Tony. The bigger thug, the hand still on the air between him and Trisha, bounced back quickly from that moment of hesitation. He looked Max straight up and down, staring into the distance with a sneer running across his scarred face. That suit, the flawlessly crafted suit, that relaxed and almost serenity of demeanour and he dismissed it as the arrogance of a guy who had no real threat in his life, at least not as far as he could tell. He saw a target, not a danger.““Oh, look at Mr. Fancy Pants, ” he grumbled, his voice perceptively bitter and the taste of false pride mixed in. As the hand fell off his body he crossed both of his arms over his very tall chest and picked himself up. “You think you can just waltz in here and tell us what to do? You some kind of rich boy playing hero? What, did your nanny teach you how to talk tough? ”He took a step forward and closed the distance between them, and his gigantic frame seemed almost intimidating. “Go back to your mommy’s mansion, kid, thi

Max waited with unblinking eyes, then glanced down. A slight nod drifted between him and Trisha, passing through his body almost without sight. She stood beside him, her face shaking like an earthquake and then, slowly it seemed, understanding.Then he turned to Henderson, shouting directly through the echoes of those wailing apologies which had been put to him already. “Mr. Henderson, ” he said calmly in a voice as direct and sure as one that would not entertain a debatable argument. “This bakery. What is its market value? Be precise. And be honest.”Henderson, still trembling, stammered, his eyes darting nervously between Max and the door. “It’s… it’s not much, sir. Really, not much at all. Maybe… maybe two hundred thousand? If that. But it’s struggling, sir, really struggling… I’ve been trying to sell it for months…”Max didn’t let him finish. He drew out his phone, tapped on it briefly, with his fingers practicing all over again. Neither his eyes looked at the screen, with their g

Max sighed, a rare, vulnerable sound that seemed to escape him almost unconsciously. He looked up at the sky, which had begun to darken, heavy with unspoken rain. “I try not to,” he said, his voice low, almost a murmur. “To live in a different stratosphere, I mean. My parents… they taught me the value of hard work, of earning what you have. Of building something from nothing. And they taught me that true power isn’t about how much you own, or how many people you can intimidate, but about how you use it. What you build. What you protect.” He paused, his gaze distant, lost in thought. “It’s been a long road. Building Lesley Corp from the ground up, dealing with… people like the Donxiotes. The continual fighting, the endless negotiations, the ruthless competition. Sometimes you just lose track of why you even started, you get caught up in the game, the endless chase of more and more. "Trisha listened, her eye pained by the way his words moved her. “I got it, ” she said softly. “The same

Serena scoffed in a loud and acrid rage, her smile shriveling into a dry, crippling line. But in one eye, the surprise was palpable: Trisha was unexpectedly becoming so feisty. “Oh, feisty, ” she whispered with the hackneyed pleasure of a mocking joke. “How… quaint. Maxwell, darling, you really must be slumming it. A common girl with a sharp tongue? How utterly boring. I thought you preferred… substance.”“Boring?” Trisha retorted, a dangerous glint in her eyes, a challenge in her voice. “I find genuine conversation and authentic people far more interesting than vapid chatter and painted smiles. I find substance in character, Serena, not in a bank account or a family name.” She took another step closer, her voice dropping slightly, but gaining intensity. “Perhaps you should try it sometime, Serena. It might make you less predictable. And certainly less… tiresome. You might even discover you have a personality beyond your trust fund.”Serena’s freshly tanned face was flushed red, strea

They rested on the blanket, the gentle material a pleasing difference to the rigid marble floors of the gala. They drank champagne, the chilled, refreshing liquid a delightful contrast to the evening's ongoing tension. The quiet that enveloped them was cozy, friendly, punctuated solely by the far-off murmur of the city and the sporadic clink of their glasses. The residual sounds of Serena’s jeers, the chaotic atmosphere of the day, gradually diminished, giving way to a deep feeling of tranquility.“You know,” Trisha murmured, her tone gentle, barely audible, shattering the silence. "You truly didn’t need to do that this evening." Together with Serena. I can take care of myself. "I've had a lot of experience." Max fixed his intense gaze on her, steadfast in the dim illumination. He sipped his champagne slowly. “I believe you can,” he replied, his tone deep and sincere. I noticed that. You were outstanding. However, I wished to. She shouldn't have talked to you that way. To reject you.