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 said softly, her voice warm velvet in the cool hum of first class.
He nodded. “Everyone will be there?”
“The inner circle. Your team. Two investors from Singapore. And a woman who calls herself ‘the broker whisperer.’”
He smirked. “Sounds like bullshit.”
“She closes eight-figure deals before lunch. Might be useful bullshit.”
They landed in rain and fog. London welcomed them in grayscale, but their arrival turned heads. He looked every inch the boy genius turned empire king—sharp suit, colder eyes, calm power. She followed beside him like shadow and fire.
The suite at Claridge’s was already wired for business. Screens, soundproofing, champagne chilling in silver. He stood by the window and watched the city.
“Do you ever stop?” she asked behind him.
He turned. “Only when I’m inside you.”
She walked to him slowly, her heels soft on carpet, her dress still clinging from the jet’s warmth.
“That’s not stopping,” she whispered. “That’s conquering.”
His mouth was on hers in an instant. Fast. Starving. She tugged his shirt open, buttons flying. He lifted her to the glass, and London disappeared behind the steam.
They didn’t speak again until the city lights flickered.
—
The next day brought blood in the water.
Drex had gone live with a new platform. He called it clean tech finance. A mix of AI models and leveraged trading aimed at the retail market.
“He’s baiting you,” his brother warned over a secure line.
“He’s begging for relevance,” he answered.
The meeting at Claridge’s was a storm.
She watched him lead it like a symphony—data projections, risk assessment, long-term scale. But when one of the Singapore backers questioned his recent exposure, she stood.
“I watched him take a fall that would’ve shattered most men,” she said. “And instead of breaking, he built a new ceiling.”
They were silent.
She didn’t sit down.
“This isn’t about finance. It’s about vision. And you’re either in, or irrelevant.”
The contract was signed an hour later.
That night, in a hot bath overlooking Mayfair, she curled into him and said, “You know what we’re building now?”
He brushed wet hair from her face. “What?”
“A future that scares people.”
He smiled darkly. “Good.”
Chapter Six – London:Redefining
C