Moses glared at Vincent through the haze of great pain, his chest heaving, and his arms trembling against the chains. "What the hell have you done to her?!" he roared, fury clawing past the agony in his gut. Vincent tutted softly, shaking his head as if disappointed by a little child who had failed the simplest lesson. "I got info that you're crushing on her–your cousin's best friend. So I brought her to be with you." Moses cursed within him. How the heck had Vincent found that out? Even Dora had no idea he was crushing on her. But now, both her life and his was at stake. From the shadows, Vincent's men stepped toward. They were huge, solid figures whose faces barely caught the light. Vincent turned slightly and shifted Dora's weight. She didn't stir. Moses' heart slammed violently against his ribs. "Dora–"What have they done to her? He watched as Vincent handed her off to one of the men without ceremony. "Take her to the table," he instructed calmly. "Make sure she is chained

Derrick thought well about the question she had just asked him.Then he replied, "I've seen what happens when people don't think logically in situations like this." Ivy chuckled dryly as she said, "I saw what you did there." Derrick chuckled too, and silence stretched after. Ivy's breathing gradually slowed, the initial surge of frustration giving way to reluctant consideration. She sank back onto the edge of the bed, elbows on her knees."So... I walk in there–" she started to say. "We walk in there," Derrick corrected. She looked up into his eyes with amusement. "What? No way. You have no shares in the private stock." Derrick chuckled. "You remember what Pa Lorenzo said earlier last night?" Ivy nodded slowly. "Right. You get half from each of them. But that hasn't happened yet, has it?"Derrick shook his head. "No. But everything can be arranged. As a matter of fact, it has been arranged already."He paused, then took a step closer to her. "All you need to do is to make up you

The bell above the coffee store door chimed as Derrick and Ivy stepped out into the morning.New York City was fully awake now. Engines hummed and honked in uneven rhythms, footsteps slapped roughly against pavements, and somewhere down the block a delivery truck hissed as its brake was applied. The air carried the mingled smells of well roasted beans, exhaust fumes, and damp concrete from a street that had just been washed. "See?" Derrick said as he took a slow sip from his cup. He sighed afterwards, visibly satisfied. "Now this is some good coffee. It comes strong, and has a clean finish. Someone cared enough to make it this good." Ivy snorted, cradling the cup she held like it had personally offended her. "Nah. It tastes like burnt regret and poor decisions." "That's dramatic, don't you think?" "It's accurate," she shot back. "I asked for nothing but a medium roast. And what did I get? Some charcoal with ambition." Derrick glanced at her. "You're really impossible, you know.

"Who are you?" Dora asked into the air. The strange voice gave no reply to this, and it made Dora slowly believe that she was beginning to hear things.Darkness had a great weight to it, and she was aware of this even before the pain she felt became significant. There was an oppressive, airless heaviness that pressed against her skin as though the room itself were leaning in to listen and laugh at her fate. When she shifted, the sound of heavy metal was quick to answer her in a faint scrape and dull clink. Realization slowly settled as her senses came back online one after the other. Her wrists were still bound, the cuffs biting coldly into her flesh that was still wet due to the cold water splashed on her. She drew a careful breath, noting how the air smelled of dust and rust. "Hello?" she tried again, hoping the voice would speak to her this time. It didn't. Her voice only carried farther than she expected, bouncing off unseen walls. But as her voice echoed, she thought she he

The boardroom settled into its usual rhythm once the meeting officially began. It wasn't a childish frantic, overlapping laughter, or ceremonial exchange. Instead, the conversation unfolded with measured confidence. Voices of the board members took turns like practiced musicians in an orchestra. The man sitting just beside Ivy cleared his throat. "We can no longer pretend that traditional logistics will carry us through the next decade," he said, fingers steeled on the polished table. "Automation isn't just optical anymore. It's a survival metric now." A woman across from him nodded. "I totally agree with that. But we should be aware that automation without predictive intelligence is wasted capital. We need more adaptive systems and AI-driven forensics that are tied directly to consumer volatility. Another voice joined in quite smoothly. "Now, this brings us to emerging markets. We are aware that the South Atlantic corridor is still underutilized. They suffer from political insta