Florian pointed at Ethan. “That ‘street rat’ can shut this bank down with one call. He is the reason we even hope the suspension will lift. You insult him, you insult Imperium Bank.”Gasps spread through the queue.Fridel finally looked at Ethan with doubt creeping in. “And who are you supposed to be?”His mistress tugged him again, her voice shaking. “Fridel… stop. Please. You don’t understand. We slapped the wrong man.”Fridel’s jaw tightened as the mistress’s whisper dug into his ear, but pride burned hotter than common sense.“We slapped the wrong man? Are you hearing yourself?” he scoffed, shaking off her hand. “Don’t tremble just because a bank manager and a half–broken chairman are overreacting.”He straightened his shirt and glared at Florian, then at Ethan. The hall was quiet, every eye flicking between them. Even the air felt heavy.“You people must be mad,” Fridel said loudly. “I walk in here as a valued client, and you ignore me for some nobody from the queue? Do you know

The menu lay on the table like a quiet test.Ethan could feel eyes on him even before he touched it. The waitress still stood there with her pen dangling, gum rolling in her cheek, looking like she already knew how this story would end.“So,” she said, tapping the notepad, “what are you having? Or should I bring you the specials board for… cheaper options?”Her tone made a couple at the next table smirk. Ethan heard the small laugh, felt the old anger push against his ribs, but he kept his face calm.“I’ll check the menu,” he said. “Give me a minute.”She shrugged and turned away. “Sure. Try not to panic at the prices.”He opened the menu. The pages were thick, the pictures glossy. There were classic burgers, steaks, wings, ribs. Then one section caught his eye: “Signature Imports.”His gaze slid down until it stopped at the fourth item.“Alaskan Imperial Deep-Sea Cod Grand Reserve — Harvested from a once-per-season deep-sea run, cryo-sealed on site and flown by private aircraft. Ser

A woman rose from her seat.That was the first thing Ethan noticed. Not her curves, not the way her dress fit her, not even the smooth wave of dark hair over her shoulder. It was the calm. While everyone else was hungry for a show, she stood up like someone who had already made a decision.She walked toward the payment stand, heels soft against the floor. The restaurant seemed to follow her with its eyes.The manager frowned. “Miss, this doesn’t concern you,” he said. “We have procedures for—”“It concerns me now,” she cut in, voice low but clear. “Run his bill on my card.”The waitress stared at her, stunned. “Are you… sure about that?” she asked. “This isn’t a small amount.”The woman did not even glance at Ethan. She opened a slim leather wallet, pulled out a sleek black credit card, and offered it between two fingers. Her nails were neat, painted a soft nude shade. Everything about her was controlled.“Try it,” she said.The manager looked between her and the card, then nodded to

Diamonds glittered under the chandelier as if the whole world existed just to shine on Yvonne Blake.She was curled up on the silk sofa in the Blake mansion’s sitting room, one leg folded under her, a glass of red wine in her hand. Adrian Cole sat beside her, arm over the back of the sofa, tie loosened, looking every bit the relaxed senator who owned the room.“And that was how the budget committee folded,” Adrian was saying, a smug smile on his face. “They talk tough until I walk in. After that, they only want to agree.”Yvonne laughed softly and leaned into him. “Of course they do. You’re Adrian Cole,” she said. “People like you don’t beg for decisions. You make them.”He took a slow sip of his wine, enjoying her words. “You know, that’s one thing I like about you,” he replied. “You understand power. You don’t pretend it doesn’t matter.”She glanced around the lavish room—gold accents, imported art, designer furniture. Her lips curved. “Power is everything,” she said. “Status is ev

The storm hit Janet’s office long before the rain started outside. Her screens flashed with warning reports, late shipment notices, and emergency messages from Titan Crest Logistics’ port supervisors. The red numbers filled an entire column on her dashboard. “Tell me again,” she said, gripping the edge of her desk. “How much is stuck at Westmar Port?” Her operations chief replied over speaker. His voice shook. “Ma’am, twenty-three cargo containers. All held for extended inspection. The buyers are demanding penalty payments.” Janet closed her eyes for half a second. “What is the value of the goods?” “Estimated twenty-five million dollars in damages once penalties are added.” She stood straighter. “Reroute the secondary fleet. Call Port Authority. Negotiate waivers. And get me the legal and PR team in ten minutes.” “Yes, Miss Yulian.” The call dropped. The tension stayed. For the next hour she fought through calls, orders, and rapid decisions. She argued with a foreign