The city center was a fortress that morning.Drones hovered in the air, news vans lined every corner, and the media screamed headlines in real time:“THE WEDDING OF THE DECADE: BILLIONAIRE HEIR SET TO WED VALERIA.”“EX-PRESIDENT, ROYALS, AND GLOBAL CEOs SPOTTED AT MEGA-WEDDING.”From every screen, every broadcast, the world watched.Inside a sleek black Rolls-Royce just outside the majestic hall, Elijah adjusted the cuff of his crisp white suit. His fingers were steady, but his eyes were sharp—searching.Sienna, seated opposite him, held a tablet on her lap, scanning feeds and reports.Elijah glanced up at her.“Is the entire security unit in place?”She looked him dead in the eye. “Yes, sir. Four layers. Snipers are positioned. Facial scan at the gate. Anyone without verified invite is immediately removed.”“Good,” Elijah said, eyes narrowing. “Scan the guests twice. I don’t want surprises.”Sienna gave a short nod. “Understood.”He reached for the door handle.“Congratulations, sir,

The ticking wall clock was the only sound in the room, slicing the silence like a blade. Mr. Quinn stood like a statue behind the mahogany desk, arms crossed, his sharp gaze locked onto the boy kneeling before him."Look at me, Caleb."The boy flinched, his eyes fixed on the floor. His knees pressed hard against the cold tile, jeans stained with dirt and something darker. He dared not raise his head.Mr. Quinn's voice dropped, slower, colder."You want to be seen? You want the world to follow you? Then you must learn the rule…"He paused, taking slow steps forward, the floor groaning under his boots."—the world only follows a man who doesn't feel pain."Caleb swallowed hard. He didn’t understand the world. Not really. All he knew was that love had a face in his house—and it wasn’t his.It was Elijah.Always Elijah.Mr. Quinn reached for a small wooden shelf to his right. On it lay scattered tools—papers, files, a half-empty bottle of whiskey, and beneath it all, a rusted hammer. He p

The ticking wall clock was the only sound in the room, slicing the silence like a blade. Mr. Quinn stood like a statue behind the mahogany desk, arms crossed, his sharp gaze locked onto the boy kneeling before him. "Look at me, Caleb." The boy flinched, his eyes fixed on the floor. His knees pressed hard against the cold tile, jeans stained with dirt and something darker. He dared not raise his head. Mr. Quinn's voice dropped, slower, colder. "You want to be seen? You want the world to follow you? Then you must learn the rule…" He paused, taking slow steps forward, the floor groaning under his boots. "—the world only follows a man who doesn't feel pain." Caleb swallowed hard. He didn’t understand the world. Not really. All he knew was that love had a face in his house—and it wasn’t his. It was Elijah. Always Elijah. Mr. Quinn reached for a small wooden shelf to his right. On it lay scattered tools—papers, files, a half-empty bottle of whiskey, and beneath it all, a