The late afternoon sun filtered through the apple tree’s branches, casting dappled shadows on the ground where Conor sat in the park. It had been a few days since the war room meeting and ahe air was turning crisp with the first hints of autumn, a cool breeze rustling the oak leaves as they slowly began to turn from green to shades of gold and red.It was a beautiful day, the kind of day that usually brought peace to his heart. But today, the beauty of nature only served as a bittersweet reminder of what he had lost, and what he was still trying to hold on to.Conor shifted slightly on the bench beneath the tree, the worn leather journal resting on his lap. The Bayan provincial crest was embossed on the cover, a proud symbol of the land he loved.Wrapped around the crest was the image of a dragon in flight, echoing the design of the ring he wore on his finger. The journal had become his most trusted confidant, the only place where he could be completely honest about his feelings, his
Conor's gaze was fixed on the cityscape beyond the office window, his mind hundreds of miles away. The early autumn sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the streets of Jinstain. The weight of recent events pressed heavily on his shoulders, but his thoughts kept drifting back to Velyki—and to Kerrigan.A knock at the door broke his reverie. He turned to see Mr. Nuri entering the room, a somber expression on his face. The seasoned lawyer carried a worn, ancient-looking scroll, carefully protected within a leather casing."Conor," Mr. Nuri began, his voice low and serious. "I’ve found something that I believe you need to see."Conor motioned for him to sit, his curiosity piqued. "What is it?"Mr. Nuri gently unrolled the scroll, revealing a scrap of old parchment, yellowed with age and covered in faded writing. The script was in an ancient language, one that Conor recognized only because of the research he had been doing into the dragon legends."This," Nuri said, tapping
Kerrigan sat at her desk, her fingers absently tracing the edges of a folder as she tried to focus on the work in front of her. The morning had been a whirlwind of meetings, reports, and the constant hum of emails demanding her attention.She barely remembered what she was reading when the Prince’s call came through, his voice smooth and confident, yet carrying an undercurrent of expectation."Countess Lokir," his voice filled the silence of her office, "I trust you received my gift?"Kerrigan’s mind scrambled to recall the item, and then it hit her—the gaudy necklace. She fought to keep her tone polite, though her heart wasn’t in it. "Yes, Your Highness, I did. Thank you. It’s... very generous.""Generosity is the least I can offer to someone as remarkable as you," the Prince replied, his charm evident, though Kerrigan could hear the pride behind it. "I hope it suits you. I chose it with care."Kerrigan smiled politely, though the expression didn’t reach her eyes. It wouldn’t matter,
Kelan marched through the opulent halls of Dragon Corporation with a furious energy that caused heads to turn and conversations to stop mid-sentence. His shoes clacked sharply against the polished marble floors, the sound echoing through the otherwise silent corridor.He ignored the curious and fearful glances from employees as he made his way to his office, his mind focused on one thing—Kerrigan Lokir.The door to his office closed with a heavy thud as Kelan stormed inside, immediately yanking his phone from his pocket. The anger that had been boiling within him since his last encounter with Kerrigan threatened to overflow. He dialed quickly, and after only two rings, his father’s voice crackled through the line.“Kelan,” Gregor Benedict’s voice was as sharp as ever, with a hint of impatience. “This had better be important.”“It is,” Kelan growled, pacing the length of his office. “Kerrigan’s meddling again. She’s got people sniffing around my club, poking their noses where they don’
Kelan drummed his fingers rhythmically against the polished wood as he mulled over his father’s words. The plan was audacious, but if executed correctly, it could cement his place in the upper echelons of power. Still, the stakes were high—one misstep, and everything could come crashing down.He reached for the glass of whiskey he kept on his desk, taking a slow sip as he let the warmth spread through him. The liquid courage helped to steady his nerves, but it did little to ease the growing tension in his chest. He needed to start putting the pieces into place, and quickly.His thoughts returned to the prince. The man was an annoyance, hovering around Kerrigan like a lovesick puppy. Kelan sneered at the thought. The prince’s interest in Kerrigan was more than just romantic—it was strategic. And that made him a threat.Setting his glass down, Kelan picked up his phone and dialed a number he knew by heart. It rang only once before a voice answered, smooth and professional.“Mr. Benedict
Prince Khalid lingered in the grand throne room of the Golan Royal Palace, his eyes once again drawn to the alcove above the throne. The twin chairs—symbols of a power beyond that of mere mortals—captivated him.His mind swirled with thoughts of the ancient legends, the tales of dragons and their supposed influence over the kingdom of Golan. The air in the room was heavy with history, but Khalid had little patience for myths.His uncle had dies in the last war with this kingdom. The stories then were filled with the fear of a vicious warrior, protected by the dragon gods. At the end of the day it was a way to give his uncle a more honorable death story, nothing more.He turned away from the alcove, dismissing the thoughts as irrelevant for now. He had more immediate concerns, concerns that involved a stubborn woman and an increasingly troublesome rival. He exited the throne room with a determined stride, his shoes echoing against the marble floor as he moved through the palace’s ornat
Mid-week, the sun was beginning to dip low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue over the construction site as Conor arrived. The new community center was starting to take shape, its skeletal structure standing tall against the late afternoon sky.The sounds of machinery hummed in the background as workers continued their tasks, the clanging of metal and the hum of engines a comforting reminder that progress was being made.Andrew Harden, Conor’s business partner and the youngest son of the Harden Construction Group, was already waiting for him at the entrance. He waved Conor over with a broad smile, his hard hat slightly askew on his head.“Conor! Glad you could make it,” Andrew greeted him, extending a hand. “We’ve made some serious progress since the last time you were here.”Conor shook his hand firmly, smiling as he took in the sight of the half-finished building. “It’s good to see it coming together, Andrew. I’ve been looking forward to this.”They began their tour, Andrew hand
Conor sat at his desk, staring at the postcard for what felt like the hundredth time. The rustic cabin on the front seemed to beckon him, promising a brief escape from the chaos that had consumed his life over the past few months.A weekend alone with Kerrigan—if that’s what this invitation truly was—was something he hadn’t realized how desperately he needed until now.He knew the next step was to ensure everything was in order, so he picked up his phone and dialed Mr. Nuri’s office.“Conor, what can I do for you?” Mr. Nuri’s voice came through the receiver, calm and collected as always.“Morning, Nuri. I wanted to check in and see if there’s anything pressing that might require my attention over the weekend,” Conor said, trying to keep his tone casual.There was a brief pause before Nuri responded. “We’re wrapping up the final stages of the investigations. The evidence we’ve gathered so far is solid, and I anticipate having fully prepared cases on all fronts by late next week. For no