Rain drizzled over the city like a veil, blurring neon lights into smeared streaks of color across the wet streets. The Moreau residence, perched in the wealthy quarter of the city, was an intimidating blend of cold glass and sharp steel, all angles and silence.Sébastien stood in the driveway with an umbrella in one hand and the groceries in the other, the chill in the air nothing compared to the frost waiting for him insideThe gate slid open soundlessly at his approach. He had lived here for years now, yet it had never felt like home. As soon as he stepped through the heavy oak doors, the sound hit him: Jenna’s laughter. Bright, musical… but never for him.It came from the living room, where she sat curled on the white leather sofa, scrolling her phone. Her sister, Clarisse, lounged beside her, sipping wine like she owned the place. The television was on, muted, a glossy lifestyle show about millionaires and their summer estates.“You’re late,” Jenna said without looking up.Sébast

Night draped itself over the city like black silk, the skyline glittering with ambition and secrets.Sébastien stood outside Le Rivage, the kind of private club where entry wasn’t bought with money but with lineage and power. He had passed it countless times, always as an outsider. Tonight, the doorman greeted him by name.Inside, the air smelled faintly of aged whiskey and Cuban cigars. A string quartet played in a corner, the soft hum of conversation filling the space. Men and women in tailored suits and designer dresses occupied the velvet booths, their eyes sharp behind polite smiles. Deals were made here, the kind that could topple governments or build empires.Matthieu was waiting at a corner table, a glass of deep amber liquid before him. His expression was calm, but there was an edge in his eyes, as if tonight was not about pleasantries.“You’re on time,” Matthieu said as Sébastien slid into the seat opposite him.“You told me this was important.”“It is,” Matthieu replied, se

The photo burned in Sébastien’s mind long after the message disappeared from his phone.Jenna, in the back of a black luxury sedan, her head bent toward a man whose face was shadowed, but there was something in his posture, the confidence in the way he sat, that told Sébastien this was not just some casual acquaintance. Whoever he was, he wasn’t ordinary.By dawn, Sébastien was in his private office, a steaming mug of coffee beside him and the city still half-asleep outside the glass walls. Alain Renaud arrived ten minutes later, carrying a thin, unmarked folder.“This is all we could pull from traffic cameras near the Royal District,” Alain said, sliding it across the desk. “The car belongs to a holding company registered in Luxembourg. Completely clean on paper.”Sébastien flipped through the grainy images, the same black sedan at various street corners, always with tinted windows. “What about the man?” he askedAlain shook his head. “Facial recognition came up blank. Either he’s ne

The black Maserati purred to a stop outside the glass-fronted high-rise. Sébastien didn’t wait for the valet; he stepped out, coat billowing in the cold night air, eyes fixed on the revolving doors ahead.Inside, the lobby was all marble and chrome, polished enough to reflect the tension in his expression. Alain trailed behind, his phone to his ear, murmuring updates from the surveillance team. “She’s here,” Alain confirmed.They found Jenna in the private conference lounge on the 34th floor. She was alone at the moment, sipping white wine, her posture flawless. The years hadn’t dulled her beauty, if anything, she’d grown sharper, more refined, but there was a brittleness in her smile now, a subtle tightness around the eyes.When she looked up and saw him, her hand froze halfway to her lips. “Sébastien…” she said his name like she was testing the taste of it after a long absence.He stepped closer, the hum of the city lights filtering in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. “We need

Rain hammered against the city streets, blurring neon into streaks of red and blue. Markus Varga stood in his study, tie loosened, pacing like a predator trapped in a cage.His phone buzzed. “It’s done,” the voice on the other end said. “We traced the bank closures back to an offshore audit firm in Geneva. They’re… well-protected.”“How protected?” Markus demanded.“Protected enough that whoever’s behind this has reach in multiple jurisdictions. That’s not cheap.”Markus stopped pacing. “Then we make them bleed somewhere else.”He tossed the phone onto the desk and turned toward Jenna, who sat on the leather sofa in a silk dress, legs crossed. “You’re going to the Langley auction tomorrow,” Markus said.“Why?”“Because the man pulling these strings will be there,” Markus replied, pouring himself a drink. “And you’re going to get close enough to find out who he is.”Jenna arched a brow. “And what makes you think he’ll talk to me?”Markus’s smile was slow and cold. “Because he already k