The basement steps creaked beneath Austin's feet, each downward step taking him deeper into the corporate building's forgotten levels. This wasn't the polished upper floors where investment bankers traded stocks and secretaries carried designer coffee. Here, beneath the gleaming skyscraper's skin, reality wore thin. Lady Katerina moved ahead of him with the practiced grace of someone who had made this journey a thousand times before, her Louboutins somehow silent against the aged concrete. The air grew thicker as they descended, heavy with the weight of secrets and the subtle pulse of Qi that most people would mistake for faulty air conditioning. Austin tugged at his collar, his black Armani suit suddenly feeling too tight, too formal, like borrowed skin. He'd worn it to impress, but now he wondered if the elders would see right through it, see the frightened boy playing at being a man. "We're here," Lady Katerina said, her voice carrying the finality of a closing trade. She raised h

Austin leaned back into the deep curve of the black sofa, the leather creaking softly under his weight. His left thumb pressed against his stubbled chin as his sharp gaze swept across the room. The smirk tugging at his lips wasn’t just satisfaction; it was venom. He’d waited long enough, biding his time, grinding his teeth, swallowing the humiliation. But now, Oscar had been dealt with, and Austin had enjoyed every second of it. It wasn’t just about revenge; it was a message. A reminder to anyone with ambitions to cross him. He inhaled sharply through his nose, replaying Oscar's face in his mind, twisted with rage and helplessness. Austin’s smirk widened, a wicked, satisfied grin. "You know," he muttered, his voice low but cutting, "it takes a special kind of bastard to watch someone else enjoy what’s his and know there’s nothing he can do about it." He tilted his head, eyes glinting. "Rot in hell, Oscar. You and your lovely wife. Both of you." Across the room, James stood by the

The sharp clang of cutlery hitting the polished dining table echoed through the room, cutting through the tense silence. Alice’s face was flushed, her nostrils flaring as she fixed a fiery glare on her daughter, Lana. "You all dragged me into this mess!" Alice yelled, her voice cracking with fury. Lana shot up from her seat, her chair scraping against the floor as she matched her mother’s anger. "How the hell did I drag you into anything? You’re the one who started this, Alice!" Alice’s eyes narrowed, venom dripping from her words. "Oh, so now it’s my fault? Who linked me up with Oscar, huh? You were so keen on playing matchmaker, convincing me to leave my husband! I was fine before you interfered!" "Don’t you dare pin this on me!" Lana shot back, her voice rising. Her fists clenched at her sides, the veins on her neck straining. "You said he was better, richer! You practically shoved me into his arms! And now look at this—worst fucking decision of my life!" "You ungrateful l

Austin watched Farhan's every move, studying the way he held that tea cup like it was made of crystal. The heir to the El Maleq empire wasn't what you'd expect – no flash, no show. Just quiet confidence wrapped in a white suit that probably cost more than most people made in a year."Have you considered our proposal?" Austin kept his voice steady, letting the weight of the question fill the room.Farhan adjusted his brown turban, a gesture that could've meant anything or nothing. The tea in his cup swirled as he took another slow sip. "Well..." He drew out the word, his accent thick with the sounds of the East."It's a fantastic proposal." Farhan's dark eyes fixed on Austin. "But have you considered the risk?" His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper.The hotel room felt smaller suddenly, despite being one of the premium suites. Outside, the city carried on, oblivious to the fact that two of the most dangerous men in the world were having a quiet chat over tea."Of course, but it's s

Austin smiled darkly as the Minister of Finance stepped into his office, the heavy mahogany doors closing behind him with an ominous finality. The evening sun painted crimson streaks across the marble floors, like trails of fresh blood leading to the executioner's block. The middle-aged minister immediately dropped into a deep bow, his expensive suit creasing as he bent himself nearly double. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the climate-controlled environment, each droplet a testament to the crushing pressure of Austin's mere presence. He remained frozen in that position, muscles trembling with the strain, awaiting permission to rise like a condemned man hoping for reprieve. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive. Austin let it linger, savoring the minister's discomfort as he would a fine wine. Power wasn't just about what you could do - it was about making others wait, making them feel the weight of every second under your control. "Sir," the minister finally broke the