The Greenwood boardroom, usually a fortress of confidence, had turned into a warzone, Richard Greenwood slammed a folder onto the polished table, the papers scattering like fallen leaves. His voice boomed through the room.“Traitors! Every last one of you! Pulling out your investments now, when the company needs strength most? Do you think you’ll survive without Greenwood? Do you fools forget who made you rich?”The directors shifted uneasily, their expensive suits unable to shield them from his fury.One of them, a silver-haired man with trembling hands, spoke up. “Richard, the investors are panicking. Our stock is in freefall, and… and three of our top suppliers have canceled contracts. They said they can’t risk being tied to us.”Richard’s fist hit the table again. “Then they’ll crawl back when they realize they can’t operate without us! No one survives without Greenwood Empire!”But in his heart, he felt the lie, For the first time in decades, Greenwood was bleeding, and no amount

The Greenwood Tower boardroom felt like a tomb.Directors who once puffed their chests with arrogance now sat slumped, their faces pale, their voices low. The empire that had stood untouchable for decades was crumbling around them.Deborah stood at the head of the table, her posture rigid, her silk blouse pristine as always, but her hands shook where they gripped the edge.“Listen to me,” she said, forcing her voice into steadiness. “This is nothing but market manipulation. Greenwood Empire has survived worse storms. All we need to do is stand united”“United?” one of the directors scoffed, his voice trembling with frustration. “Three of our top accounts have frozen their contracts. Our suppliers have cut us off. And now the financial regulators are breathing down our necks! United with what, Deborah? With air?”Another director shoved his chair back, standing abruptly. “I won’t go down with this ship. I’m selling my shares, what little they’re worth now, before we hit rock bottom.”“

Deborah’s scream tore through the penthouse like shattered glass, Her body lurched backward, crashing into the dresser, scattering jewelry across the floor. The whisper still clung to her ears, coiling in her skull.“You should have loved me when you had the chance…”She staggered, her breath ragged, clutching at the darkness with shaking hands. “Who’s there?” she shrieked, her voice cracking. “Show yourself!”But the room was silent, Empty. Her chest heaved. Sweat poured down her back. She darted for the wall, fumbling for the switch. Nothing. The power remained dead.She spun toward the window, and froze. There. In the reflection. A man’s silhouette. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Standing directly behind her, Her breath strangled in her throat. She whirled around, Nothing, Only shadows.Her knees buckled. She collapsed to the floor, gasping, clutching her chest. “This isn’t real,” she whispered, rocking back and forth. “He’s gone. He’s gone.”The door burst open. Richard stormed in, shirt

The city never slept, but from the top floor of Ridge Empire Tower, Gibson stood where the world looked small.Below him, skyscrapers bowed in the glow of midnight lights. The streets pulsed with life, cars threading through veins of asphalt, people hurrying like ants unaware of the storm gathering over them.And Gibson controlled it all.His reflection stared back at him in the glass wall. Gone was the man who once knelt, humiliated, at the Greenwood estate. That man had been beaten, mocked, and left for dead.This man… was reborn.Behind him, a table stretched the length of the war room. Screens projected stock tickers, news feeds, and real-time reports. Executives sat stiff-backed, their pens scratchingzz nervously across papers as they awaited orders.Gibson turned slowly. His presence filled the room, quiet yet absolute.“Greenwood Tower is hemorrhaging,” one of his advisors reported. “Their investors are panicking. Within two weeks, they’ll have no liquidity to cover their debts.”“

Click.The locks slid into place with a mechanical finality that sent Deborah’s pulse racing.She whipped her head around the car, her chest heaving, sweat dampening her temples. The air smelled faintly of leather and something sharper, cologne. Familiar.His cologne .“No,” she whispered, fumbling at the door handle. It didn’t budge. She yanked harder, slamming her palm against the glass, but the windows refused to lower.She was trapped.The ribbon swayed gently from the rearview mirror, teasing her, taunting her, as if Gibson himself sat in the shadows watching her fall apart.“Show yourself!” she screamed into the silence, her voice cracking. “Where are you?!”Only the ticking of the dashboard clock answered.Her phone, shattered. Her security, gone. Her mind, slipping.She slammed her fists into the steering wheel, her sobs breaking free.A light blinked on the dashboard.The car’s monitor flickered to life. The Greenwood emblem was replaced by a live video feed.Deborah froze, her breath