Fegor let out a loud, mocking sigh. He crossed his arms and looked down at Ethan."You see?!" Fegor snapped, letting real annoyance bleed into his voice. "I told you. I was at my desk the entire time. Maybe if you spent less time drinking on your balcony and more time paying attention, you would realize your own office has a draft strong enough to knock over ugly art."Ethan was completely speechless. He clicked the mouse frantically, rewinding the video, playing it again and again. It was exactly the same. No edits, no skips. Just Fegor at his desk, and an empty office.Margaret looked deeply unsettled. She wrapped her coat tighter around herself, staring at the screen where the statue had fallen on its own."This doesn't make sense," Ethan stammered, his face pale. "I heard someone. I know I heard someone stumble!""You heard a statue fall, Mr. Cross," Fegor said coldly. He leaned down, placing both hands on the back of Ethan's chair, getting right next to his ear."Listen to me ver

It was an African Louis Vuitton custom piece—part of the late, legendary Virgil Abloh’s final, unreleased archival collection. Abloh had been a master of blending high-end Western streetwear and tailoring with deep African cultural roots, and this piece was his magnum opus.It was a grey and black modern Dashiki suit.The base of the suit was cut from a breathtaking charcoal-grey silk-wool blend that seemed to absorb and reflect the ambient light simultaneously. The trousers were tailored razor-sharp, modern and sleek. But the jacket was a revelation. It broke the rules of standard European tailoring, extending slightly longer, mimicking the regal silhouette of a traditional his cultural wear.The lapels were made of crushed, onyx-black velvet. But what truly made the suit a masterpiece was the embroidery. Flowing down from the collar, across the chest, and tracing the edges of the cuffs was thick, pure gold thread. The embroidery was painstakingly done by hand, weaving traditional geo

"SECURITY! SECURITY! THERE IS A THIEF IN YOUR BUILDING! COME OVER HERE RIGHT NOW!"Tisha’s shrill, piercing voice shattered the quiet elegance of the luxury mall. The soft jazz music playing from the ceiling speakers suddenly seemed incredibly inadequate.All across the VIP floor, heads turned. Wealthy patrons, dressed in designer evening wear, paused their shopping. Men in tuxedos holding champagne flutes and women dripping in diamonds turned their attention toward the Virgil Abloh display dome. The clinking of glasses stopped. The hushed, polite murmurs of high society died instantly.Within seconds, the heavy, rapid thud of tactical boots echoed across the floor.Three large security guards, dressed in sharp black suits with earpieces, came jogging around the corner. They looked imposing, highly trained, and distinctly irritated that someone was screaming in their prestigious establishment.The lead guard, a burly, bald man with a thick neck and a permanent scowl, pushed his way to

She was incredibly tall, walking with the fluid, predatory grace of a runway supermodel, yet carrying the heavy, terrifying aura of a seasoned corporate warlord. She was dressed in a backless, emerald-green silk gown that clung to her curves like liquid glass, the fabric shifting and shimmering under the warm amber lights. A daring slit ran all the way up her left thigh, revealing legs that seemed to stretch on forever, ending in a pair of towering, diamond-encrusted stiletto heels.Her skin was flawless, glowing with a deep, rich melanin hue. Her hair was styled in sleek, razor-straight tresses that fell down to her lower back, moving like a dark waterfall with every step she took. Around her neck sat a single, massive emerald pendant framed by flawless white diamonds —a piece of jewelry that easily cost more than the Cross Empire's entire annual marketing budget.But it wasn't just her beauty that brought the room to a standstill. It was her power.Flanking her on either side, mo

The boutique was so quiet you could hear the faint whirring of the climate control system filtering the air. The standoff in the VIP foyer had reached a boiling point, the atmosphere was thick with the kind of tension that usually precedes a violent storm.Renessa, the Goddess of Fifth Avenue, slowly turned her mesmerizing hazel eyes away from the groveling staff and the panicked faces of Lance and Tisha. She directed her full, overwhelming attention back to Fegor.She studied him with the calculating precision of a jeweler examining a raw diamond. She took in the steady rhythm of his breathing, the relaxed slope of his shoulders, and the absolute lack of fear in his golden-brown eyes. He was staring down the barrel of a high-voltage taser, surrounded by billionaires who wanted him crucified…. ….and yet he looked like he was deciding what to order for breakfast."Do you hear the accusations against you?" Renessa asked, her voice a smooth, velvet purr that nevertheless commanded the a