Luisa Payne had seen many men try to build empires. Most failed before the ink on their contracts dried. A few clawed their way to the top, only to be dragged down by greed, scandal, or betrayal. But Steven Milton… now called Kahuna was different. She sat across from him in a private lounge lit by golden chandeliers, the faint hum of a jazz record filling the room. Princewill lounged nearby, sipping his drink, the atmosphere casual. But Luisa’s eyes never left Steven. “I taught you the rules of the game,” she said finally, her voice smooth, carrying both admiration and disbelief. “But you… you broke them and rewrote them in a language no one else can read.” Steven leaned back in his chair, calm, unreadable. “You showed me the door, Luisa. I only chose to walk through it differently.” Princewill chuckled, raising his glass. “Differently? You kicked it down, burned the hinges, and built a mansion where the door used to be.” Luisa’s lips curved into a reluctant smil

Back at the Penthouse, the elevator doors opened, and Steven stepped into the silence of his penthouse. He loosened his cuffs as he walked in, his movements deliberate and controlled. But he wasn’t alone there as he had hoped. Princewill stood there in the living room, pacing like a caged animal. His arms were crossed, jaw clenched, eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and worry. The moment he saw Steven, he exploded. “Where the hell were you?” He slipped off his jacket, hanging it neatly. “Out.” “Out?” Princewill’s voice shot up. “I called you…twice. No answer. I asked the guards, they were clueless. You just… vanish? Do you have any idea what went through my head?” Steven moved past him calmly, unbothered. “I needed air.” “Air?” Princewill threw his arms up. “You’re not some random office worker who can disappear for a drink. Need I remind you, that you’re president Kahuna. Do you understand what could happen if the wrong people saw you? If someone recognized

Jennifer had been born into wealth, the kind of wealth people whispered about in restaurants and gossiped over in salons. Her parents were titans of business, their empire sprawling across cities, oceans, and industries. From the moment she could walk, people looked at her not as a girl, but as an heir. The future leader, the one who would carry the legacy forward. But Jenny didn’t care for legacies, oh no she cares for something much more thrilling, she cared for freedom. To her, boardrooms were cages and balance sheets were shackles. Every meeting her mother forced her to attend, every lecture her father gave her, felt like a slow suffocation. They talked about strategies, mergers, acquisitions, even numbers and projections that made her skin crawl with boredom. Her parents always said, “Jenny, you were born to lead. Stop wasting your life in clubs. Stop painting your skin with meaningless tattoos. Stop embarrassing us.” But Jenny was not a leader, she was not a

The next morning, the Andreas compound stirred awake like a beast stretching its limbs. Armed guards rotated at the gates, black SUVs lined the drive, and in the underground chambers beneath the hacienda or chateau, shipments were counted and routes discussed. Rafael Andreas moved among the men like a silent general. He was precise, his every step calculated. He checked the manifests, questioned the drivers, and corrected errors with a cold efficiency that made the men both respect and fear him. “Two crates short,” Rafael's sharp eyes scanned the ledger in his hands. “Where did they vanish to?” The driver stammered, sweat beading on his forehead. “Señor, we… we lost them on the border. A patrol…” Rafael slammed the folder against the truck’s hood, his voice slicing through the morning air. “Excuses don’t keep us alive here, crates do! Lose them again, and you’ll vanish with them. Understood?” The driver nodded frantically, muttering apologies before scurrying off.

On one of those nights, the air was thick with heat, the kind that clung to the skin and refused to let go. The Andreas convoy rolled along the dirt road outside Ciudad Juárez, headlights cutting through the darkness, engines rumbling like beasts. Inside one of the armored SUVs, Rafael Andreas checked his watch for the third time.“Too late,” he muttered. “We said eleven. It’s nearly midnight.”Across from him, Emiliano Andreas leaned back, a cigar glowing between his fingers, smoke curling lazily into the air. His grin was sharp, almost mocking. “Relax, Hermano. You’re always so tense, loosen up a little, the men will come. They know better than to waste our time.”Rafael's jaw tightened. “Punctuality is discipline and discipline is survival. That’s something you never seem to understand.”“And survival without power is nothing,” Emiliano shot back smoothly. “The men follow me because I make them believe in more than numbers on a clock.”Their voices carried enough heat that the gu