Forty minutes later, Valeria emerged from the private lounge with that same glowing smile painted back on her face like fresh makeup. Polished. Powerful. Unbothered.But Elijah saw the faint smudge in her lipstick. The way she adjusted her hair with a quick glance at her phone camera. He didn’t need proof. He already knew.She spotted him standing by the far column like an accessory someone forgot to put away.“There you are,” she said sharply. “Prepare the car. We’re leaving soon.”No “please.” No “thanks.” Just another command.Elijah didn’t move.“I want to talk,” he said, voice low, steady. “Outside.”Valeria didn’t even pause. “You’re not the one feeding me, Elijah,” she said, rolling her eyes. “So whatever this is, say it here. I don’t have time for drama.”He looked around. People were nearby. Business suits and cocktail dresses, too consumed in networking to pay attention—but still, too close. She didn’t care. She never did.He sighed.“I can’t stand it anymore, Valeria,” he s

O.G. Level"Where's the boss?"The voice sliced through the high-ceilinged chamber like the soft click of a silencer—sharp, precise, and expecting answers.Before the speaker stood a sleek obsidian table, its surface glowing faintly with a rotating hologram of three major skyscrapers, each labeled in bold red characters: AVIONIX TOWERS, ORION TECH, and THE TRIDENT COMPLEX. They shimmered like kings atop a digital chessboard, casting blue light across the sharp suits of the men surrounding the display.Power hummed in the room like electricity—calm, but deadly.They stood in silence, waiting.Then—fwsshhhhhh.A toilet flushed in the distance. Water ran. A few seconds later, soft footsteps echoed down the marble corridor.The door opened.He emerged.Elijah Quinn.Black silk robe. Chest bare. Eyes sharp, unreadable. He dried his face with a white towel, dabbing at his jaw with quiet precision before carelessly tossing it to the floor.A servant—young, in gray uniform—rushed forward, sna

Valeria sat in her car outside The Halcyon.Her fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel, nails biting into the leather. Her heart was galloping like a racehorse, but her mouth whispered a lie she needed to believe.“It’s going to be okay,” she breathed. “This is the beginning of the comeback.”She tapped her screen and began recording a voice memo—meant only for the board.“To the esteemed members of the board,” she began, voice composed, measured. “I’ve just secured a private meeting with Elijah Quinn. This is not a loss. It’s a strategy. We’re going to get to the top again. I’ll make sure of it.”She ended the recording, attached it to a secure group message, and sent it without hesitation.Confidence. That was the key. Even if her world was slipping like sand between her fingers, she’d bluff her way through until it solidified again.She opened her bag and checked her reflection in the mirror. Simple black t-shirt. Oversized jeans. No makeup. No accessories. Minimalist. C

Elijah Quinn stepped into his penthouse in Kensington Heights, his footsteps echoing against Italian marble. He felt something was off.He halted.Bags.Designer bags. Shoes. A silk scarf thrown lazily across the foyer bench. Familiar brands. Familiar taste.He narrowed his eyes. “Who the hell…”He moved swiftly through the hall, past his curated art. His hand flexed, already itching to call security. Someone had broken in—someone with a damn key.As he approached the west wing, the glow of the massive LED screen lit the room. His living room.The laughter from the sitcom playing echoed—loud. And then he saw her.Valeria.Sprawled elegantly on the velvet couch in his favorite lounge. Wearing nothing but a white robe—his white robe. Hair tied in a silk scarf. Legs crossed. A glass of mango juice in one hand, remote in the other.Laughing.Elijah stopped at the threshold, darkening his expression.She didn’t even flinch.She turned her head, slowly, like she’d been expecting him.“

Valeria’s throat was dry, her pulse ticking just beneath her skin.She had to admit it—Elijah played a brilliant move.Damn him.Her fingers twitched against the cool edge of the bar as he stood there, calm, crisp, and weaponized with leverage. For once, his voice didn’t brim with fire. It was colder. Worse. It was surgical.“What’s it going to be, Valeria?” Elijah asked, stepping closer. His voice was a whisper now, dark velvet. “Clock’s ticking. I call the press tomorrow. We tell the world… our version of the truth.”She felt Amirah’s presence behind him, smug and silent, like a shadow that smiled.Valeria blinked once. Then again.“I… I need to use the restroom,” she said, voice unsteady for the first time.She turned quickly, walking away without waiting for permission. She scanned the hall, spotted a door, and stepped inside the bathroom. Cool marble. Gilded fixtures. And a mirror that didn’t lie.She splashed cold water on her face, breathing heavily, gripping the edges of the