted bachelor in the room.She smiled graciously at each nod they received, gently squeezing Ethan’s arm whenever someone of note passed by. Her voice, smooth as honey, dripped with compliments, laughter, and just enough feigned humility to appear endearing.Her plan was simple: charm, impress, and above all—s

Ethan stood in the center of his penthouse office, the city skyline sprawling behind him like a glittering kingdom. The phone in his hand trembled slightly—not from fear, but from the tight grip he had on it. The anonymous call had ended less than a minute ago, but its words buzzed in his ears like a swarm."Nathan Cole is making moves. From the inside. Ask your board who they really work for."No name. No voice recognition. Just a flat, synthetic tone. Yet something about the precision in the details chilled him. Nathan. Inside CrossTech.Ethan didn’t pace. He didn’t sit. He simply walked to his desk, pulled out a drawer, and retrieved a small black card—a private number few even knew existed. One he never used unless things crossed the line from business into war.He tapped the number and brought the phone to his ear.A single ring.Then a click.He spoke before the voice on the other end could ask anything.“I’m giving you three days.”There was a pause on the line—silent, obedient

The call came just after midnight. Nathan was reviewing Harper’s security clearance when his phone buzzed, urgent and sharp. He answered immediately. “Sir,” came the voice of his head of security, breathless, “someone tried to tamper with Harper’s IV line. They were in her room for under a minute—clean, fast. The nurse caught the anomaly just in time.” Nathan didn’t wait for further explanation. He was already halfway out the door. By the time he reached the hospital wing, Harper’s vitals had destabilized. The doctors worked quickly, stabilizing her with counter-medication, but the damage was done. Her pulse was weaker than before. Her breathing more strained. Nathan sat beside her, jaw tight, eyes fixed on her pale face. He didn’t speak. Just watched. Waited. Breathed with her. Then it happened. A sharp pulse ran through the ring on his finger—subtle, warm, then urgent. As if it had awakened. Without thinking, he placed his hand over the wound on her shoulder, exactly where

The grand dining hall of the Viremont Hotel exuded opulence, its high arched ceilings glinting with golden inlay, the hum of polite conversation softened by classical music drifting from the string quartet at the corner. A long glass table stretched down the center of the room, surrounded by influential faces from Red Cherry Holdings, Imperium Corp, and several global partners. This was no ordinary dinner—it was a high-profile prelude to the much-anticipated TriSummit, a meeting of power brokers that would shape the next economic quarter across three continents.Nathan sat near the head of the table, his posture calm, fingers laced before him. His navy-blue suit caught the light in subtle waves. Across from him, Harper was calm but alert, her eyes skimming the notes on her tablet while her instincts remained tuned to the energy in the room. She’d helped prepare every detail of this dinner, but she knew Nathan—something had his attention beyond the contracts and the conversation.Midwa