Nova sat on the edge of the cafeteria chair like it might bolt if she relaxed too much.The food tray in front of her was aggressively beige—rice, something grilled, something steamed, all of it technically edible and emotionally uninspiring. She poked at it with her fork, chewed once, then sighed.“This is not food,” she muttered. “This is a suggestion of nourishment.”Lucia, standing a few feet away with her arms folded, smiled faintly despite herself. “You said you were starving.”“I am,” Nova said. “Which is exactly why this feels personal.”She ate anyway. Hunger, unfortunately, did not respect principles.The room was quiet in that institutional way—too clean, too controlled, designed to make sure nothing unexpected happened. Nova hated it on instinct. She preferred chaos. Or at least rooms that didn’t smell like disinfectant and restraint.Her foot bounced under the table.Eli’s face kept replaying in her mind. That brief, unguarded moment when he’d seen her—really seen her—and

Eli waited until Nova’s footsteps were gone—until the corridor swallowed the echo of her presence the way it always did—before he moved.He didn’t rush. Rushing made mistakes louder and irrevocable.Instead, he leaned once against the cool wall, rolled his shoulders back, and took out his phone.He scrolled past half a dozen names he trusted with his life and stopped on one he didn’t trust at all.Clara.The line rang twice.“Eli?” Her voice came through sharp with surprise, unfiltered, as if she hadn’t expected to ever see his name light up her screen. “Is everything alright?”“No,” he said honestly. “But that’s not why I’m calling.”A pause. Paper shifting. The faint hum of an office that never really slept.“You don’t call me unless it’s urgent,” Clara said. “What’s wrong?”“We need to meet.”Silence—real silence this time. Not the performative kind.“…Meet?” she repeated. “Eli, if this is about the Aurelius–Virelia deal, you should know cancelling at this stage isn’t possible, exc

Clara held his gaze for a long moment.It wasn't the polite kind. Nor the cautious one people used when weighing danger. This was a measuring look—one that assessed endurance, there was no threat in her gaze. Instead it looked like she was deciding not what to say, but how much damage the truth was allowed to do before it became counterproductive.Then she leaned back, exhaling softly, as though releasing a breath she’d been holding since he walked into the room.As if deciding which version of the truth he was ready to survive.“The D’onyx family,” she began, voice smoothing itself back into something composed and practiced, “has always been a powerful name. Older than most modern dynasties. We didn’t just own companies—we anchored industries.”She spoke as though reciting facts, but there was a quiet edge beneath it. Ownership without apology.“Energy. Pharmaceuticals. Logistics. Defense-adjacent tech. Quiet holdings,” she added, lifting her glass slightly before setting it down aga

Eli didn’t pause to look back to see what her reaction would be.The moment he stepped out of the private section, motion took over—purpose overriding reflection. The corridor beyond the private dining suite was quiet, insulated, designed to absorb urgency. His stride was measured, not rushed. Anyone watching would’ve seen control.Anyone who knew him would’ve recognized containment.The walls were soundproofed, the lighting calibrated to calm rather than guide. A place built for conversations that couldn’t afford witnesses. Eli passed through it like someone already elsewhere, his mind moving faster than his body allowed.He reached the entry, keyed in a secure override, and lifted the phone to his ear before the doors had fully sealed.“Karim.”The line connected instantly, as if Karim had been waiting for the call rather than placing it down.“I’m here,” Karim said. No greeting. No follow up sentence.“How bad is it—right now,” Eli asked, eyes tracking his surroundings. “Not projec

The jet sat motionless on the tarmac, engines cooling with soft, mechanical clicks that echoed faintly through the cabin.Night pressed against the windows, Rome just beyond reach—ancient, patient, watching.Inside, the quiet had weight.Carlos sat across from Nova, posture composed, suit immaculate, hands folded loosely as if at rest. His eyes, however, were anything but. They tracked her in fragments—age, posture, breathing rhythm, the absence of nervous motion. He’d tried—once—to look away.That attempt had lasted maybe three minutes.After that, his gaze drifted back, uninvited but persistent, trying to fit her into a category that refused to exist. Whatever box he’d attempted to construct collapsed the moment he thought he had the dimensions right.Nova noticed.Of course she did.She didn’t comment. Didn’t react. Just leaned back into her seat, one ankle crossing over the other with casual precision. Her eyes stayed on the window, watching Italy glow beneath the dark like a cons