Serena Voss stood at the edge of the opulent banquet hall, her piercing gaze cutting through the sea of chaos caused by the young man, she knew him, of course, she had done a background search on him. The charismatic tech genius, once a rising star, now burned with a quiet, seething resolve and satisfaction, "at least someone to challenge the Crane's but she knew Warren would eventually be made to dissapper from the surface of the earth, just like those before him, more Assumably wealthy and powerful infact"For seven years, she had plotted to dismantle the Crane family, the architects of her ruin. Every scheme, every calculated move, had crumbled against their impenetrable wealth and influence. Tonight, she had slipped into the wedding banquet uninvited, a shadow among the powerful, desperate for any scrap of leverage to fuel her vendetta. The sting of betrayal—Victor Crane’s calculated deception—still pulsed like an open wound.Five years ago, her life’s work, a groundbreaking mili

Meanwhile..... In the opulent private suite on the third floor of the illustrious Transcorp imperial Hotel, the air was thick with tension. The grandeur of the hotel, with its gleaming chandeliers and polished marble floors, was a stark contrast to the brewing storm below. Mr. Trump, the hotel’s patriarch, sat in his plush armchair, his facial expression betraying the weight of his thought. Ordinarily, he would have issued a swift command to his butlers and hotel security to drag the troublemaker out and make an example of him, ensuring the pristine reputation of his establishment remained untarnished. But today was different. He knew, with a heavy certainty, that the chaos erupting downstairs would be the work of one man—Mr. Lifesmith.Just over an hour ago, Mr. Lifesmith before he left the suite and went downstairs, his voice low and conspiratorial, requested that Mr. Trump turn a deaf ear and a blind eye to the disruption he planned to unleash at the Crane heir’s wedding. “Gues

The grand banquet hall buzzed with a cacophony of murmurs, the clinking of crystal glasses, and the rustle of expensive fabrics as guests milled about in their finery. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine from towering floral arrangements, mingling with the faint tang of champagne. But beneath the opulence, a storm was brewing, one that centered on Warren Buffet, whose presence in the room was like a spark in a powder keg.“Are you surprised, Ms. Trump?” Warren’s voice cut through the hum, his lips curling into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was a sharpness to his tone, a simmering undercurrent of defiance that belied the calm facade he projected. His dark eyes, stormy with unspoken pain, locked onto Cassandra Trump’s, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of them. Her face softened, etched with an unexpected admiration. Warren had promised he’d act, regardless of the consequences, heedless of the wrath he might incur from the powerful Cr

The air was thick with the heady scent of jasmine from extravagant floral arrangements, their petals trembling faintly as if sensing the storm brewing within the room. Beneath the elegance, a raw undercurrent of fear pulsed, sharp and metallic, as guests in their silken finery retreated to the edges of the hall. Their eyes, wide with a mix of awe and dread, darted between the towering figures of the Trump and Crane families. Whispers slithered through the crowd, their voices low but electric with anticipation. *If the Trumps and Cranes tear each other apart,* they thought, *the other families will rise like vultures, picking at the bones of their empires.* The prospect was a dark promise, heavy with ambition and treachery, hanging in the air like the prelude to a tempest.Yul Crane stood at the heart of the chaos, his face a blazing inferno of crimson, his eyes alight with a murderous intent that seemed to sear the very fabric of the room. His tailored suit did little to contain the

The tension was a living thing, coiling tighter with every passing second, the hall a tinderbox ready to ignite.Victor Crane’s voice pierced the silence, shrill and venomous, his broken arm cradled awkwardly as he stepped forward. “Don’t kill him so quickly, Mr. Tompolo! Torture him slowly!” His eyes gleamed with malicious glee, his lips curling into a sneer as he savored the thought of Warren’s suffering. The arrival of Tompolo, the Man O War, had shifted the tides of power in the room, and Victor’s confidence surged, a predator scenting blood.Tompolo’s brows knitted together, his sharp, unyielding gaze slicing through Victor like a blade. “Are you teaching me what to do?” His voice was a low growl, cold and commanding, carrying the weight of a man who bowed to no one. That single glance was a thunderbolt, and Victor’s bravado crumbled. His face drained of color, his knees trembling as if he might collapse under the sheer force of Tompolo’s presence. “No, no! Of course not…” he st