Nathan sat cross-legged on the floor of his meditation room, the faint hum of biofrequency emitters surrounding him like a cocoon. The room was designed for silence—no distractions, no digital interference. His breath was steady, the ring on his finger pulsating gently with every inhale. He focused inward, extending his awareness beyond the room, threading his mind through the city’s ambient noise like fingers through fog.Somewhere, across the city, another meeting was happening—one not on any calendar, one hidden in static and shadow. And Nathan reached for it.His consciousness brushed against the edge of something sharp.A presence.Then—a wall.Not stone or steel. Not electronic.A mind.And not just any mind—a fortress wrapped in smoke and ancient discipline.Nathan pushed.The wall hit back.White-hot pain lanced through his skull. His breath caught. Blood burst from his nose as if something inside his brain had cracked.He recoiled, gasping, one hand clawing at the floor. The

The soft click of her heels echoed against the pavement as Harper stepped out of the pharmacy, adjusting the bag of medical supplies under her arm. Nathan had been pushing himself hard lately—mentally, physically, emotionally—and she’d insisted on handling errands alone this evening. A small favor. A moment of normalcy.She didn’t see the shadow slip behind her until it was too late.A sharp sting pierced her neck, and then darkness swallowed everything.---Lucas wiped the sweat from his brow, staring at the surveillance feed with a crooked smirk. Harper lay unconscious in the middle of a polished steel room, her wrists strapped gently but firmly to a reclining medical chair. The lighting was dim, designed to disorient but not harm. He wasn’t here to torture.He was here to talk.He adjusted his jacket, the sleeves tugging uncomfortably over his still-healing shoulder. The hospital had finally discharged him with a long list of "no activity" warnings—but Lucas had never been good at

The sound of approaching sirens broke the silence of dawn. Red and blue lights flickered across the warehouse walls as Lucas Reed was dragged out in handcuffs, blood crusted on the back of his head where Harper had struck him. Disoriented and seething, he shouted obscenities, his voice hoarse from hours of screaming. The officers ignored him.By midday, the news cycle was on fire."Tech Mogul's Son Arrested for Kidnapping: Attempted Assault and Conspiracy Charges Filed" "Mystery CEO Rescues Partner in Daring Solo Operation" "Harper Rayne Speaks Out: 'He Saved Me When No One Else Would'"Clips of Harper’s press statement aired on every major network. Her voice was calm, but fierce:“This wasn’t an isolated incident. It was a message.”News anchors debated the footage released by Miko’s team: a silent security recording of Nathan walking into a warehouse and walking out fifteen minutes later with Harper in his arms and twenty-five trained mercenaries incapacitated inside. The public we

Nathan stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows of his study, one hand on the frame, the other gripping his phone. The city shimmered beneath overcast skies, its usual noise muffled by the heavy glass. Behind him, Harper waited silently. The call connected with a crisp beep.“Nathan,” his father answered. “I didn't expect to hear from you this early, son. Are you okay?”“I need you to pull the plug on Jonathan Reed’s funding,” Nathan said without preamble. “Now.”A pause. Then, “The Reeds are toxic. Their market value dropped 40% last week. What’s your angle?”“They’re leaning on shadow funds. Someone’s propping them up from behind. I want that support gone.”“And if the backer refuses?” his father asked.Nathan’s gaze hardened. “Then buy the backer.”A longer pause followed, but then his father exhaled, amused. “You’ve changed.”“Just making sure certain people face consequences,” Nathan replied. “Let me know when it's done.”The line clicked dead.Harper stepped up beside him. “Thi

The silence in Ethan Reed’s penthouse office was clinical: vacuum-sealed, like the man who owned it. Neon glare from the skyline poured through the vast windows, casting long shadows across polished marble floors. A decanter of scotch sat untouched on the sideboard, a single crystal tumbler beside it. But Ethan wasn’t drinking. He was watching.Nathan Cole stood across from him. No boardroom table separated them tonight. Just decades of resentment, a stolen company, and one final, reckless hope.“You don’t belong here,” Ethan muttered.“I own this floor now,” Nathan replied calmly. “Technically, I own your company. So if we’re arguing over property, you’re the trespasser.”Ethan’s lip curled, but Nathan’s voice remained steady, clinical in its coolness. “It took a while to find your offshore shell companies. Cayman Islands. Gibraltar. Singapore. You’re good. But not perfect.”“You smug little—”Nathan tossed a folder onto Ethan’s desk with a soft thud.CONFIDENTIAL: MERGER COMPLETECO