Chapter 8: Nathaniel’s Circle

The club occupied the upper floors of a building that did not advertise itself.

No sign. No valet. Just a private elevator and a receptionist who recognized faces without needing names. The kind of place that assumed membership meant discretion.

Nathaniel arrived last.

Ethan Vale was already seated, jacket off, glass in hand, posture relaxed in a way that suggested money had stopped impressing him years ago. Marcus Shaw stood near the windows, gaze drifting between the city below and the reflections in the glass. Oliver Knox sat slightly apart, phone resting face down on the table, attention divided between the room and something only he seemed to notice.

Lucas Reed looked up first.

“You’re late,” Ethan said cheerfully.

“I’m precise,” Nathaniel replied, taking his seat. “You’re early.”

Ethan grinned. “Someone has to enjoy the bar before Marcus decides it’s a liability.”

Marcus didn’t turn. “It is a liability.”

“See,” Ethan said. “Joyless.”

Oliver finally glanced up. “Statistically ina