Adrian sat in the dim glow of his apartment, no larger than a storage unit, yet quiet. Clean. Still. A cup of untouched black coffee sat beside his laptop.The screen flickered with digital windows—dummy accounts, encrypted banking protocols, layered ownerships tied to foreign names and silent shells. All feeding into one thing.25% of Benson Group.Owned entirely by him. But not as Adrian Cole.The system’s voice rang in his mind, cold yet calm.“Mission complete: Asset Acquisition. New Task: Remain unknown for 7 consecutive days. Reward: Identity Cloak Protocol.”He exhaled slowly, folding his hands in front of him.No celebration. No smile.Jessica had spent the last two weeks fighting to keep the company afloat—publicly sobbing at press conferences, spiraling on livestreams. And not once did she realize the man sinking her ship was the one she once called husband.Adrian didn’t want revenge.He wanted silence.Powerful silence.He clicked to open a livestream from Benson Group HQ.

The man at the table kept glancing at the door, sweat collecting at his temples despite the café’s air conditioning.He looked like someone used to making money in silence—gray-haired, expensive watch, the kind of polished arrogance that came from never being caught.Until today.A sealed envelope slid across the table toward him.He didn’t see who left it.Only a brief shadow. The smell of espresso and cigarette smoke. A chill, though no one had opened a door.He opened it.And found himself staring at his own signature.Dozens of bank transactions.Dates. Sums. Side deals.All tied directly to the Benson Group’s pension fund.There was one more thing inside the envelope—a handwritten note.“You resign by noon. Or this goes public.”He turned pale.And nodded to no one.By the time Jessica entered the office that morning, her phone was vibrating nonstop.She blinked at her screen: [Breaking News]Benson Group Board Member Resigns Over Fraud AllegationsHer heel faltered on the polish

It had been three days since the gala.Three days since Adrian turned his back on Michael Kane… and vanished like smoke.Now, he stood alone in a quiet office overlooking the skyline—one of his anonymous properties under a different shell name.The city looked different from this height.Smaller. Manageable. Controlled.Just like it should’ve been all along.The system voice chimed softly in his mind, breaking the stillness.“Emotional Control Level 2 achieved.New Feature Unlocked:Facial Mask Protocol — All involuntary micro-expressions are now suppressed.”Adrian blinked, emotionless.The change was subtle. Not something he could feel physically—but something he knew.No more accidental smirks. No more betrayed flickers in the eyes.His face was now as silent as his heart had learned to be.Across the city, Jessica sat in a hospital hallway, clutching a styrofoam cup of bad coffee she hadn’t touched.Her mother was sleeping inside.Machines beeped steadily. The kind of sound that s

The lobby felt wrong. Too cold, too bright. Jessica stood under the flickering chandelier with her arms clutched around her bag like a shield. She hated how obvious it was—how much she looked like someone waiting to be saved.No. She wasn’t waiting. She was fighting. That was what she told herself.Every breath echoed in her chest, loud enough she thought the receptionist might hear. She almost turned and left. Almost.“Miss Benson,” the receptionist said softly, as if pity tasted bitter on her tongue. “He’ll see you now.”Jessica nodded, her throat too dry for words, and stepped toward the double glass doors.The inside looks expensive in the way that felt meant to push you down.Mr. Langford didn’t rise. He didn’t even set down his drink. “Jessica Benson,” he said, voice flat, almost bored. “Been a while.”She forced a smile. “Thank you for seeing me.”“You said it was urgent.” His eyes slid to the chair across from him, a flick of dismissal more than invitation. “Go on.”She sat.

The hospital room was too quiet. Too clean. Too still.Jessica sat in the visitor’s chair, elbows pressed to her knees, her father’s hand caught between hers. She had been there so long the hard plastic of the seat had carved into her legs, but she didn’t move. Shifting felt wrong—like if she broke her stillness, she’d break the fragile thread keeping him here.Her father’s skin felt cold in her hands, thinner than she remembered, almost like paper. She hated it. Hated how wrong it felt. These were the same hands that used to lift her high onto his shoulders. Now they just lay there, limp and pale, tied to an IV.The monitor above his bed hummed its flat, steady tone. Not the dramatic beep-beep she’d seen in TV dramas—just that merciless drone of stasis. Alive, but locked away. Breathing, but gone.Jessica bowed her head over his hand. “Dad… it’s me.” Her voice cracked, raw from sleepless nights. “They say you can’t hear me, but I don’t believe them. I’m still here. I’m not leaving yo