After I left, they begged for Forgiveness

Chapter 4- The storm behind the curtain

O.G. Level

"Where's the boss?"

The voice sliced through the high-ceilinged chamber like the soft click of a silencer—sharp, precise, and expecting answers.

Before the speaker stood a sleek obsidian table, its surface glowing faintly with a rotating hologram of three major skyscrapers, each labeled in bold red characters: AVIONIX TOWERS, ORION TECH, and THE TRIDENT COMPLEX. They shimmered like kings atop a digital chessboard, casting blue light across the sharp suits of the men surrounding the display.

Power hummed in the room like electricity—calm, but deadly.

They stood in silence, waiting.

Then—fwsshhhhhh.

A toilet flushed in the distance. Water ran. A few seconds later, soft footsteps echoed down the marble corridor.

The door opened.

He emerged.

Elijah Quinn.

Black silk robe. Chest bare. Eyes sharp, unreadable. He dried his face with a white towel, dabbing at his jaw with quiet precision before carelessly tossing it to the floor.

A servant—young, in gray uniform—rushed forward, snatching the towel before it could settle.

Elijah didn’t even glance back.

He walked slowly to the head of the table, taking his seat like a king reclaiming his throne. His fingers steepled for a moment, then dropped. One hand lifted, hovering over the table as he mimicked holding one of the hologram buildings between his fingers.

The Trident Complex shimmered beneath his hand, caught in the illusion of his grasp.

Then with a flick—he closed his fingers.

The hologram winked out.

"Let's get to business," he said, voice low, smooth as aged whiskey. “What’s our profit report?”

A man to his left—tall, gray-streaked temples, eyes cold behind his glasses—stepped forward. “City’s big three industries turned over the numbers this morning.”

He tapped the table. One building lit up.

“Avionix Towers. Clean $60 trillion in net profit. Defense tech, bio-AI, and drone exports.”

Elijah gave a single nod.

The second building lit. “Orion Tech came second. Forty-two trillion. Heavy in quantum banking and surveillance.”

Then the third.

The man hesitated. “Langston Group…”

Elijah held up a hand.

“Let me stop you there,” he said quietly. “I trust it’s been removed from our holdings?”

The younger man across the table nodded. “Yes, sir. Their shares were liquidated. We blacklisted their entire investment structure last night.”

“Good,” Elijah said, leaning back, expression unreadable. “They were never supposed to be in that position to begin with.”

The gray-streaked man adjusted his tie. “Frankly, sir, it was a relief. They’d been bleeding capital. Not even seven hundred billion in six months. Their growth curve was pathetic. Can’t imagine why you decided to back them in the first place.”

A beat.

Elijah’s eyes didn’t move. But something passed through them—quick, unreadable.

“I saw potential,” he said slowly, his voice lower now, thoughtful. “Something... I thought could be shaped. Elevated.”

A pause.

“But I guess I was wrong.”

No one responded. The silence was full, heavy.

Because when Elijah Quinn said he was wrong—it meant someone else was about to lose everything.

He waved a hand, and the hologram reset itself.

“Allocate the Langston assets. Strip them. If anything holds value, send it to acquisitions. If not…” he looked at the hologram, then flicked his fingers again. “…bury it.”

He stood without another word.

Meeting over.

As he disappeared into the corridor once more, only one thought rang through the silence:

Langston was finished.

But he—Elijah Quinn—was just getting started.

The elevator doors whispered open.

Elijah stepped out slowly, the hush of hydraulics behind him giving way to a quiet wind that swept across the rooftop.

He had reached the pinnacle—literally.

The top of The Trident Complex, the crown of the city. From here, the skyline stretched like an empire beneath him.

Glass towers stabbed the clouds, their edges kissed by the orange blush of the setting sun. It bathed everything in gold, softening even the sharpest steel into something momentarily beautiful.

Elijah inhaled.

Fresh air.

Cool. Real. Unfiltered.

It had been a long time since he let himself enjoy something like this. A moment. A breath. No agenda. No numbers. Just the sky, the silence, and the taste of distance from everything below.

He closed his eyes for a second.

So this is what freedom smells like.

Ding.

The elevator opened behind him once more.

He didn’t turn.

He didn’t have to.

Soft heels clicked against the stone as a woman stepped forward. She bowed her head with practiced grace, eyes lowered, posture respectful.

“Welcome, Sir Quinn,” she said softly.

Elijah’s lips twitched into the hint of a smirk. “Back already, Sienna?”

She nodded once, then hesitated, glancing up. “Yes, sir. I just... wanted to speak with you.”

He turned slightly, enough to catch her expression—calm, but unsure. Her hands were clasped tight in front of her. His PA of fifteen years. Loyal. Efficient. Discreet.

And today, clearly, troubled.

“I apologize,” she said quietly. “For everything you’ve been through. The way things ended.”

Elijah stared out at the city again.

“You shouldn’t be sorry,” he replied, voice even. “It only proved what I tried to ignore.”

He exhaled, eyes narrowed against the setting sun.

“Valeria never deserved me.”

There was no anger in his voice. No bitterness. Just the cold finality of someone who had peeled off the last layer of illusion.

“All the sacrifices I made,” he continued, “the years I spent behind the curtain, helping her build that empire… and she still looked at me like I was nothing.”

His hands slid into his pockets, fingers curling loosely.

“Humans are like that,” he said. “Give them everything—and they’ll still ask why you didn’t give more.”

Sienna said nothing.

She didn’t have to.

Elijah stood in silence, watching the golden sun sink lower behind the horizon.

Sienna shifted slightly beside him, the soft breeze tugging strands of her hair loose from their tie.

“Sir…” she said carefully, pulling out her phone and tapping once. “You got another message. It’s from Princess Amirah.”

Elijah let out the barest sigh. His jaw flexed.

Of course.

Amirah bint Rashid Al-Saud.

Crown Princess of the United Arab Emirates of Riyadh—future Queen of the Gulf Alliance. A woman who ruled over millions, with her face on currency and her words etched in policy. Wealth that made countries kneel, a mind sharp enough to silence prime ministers, and beauty sculpted like desert gold beneath a crescent moon.

And yet somehow…

She had decided that he was the one she wanted.

Again.

Elijah didn’t even need to look at the screen. He already knew what it said. He could hear her voice in that message—syrupy, demanding, and terrifyingly certain.

Sienna continued, half-apologetic. “She… insists she wants to see you. Again. She said if you don’t respond this time, she’ll fly to The Trident herself. And you know she means it.”

Elijah rolled his neck slowly, letting the stiffness slide away with the wind.

“She’s relentless,” he muttered.

“Yes, sir. But—well—she is in love with you.”

Elijah gave a half-smile, bitter and amused all at once.

“A woman who rules nations…want me .”

He looked up at the sky.

“And Valeria is using me as her errand boy, looking or a way to throw me off.”

He fell silent again, thinking. Then, without warning, he turned and faced her fully.

“Fine,” he said. “Set the location.”

Sienna blinked. “Sir?”

“You heard me. Pick a place. Private, luxurious, something... sharp. Not flashy. She’ll want a story, not a spectacle.”

“Yes, sir.” She was already tapping.

“I’ll meet with her. Tonight.”