“What is the problem?” Elias asked, his voice edged with fatigue but still carrying authority. Antonio met his gaze directly, unflinching, as though he had already weighed the impact of what he was about to say. The room seemed to quiet even further around him, as if the air itself was waiting. “The problem,” he said calmly, “is that you were poisoned.” The words landed like a stone dropped into deep water. For a moment, nobody reacted. Even the subtle sounds of breathing seemed to fade, replaced by a heavy stillness that pressed into every corner of the room. Then Antonio continued, his tone steady but firm, not allowing space for doubt or misinterpretation. “And I am afraid,” he added, “that whoever did it is not far from you. It could be someone who serves you daily… or someone very close to your personal circle.” Silence followed immediately. It was not an ordinary silence, but one filled with tension, suspicion, and unspoken questions that seemed to hang in the air like invi

The following day at Bellagio Group, Cynthia had spent most of her afternoon buried in reports, strategy reviews, and updates from her assistant. Despite everything happening in her personal life, she maintained the same discipline she had always been known for—sharp, focused, and outwardly unshaken, even when things around her were anything but stable. She moved through the documents methodically, signing off approvals, flagging inconsistencies, and making quick decisions without hesitation. Her office remained quiet except for the occasional sound of paper being adjusted and the soft tapping of her keyboard. By late afternoon, she finally closed her laptop. She leaned back in her chair for a brief moment, exhaling softly as the tension of the day eased slightly from her shoulders. Another day done. There were still lingering thoughts at the back of her mind—Antonio’s concerns, her father’s fragile recovery, and that strange tension she could no longer ignore within their circle—

Daniels finally exhaled, as though releasing something he had been holding in for too long. His shoulders lowered slightly, and his voice came out quieter than before. “I don’t mind,” he said slowly. “If you can help me… I don’t mind.” The friend across from him did not respond immediately. Instead, he studied Daniels carefully, his eyes narrowing slightly as if measuring the sincerity behind the words. The lounge around them remained dim and quiet, the low lighting casting soft shadows across the table. Their drinks sat untouched, ice slowly melting into silence. “You’re sure?” the friend asked after a moment. Daniels nodded once, firmly this time. “I just want her to feel it,” he said. “What she did to me… I don’t want it to just disappear like it never happened.” A faint smile formed on the friend’s face. It was not warm or reassuring. It carried something else entirely—calculation, intent, and understanding of what was being asked without needing it spelled out. “Good,” he s

Antonio’s voice on the phone was steady, but there was a firm edge underneath it. “I’ve seen the news,” he said immediately after Cynthia picked up. “Everything circulating online about Bellagio Group.” Cynthia closed her eyes briefly. “So you know already,” she replied quietly. “I do,” Antonio said. “And I’m on my way to Bellagio Group right now.” Cynthia straightened slightly. “Antonio—” “I’ll be there soon,” he cut in, not unkindly, but decisively. Then the line went quiet. Cynthia lowered the phone slowly. For a moment, she just stood there, staring at the floor of her office, as if trying to steady the chaos forming in her mind. The assistant and manager were still present, waiting for further instructions, but Cynthia raised a hand slightly. “Give me a moment,” she said. They nodded and stepped out quietly. The moment the door closed, Cynthia finally exhaled. Not the controlled breath she had been taking all morning. This one trembled slightly. Because no matter

Daniels’ friend was still smiling when he raised his glass again, the earlier tension in the room replaced with a calm sense of satisfaction. The dim light reflected off the glass as he leaned back comfortably, as though nothing in the world could disturb the moment they were enjoying. “That’s what I’m talking about,” his friend said with a grin. “You didn’t just survive Bellagio Group—you upgraded.” Daniels smirked faintly, easing further into the sofa as the words sank in. The pressure he had been carrying for days felt lighter now, replaced with a growing sense of control over his own narrative. “Exactly,” Daniels replied. “People think one setback defines you. Meanwhile, I’ve already moved forward.” His friend chuckled softly, swirling the drink in his glass. “And Cynthia?” he asked casually. Daniels’ expression hardened slightly at the mention of her name, but there was still a trace of satisfaction in his eyes. “She’s dealing with the aftermath,” he said. “By the time this