With a final smirk, Klaus turned to the cameras, his voice calm and unwavering. "At Thera Hotels, we stand for integrity. And today, we proved that lies—no matter how carefully crafted—will always come to light." The last thing Duncan saw before security escorted him away was Klaus standing tall, victorious, while the world watched his humiliation in real-time. It was damning footage of Duncan and Allison Thorne storming into Thera Grand Hotel days earlier, berating Klaus himself in a heated confrontation. The video showed them spewing accusations, threatening his reputation, before being unceremoniously escorted out by General Manager Cassandra Festus and hotel security. The press gasped. The live stream chat exploded: [So it was all a setup?!] [Duncan Hunt just ruined his career on live television!] [Allison Thorne, you LIED to us??] [How pathetic. He planned this whole thing and still got exposed!] Duncan’s face twisted in horror as the reporters turned on him. “Mr

"You know, Jennifer and the girls haven’t made it any easier. ‘Oh, Allison, the whole city knows you and Duncan were liars. Are you even able to show your face in public?’ ‘If only your boyfriend could get you on a yacht—at least then you could disappear for a while.’" Her smirk faltered for just a moment, bitterness flashing in her eyes before she masked it with a light laugh. "I hate how they say it, like I’ve already lost. Like I don’t still have control over my own narrative." Smith’s jaw tensed at her words, but he chuckled, tightening his grip on his drink. "Well, now they’ll see. When they step onto that yacht with you, they’ll know exactly who you are—and that you’re still standing." Allison’s smile widened, something fierce burning behind her gaze. "Exactly. This isn’t just a getaway—it’s a power move. A statement. And you made it possible." Klaus Whitlock leaned casually against a wall, a knowing smirk played on his lips as he listened, his sharp eyes watching Alliso

Feeling utterly humiliated, Smith let out a grunt of pure rage and stormed off, shoving past the bystanders who were still chuckling at his misfortune. Meanwhile, Allison, seeing her chance, quietly slinked away from the scene, vanishing into the crowd. Klaus, however, stood completely unbothered, his gaze shifting toward the auctioneer. “I’ll take this other yacht too,” he said, his voice carrying an effortless authority. The auctioneer, still stunned by the scene, quickly gathered himself and nodded. “Excellent choice, sir. That will be $50 million.” Klaus simply nodded, and a system notification flickered in his vision: [Transaction Complete: -$82,000,000] [Remaining Balance to Spend: $318,000,000] But Klaus wasn’t done. He turned to a separate section of the lot where a private jet gleamed under the sun, an absolute masterpiece of engineering and luxury. The Dassault Falcon 10X, a state-of-the-art business jet, priced at a staggering $175 million, caught his eye. “I

"And now you’re here pretending to be rich? There’s no way you can afford this house. I’d advise you to stop embarrassing yourself and leave before you make a fool of yourself." Harriet’s fists clenched at Monroe’s audacity, but Klaus remained composed, a slow, knowing smirk forming on his lips. "And what price are you negotiating?" Klaus asked, his voice eerily calm. Monroe puffed out his chest. "Twenty million. Of course, I’m working out a deal to bring it down a notch, but the agent knows I’m serious." Klaus let a beat of silence pass. Then, with the ease of someone ordering coffee, he said, "I’ll take it. Full price along with the two smaller houses beside it. No negotiation. One hundred and fifty million dollars. Keep the change." The air shifted. The agent’s eyes widened. Monroe’s smirk froze before disintegrating into disbelief. "O-One hundred and fifty million?" the agent stammered. "Are you certain, sir?" Klaus gave a small, knowing smile. "I believe I said that

Klaus watched as the golden egg was revealed, gleaming under the chandelier lights. At the same moment, his system bank account flashed before his eyes—funds flowing in real time from his businesses. The casino earnings, restaurant profits, supermarket revenue, and hotel income all funneled seamlessly into his growing wealth. The auction hall pulsed with an electric tension, an undercurrent of unspoken rivalries and veiled ambitions. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over the opulent crowd, illuminating fortunes that had stood for generations. The scent of aged whiskey and expensive perfume mingled in the air, a testament to the excesses of the elite. Klaus Whitlock sat with the practiced ease of a man who belonged, yet refused to conform. His sharp gaze skimmed the room, calculating, assessing. The golden egg was unveiled under the chandelier's brilliance, its polished surface gleaming with promise. A fortune contained in an object—a mere symbol to some, but a statement of