Chapter 12 The penthouse gym didn’t look anything like Grayson’s Boxing Club. There were no sagging ropes, no duct tape holding bags together, no peeling paint clinging to damp walls, no mildew thickening the air. Instead, everything gleamed here—chrome weights aligned in neat rows, polished floors shining under recessed lights, and state-of-the-art equipment that looked less like instruments of sweat and struggle and more like prototypes stolen from a science-fiction laboratory. Even the air smelled different—filtered, crisp, faintly laced with citrus, as though money itself had disinfected the space.But Grayson looked the same. Arms folded across a barrel chest, nose crooked from too many breaks, the same blunt, unimpressed expression carved into his face like granite. The gym might have changed, but the man was immovable.“You still remember how you walked into my gym the first time?” he asked, voice gravelly with disuse, or maybe just life. “Couldn’t hold your guard for thirty s

Chapter 14 The salon smelled of roses and expensive oils, a soft blend that clung to the air like memory. Its mirrors caught every angle of beauty and vanity, reflecting laughter, perfume, and the practiced smiles of women who wore luxury as armor. The rhythmic hum of dryers filled the room, occasionally drowned by bursts of chatter and the snapping click of manicured nails against phone screens. Lily sat poised in one of the reclining chairs, her reflection glowing beneath warm light. Her stylist, a young woman with steady hands and nervous eyes, teased her hair into perfect waves that shimmered like bronze silk. Lily’s fingers scrolled lazily across her phone screen, occasionally pausing when a message flashed or when she caught sight of herself from a better angle. She loved this world—the polished floors, the soft gossip, the illusion that everyone inside mattered. Here, she wasn’t the girl who once begged Ethan Cole for his lecture notes, sitting in the back of a crowded univ

Chapter 16The city glittered beneath the afternoon sun, glass towers cutting the sky like polished knives. Lisa Roman’s driver opened the door of her black Bentley, and the cool scent of leather wrapped around her as she slid inside.For a long moment, she didn’t speak. The engine hummed softly, a steady rhythm against the silence. Her manicured fingers drummed lightly on her knee…once, twice, then stilled. The confrontation replayed in her mind, each word sharper than when it was spoken.Cowardice. You used him. Ethan isn’t the boy you humiliated.Lisa closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She had meant every word she’d said to Lily. But what unsettled her wasn’t the argument…it was how easily old emotions had risen to the surface. Emotions she had spent years suffocating under ambition, under Roman Luxe, under everything success demanded she become.She pressed her fingers to her temples. “Ma’am?” her driver, Colin, asked gently.“Just drive,” she murmured. “Anywhere quiet.”The car me

The Cole Consortium boardroom stretched high and wide, its walls paneled in polished oak and its ceiling crowned with a chandelier that glittered like captured starlight. The air smelled faintly of old money and guarded ambition. Every breath in the room carried weight ..the kind that could build or break empires.At the head of the long table sat Ethan Cole …in the chair once occupied by his grandfather, Alexander Cole.Dozens of eyes watched him, sharp and skeptical. Bankers. Industrial magnates. Political allies and enemies dressed in the same suits. Their gazes weren’t curious … they were measuring. Waiting for the boy they once dismissed to stumble.But he didn’t.Inside his vision, the System pulsed faintly, a quiet hum beneath his heartbeat:[Mission: Establish Authority. Confidence is Power.]Ethan’s gaze swept the room, unflinching. “The world isn’t waiting for us to debate yesterday’s numbers,” he began, his tone calm but commanding. “The future is already here … artificial

Three days had passed since the ambush, and the city had returned to its indifferent rhythm … cars groaning through traffic, pedestrians lost in noise, and screens flashing the latest market updates. From the top floor of his penthouse, Ethan Cole watched it all in silence, the early light bending across the skyline like a blade.He hadn’t spoken about the attack since that night. The bruises on his ribs had faded, but the memory hadn’t. It wasn’t fear that lingered; it was calculation. Whoever Wilson Flake sent had been trained … clean, efficient, and quiet. Wilson’s message was simple: I can reach you anywhere.Ethan’s reply would be just as clear. So can I.Jonathan Hale entered the room without a sound, a habit that always unsettled Ethan. “You’re up early,” he said, setting a folder on the glass table. “The morning reports from Zurich. Market’s restless.”“Good,” Ethan murmured. “Restless markets listen better.”Jonathan studied him for a moment, his old eyes tracing the young ma