CHAPTER 173: THE DENIAL OF THE ELITE

Logan leaned back in his office chair, the city skyline behind him glowing like a kingdom ready to be claimed.

The door clicked shut as Henry stepped in, a file in hand.

"The PR directors and corporate liaisons are ready. One word from you, and Alex Adams becomes radioactive."

Logan’s eyes narrowed as he stood and walked toward the window, watching the world that once mocked him now hang on his every move.

"It’s not enough to destroy him in court," Logan said coldly. "I want the world to stop seeing him."

Henry nodded. "No interviews. No panel invitations. No private club memberships. The elite already smell the rot. We just need to give them a reason to run."

"Make the reason loud," Logan said. "Start with the fashion fundraiser next week. Drop subtle leaks to organizers... suggest Alex has pending legal trouble. Don’t accuse. Just... cast doubt."

He turned, fire simmering in his eyes.

"Then move to the financial circles. Pull their investors out of any venture Alex is part of. Discreetly. No noise. Let him wonder why no one’s returning his calls."

Henry smirked. "A slow death."

"Exactly," Logan said. "He hurt Jean. He tried to kill Emma. And now... I’ll strip him of the only thing he worships more than himself... his influence."

As Henry turned to execute the silent orders, Logan walked over to the portrait hanging behind his desk... an old Kingsley family piece his mother had insisted on.

He used to think legacy was about wealth.

Now he knew... It was about power. And wielding it to protect the people who never had it.

"You’ll become a ghost in your own empire, Alex," he muttered under his breath. "And I’ll make sure of it."

___________________________

The lights of the city glimmered like a personal celebration for the notorious Adams.

Alex stepped out of his sleek, obsidian colored car, hand possessively wrapped around the waist of the young socialite clinging to his side... a model barely twenty one, her laugh like champagne bubbles.

"Wait until you see the inside," Alex whispered near her ear. "Private suite. The best whiskey. And the kind of crowd that worships people like me."

He smirked confidently as they approached the iconic Black Noir, the club known to host tycoons, celebrities, and royalty behind soundproof velvet walls. Tonight, he would remind everyone that Alex Adams still ruled.

The bouncer, a tall man in all black, stepped forward. "Name?"

"Alex Adams," he said, casually flashing his platinum invitation.

The bouncer scanned it. Paused. Then I looked up. "Apologies, Mr. Adams. You’re not on the list."

Alex blinked. "What the hell are you talking about? I was just here last month."

The bouncer’s gaze didn’t waver. "New list, sir. Updated. No entry."

The girl beside him gave a nervous laugh. "Wait... are we not going in?"

"Get me the manager," Alex snapped.

The bouncer didn’t flinch. "Manager’s busy. I suggest you contact the club directly if there’s an issue."

Something was wrong. Alex could feel it. He reached into his pocket and dialed a familiar number... the owner’s private line.

No answer.

Another number... the PR agent he bought drinks for just last week.

Voicemail.

What the fuck is going on?

A black SUV pulled up behind them, and Alex watched as two CEOs from rival firms walked right in, greeted with warm smiles and escorted inside... no questions asked.

His fingers curled into fists.

Who’s doing this?

The girl beside him, already irritated by the crowd forming around them, sighed and pulled away. "Maybe we should just go somewhere else... this is embarrassing."

"You go," Alex said darkly.

He stood there a moment longer, surrounded by the laughter and lights... but outside the velvet rope. Alone. Ignored.

The first crack had appeared.

And deep inside, Alex knew... this wasn’t a glitch. This was a beginning.

___________________________

The elevator hummed softly as it rose to the penthouse. Logan leaned against the panel, loosening his tie. His phone buzzed just as the doors opened.

Henry-"He got denied at Eden Noir."

Logan let out a short breath... almost a chuckle. "Good," he muttered under his breath. "Let the fall begin."

For the first time in days, a tension knot in his chest unraveled just a little.

He pocketed the phone, ready to walk into another quiet, distant evening with Jean. But the moment he stepped inside, he stopped.

The penthouse didn’t smell like silence tonight.

No. It smelled like...

Garlic. Thyme. Butter.

Something rich and savory danced in the air. Aromatic. Comforting. Familiar in a way he hadn’t known he missed.

Did she order something? he wondered.

But then he heard the faint clatter of utensils... from the kitchen.

Frowning, he loosened his cufflinks and made his way across the living space.

And there she was.

Jean.

Apron tied awkwardly over one of his oversized shirts. Hair pinned messily on top of her head. Her sleeves rolled up, brows slightly furrowed as she stirred something in a pan, tasting it with a wooden spoon and adjusting seasoning like she was defusing a bomb.

The scene hit him like a freight train.

Not because she looked domestic.

But because she looked... peaceful.

And for once, she looked like she belonged here.

"What is this?" he asked, his voice gentler than usual.

Jean turned, startled, then composed herself. "You’re home early."

He lifted a brow. "Early? It’s almost nine."

She looked down at the sauce she was stirring. "Still earlier than last night."

"I thought you hated kitchens," he said, stepping closer, trying to read her face.

Jean shrugged. "I do. But I figured... I should try. It’s your home too."

His heart gave a slow, dull thump.

There it was again... that flicker of something changing. Not fast. But real.

"Smells like victory," he murmured, cracking a small smile.

Jean raised a brow. "Did something happen?"

He walked around the counter, standing just behind her. "Let’s just say a certain Mr. Adams couldn’t get into Eden Noir tonight."

Jean paused while stirring. Then she looked up at him. "You did that?"

Logan didn’t answer.

"That’s Alex’s favourite spot to brag all the time... I’m glad he is facing first hand embarrassment now."

He just looked at her, the corner of his lips lifting slightly. "This smells better than revenge, though."

Jean rolled her eyes but her cheeks flushed with warmth. She shook her and looked at him. "Dinner at five," she said. "Don’t get used to it."

Logan leaned in, lips brushing her temple. "Too late."

And for the first time in weeks... the war outside the penthouse walls faded away.

There were just them.

And something that almost felt like... home.