CHAPTER FIFTY TWO:MONEY CANT BUY LIFEThe world mourned in symbols.Jude mourned in silence.In the days following Eliana’s funeral, messages continued to arrive from every corner of global power. Heads of state. Chairs of boards. Founders whose companies spanned continents. The language was polished, respectful, uniform—our deepest condolences, a remarkable woman, a profound loss.Wild’s communications team cataloged them carefully. A memorial page was created. Foundations announced scholarships in Eliana’s name. Cultural institutions in Madrid dedicated exhibitions to her quiet patronage.The world did what it knew how to do.It organized grief.Jude did not.He returned to work within forty-eight hours, not because he was ready, but because stillness felt dangerous. If he stopped moving, he feared the silence would consume him entirely.Yet something had changed.Meetings shortened.Decisions slowed.Questions deepened.His executives noticed first.Jude no longer rushed to conclus

CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR: COUNSEL OF RESTRAINTThe suggestion came to Jude in a moment of exhaustion.Not rage.Not impulse.Exhaustion.It was late—past midnight—when the thought formed clearly enough to scare him with its simplicity: Disown her. Cut the legal and emotional cord. End the public humiliation. Reclaim authority. Draw a line so firm it could not be crossed again.Jude sat alone in his study, the lawsuit documents spread neatly before him, every page already memorized. The accusation felt less like a legal challenge now and more like a verdict passed by blood.Disrespect, he thought.Public, calculated disrespect.He had endured rivals. Regulators. Smear campaigns.But this—this came from his own child.By morning, he summoned his lawyer.THE LAWYERSamuel Roth had represented Jude for over fifteen years. He was not impressed easily, nor intimidated by power. He spoke carefully, always with evidence before emotion.They sat across from each other in a quiet conference room at W

YES, AGAIN CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE:THE SUMMIT OF QUIET THINGS The summit was called YES not because it promised optimism, but because it demanded commitment. Held in Milan, the gathering was invitation-only—heads of industry, philosophers of economics, architects of policy. No flashy branding. No shouting panels. Just rooms full of people who had already won most of what the world could give and were now asking what, if anything, was worth keeping. Jude almost declined. He had learned to be suspicious of events that claimed renewal. Grief had taught him that rebirth was not a slogan—it was a process that resisted schedules. But something about the theme unsettled him enough to attend. Ethics. Endurance. Second Acts. The hall was all stone and glass, old Italian architecture embracing modern restraint. Jude arrived early, as he always did, taking a seat near the side rather than the front. He had grown tired of being the axis around which rooms turned. He listened. A speaker spoke

CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN:Oh Jude Jude had learned, in the months after Eliana’s death, that grief did not move in straight lines. It circled. It returned. It ambushed him in airports and boardrooms and quiet hotel rooms where the walls were too clean and the nights too long. He traveled because travel had always been his answer—motion as a substitute for stillness—but now even motion felt thin. The invitation to the YES Summit arrived without urgency. No flattery. No promise of applause. Just a clean, restrained message about leadership, ethics, renewal. Jude almost declined. Almost. Something in the word renewal lingered longer than the others. He arrived in Milan under a low sky, the city holding its breath between rain and light. The summit venue was understated—stone, glass, restraint. No banners. No music. Just people who had learned, often painfully, that excess rarely cured emptiness. The first morning passed without incident. Panels. Listening. Silence between applause. Jude sp

Chapter Fifty Nine:Oh Milan They did not fly directly to Milan. That, too, was intentional. Jude had learned that endings and beginnings needed space between them—room to breathe, to settle, to become real. They spent two quiet days away from schedules and calls, letting the ceremony loosen inside them until it no longer felt like an event but a truth. When they finally arrived in Milan, the city received them without ceremony. It did not care that they were newly married. It did not adjust its pace. Trams still cut through streets with indifferent precision. Cafés opened and closed on their own rhythms. Life continued, unbothered. And that was exactly what Jude needed. A CITY THAT DID NOT ASK FOR EXPLANATIONS Their hotel overlooked a narrow street near Brera, far from anything extravagant. Jude had declined luxury suites without hesitation. He wanted proximity, not insulation. Vazqechev agreed. “Grandeur is tiring,” she said. “Presence isn’t.” On their first morning, they wo