bChapter /bb199 /b

ADRIAN’S POV

“Where did you hear that from?” I asked James, my voice edged with irritation that even I couldn’t hide.

b“/bThat’s the second thing that’s hot on the inte right now,” James replied, his tone carrying a faint worry underneath the words. “The bCEO /bof Beaumont Synergy, Marcus Beaumont, returns to New York City.”

A tight sigh slipped from my lips, my hand instinctively going up to my forehead as if I could rub away the pressure that was starting to build there. It hadn’t even been three months since Marcus left the city–and now he was already back, as if nothing had happened. Of all the people who could cause me trouble, he was the one who never failed to deliver.

I didn’t even have to guess why he was back. Marcus never returned quietly. Every time, it was like a storm rolling in. He would find new ways to undercut my business, spread rumors to weaken investor trust, and chip away at Westwood Cooperation’s reputation. Sometimes subtle, sometimes btant/bb–/bbbut /balways relentless.

The rest of the ride was heavy with silence, except for James asionally ncing at me, bas /bthough searching for any sign of what I might be nning. But my mind felt too cluttered for ns right now. Too cluttered even for anger.

Finally, the cars pulled up to the gates of my estate. The familiar sight of the tall iron gates and manicured hedges barely brought me the usual bfort/b. My bodyguards were already waiting; one stepped forward, opening the door smoothly.

I stepped out, feeling the cool evening air brush against my face, and James fell in behind me as we walked towards the entrance. My shoes echoed against the hallway

“So what do we do now?” James asked, breaking the silence. His voice was careful, as if trying not to push too hard.

I paused near the foot of the stairs, turning to him. “We can talk about this tomorrow, okay?” I replied, my hand pressing against my temple as a dull bache /bthreatened to sharpen. “Right now, a sudden headache just popped up–and I’d really like to rest.”

James didn’t look convinced. “Would you being by the office tomorrow?” he asked after a moment.

“Are there going to be any important investors around?” I countered, the questioning out t.

“No, but.. he began.

“So is there really a reason for me to swing by?” I cut him off, my tone sharper than intended.

James frowned, his lips parting as though he was choosing his next words carefully. “Come on, Adrian. We talked about this. I thought you left that part of you in the gutter when you agreed toe to the auction. I thought you were done with this… shutting everyone out.”

“And I told you,” I said, my voice lowering but still carrying an edge, “I’m no longer that man. I’m no longer a shell of myself.”

“Then prove it,” James pushed back, his eyes locking onto mine. “Why don’t you want toe to yourpany? The staff haven’t bseen /btheir bboss /bbin /bmonths, Adrian. That ishould /ibe a good enough reason. And besides, we also need to address the Marcus issue properly.”

I clenched my jaw, frustration mixing with the pounding in my head. For a brief moment, I wanted to tell him he didn’t understand–bthat/b–ing binto /bthat building meant facing everything I’d tried to bury under work and silence. But I knew James well enough to realize he wouldn’t drop bit/b, not bthis /btime.

“Alright, alright, fine,” I muttered, exhaling heavily. “Jeez, can’t you just take a simple no for an answerb?/bb” /b

“Alright sir,” James said, his voice calm but there was that small, proud smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He turned baround /band bbegan walking /btoward the front door, clearly satisfied he’d convinced me toe by the office tomorrowbi. /i/b

Before he could disappear down the corridor, I called after him. “Also—don’t forget about the masked bwoman/bb,/bb” /bI badded/b, bmy /btone bsteady/bb, /bbthough /bbmy /bbmind /bwas anything but calm. “I know you need those two things that are usually essential to find her–her name and bher /bbface/bb–/bbbut /bbyou /bbcan /bbstill /bbtry /bbone /bbmore /bway.”

b10:08 Sun/bb, /bb27 /bbJul /bGA

James paused, turning to face me, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Voice tracking,” he said, finishing the thought almost in sync with me,

“Exactly,” I replied, giving a brief nod. “She spoke plenty of times during the auction, Get the audio, clean it up, and try to find out who she is. Her voice might show up somewhere, in a database or an interview–anything.”

James didn’t look entirely convinced, though. “You forgot to leave out the part where it’s way more difficult and not a hundred percent certain he reminded me, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah, I trust you guys,” I said with a faint smirk. “And if that way fails, then we can always use n

B

James opened his mouth, maybe to ask what that n was, but thought better of it. Instead, he nodded once and headed out, his footsteps fading into the hall.

I turned on my heel and started walking upstairs, my shoes making soft thuds on the steps. Either way, she’s not going to be able to hide her identity from me forever. No one ever does. But for now, she wasn’t the most urgent problem. The real storm on the horizon was Marcus–and the chaos that always seemed to follow wherever he showed up.

Just the thought of his name felt like someone pressing a dull knife against my temples. I already had a headache just hearing he was back in the city. What then happens when he actually starts his mischievous games–schemes to undercut my business, poison my reputation, and snatch investors right from under me?

I let out a long, heavy sigh as I entered my bedroom. The quiet of the house felt heavier tonight, like the walls themselves were bracing for the trouble Marcus would bring. I loosened my suit tie, pulling it free from around my neck, letting the fabric slide between my fingers before tossing it onto the bed.

It was almost ridiculous when I thought about it–how this conflict with Marcus really started from something so petty. Two years ago, at a business conference filled with CEOS and high–ranking directors, I’d barely had any sleep for two days straight. My mind was foggy, but I still went because appearances mattered,

I’d gotten myself a cup of strong, ck coffee–more out of desperation than choice. Then, as luck would have it, I stumbled and spilled it right onto Marcus Beaumont’s perfectly tailored jacket.

At first, I thought it would just be an awkward moment, maybe evenughable. People spill drinks all the time, especially in packed rooms where elbows brush and words fly faster than thoughts.

But Marcus wasn’t ilike /imost people. He stared at the stain like I’d defiled something sacred, his face twisting with barely controlled fury. The silence that followed felt like itsted forever, all eyes turning toward us. And that was when I realized: for him, this wasn’t an ident. It was an insult. A deration of war.

Since then, he’d turned every opportunity into a battlefield. Taking swings at mypany whenever he could, spreading rumors to lure investors to his side, and making every boardroom feel ilike /ia chessboard where only one of us could checkmate the other.

AD

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