The jet’s cabin hummed quietly as Salzburg faded below them, the snowy rooftops shrinking into memory. He sat beside her, fingers intertwined with hers, eyes scanning the clouds ahead as if reading a market trend in the sky. They were heading to London. Not for rest. For war. Drex was bleeding, but not dead. And the next play had to be ruthless. “I’ve booked the meeting at Claridge’s,” she...
The first snow had just begun to fall over the rooftops of Salzburg when they returned. The cabin in the hills stood untouched by time, a sanctuary wrapped in white and silence. He lit the fireplace while she unpacked the essentials—two mugs, a blanket, and the camera she always brought on their quietest days. They moved in rhythm, unspoken and perfect. It wasn’t an escape. It was a homecoming...
Rain lashed against the windows of their Zurich penthouse, the sky above the lake dark and angry. It mirrored his mood. He stood alone in the office, back to the door, staring at the screen. A message blinked in red: CONFIDENTIAL LEAK: ‘Forex Prodigy’s Algorithm Origins Under Scrutiny.’ His past had come knocking. She found him there, tension carved into every line of his body. He didn’t look at...
The Geneva skyline was a cold contrast to the warmth of the Alps. Glass and steel scraped at the sky, the air sharp with winter and tension. Their suite overlooked Lake Geneva—tranquil on the surface, hiding undercurrents below. He adjusted the cuffs of his black tailored suit as he stared at the invitation in his hand. “Executive Forex Summit 2025 – Private Roundtable.” The real...
The road from Vienna to Salzburg shimmered beneath the morning sun, twisting like a silver ribbon through the foothills of the Alps. His Audi RS6 purred with controlled strength, the kind of car that fit him perfectly—elegant, powerful, fast. The Yaris GR trailed behind on a trailer, ready for the rally stages he’d scoped out near Zell am See. But for now, it was about the road, the view, and her...
The hum of the engine was a low, comforting growl beneath him as he leaned into the curve of the highway, the wind a sleek whisper in his ears. Layla, his CBR650R, responded like a living thing—fluid, precise, alive. The city lights of Vienna glittered behind him, but he wasn’t slowing down. Not yet. Not until the tension bled out of his shoulders. At nineteen, he shouldn’t have been this weary...