LOGINAlexei's POVI swear, people are the worst sometimes. You spend seventy-two hours engineering a triple-tiered marzipan masterpiece—a perfect monument to edible structural integrity.And then some drunk finance bro thinks it’s funny to treat it like a volleyball. Honestly, the sheer lack of respect for technique in this city is why I only trust the precise measurements of butter and sugar, not people.I was back at the studio, pacing frantically around my very long-suffering assistant, Chloe. She was trying her best to clean the hideous pink frosting off my chef coat, which was a huge pain.Meanwhile, I was trying to explain the sheer, visceral horror of the tragedy I’d just witnessed.“It wasn't just cake, Chloe\! It was the final, perfect expression of the Ganache Renaissance\! And that brute just crushed it\! He totally ruined the theme of the whole evening\! I almost had an aneurysm right there in the bar\!” I threw my hands up dramatically in the air.“Yes, Chef. I understand. But
Axel's POVI was driving my own car—a ridiculously fast, matte-black thing that didn't scream 'billionaire' as much as it screamed 'don't mess with me'—because I truly needed the physical release. I really needed the control of the wheel right then.I couldn't sit still and just wait for Victor to bag Jason like some simple trophy. Jason was my punching bag, actually.I was going to use him to work out all the lethal rage I had stored up since looking at that damn funeral dirt.Destroying his finances was great, obviously. Watching his pathetic empire dissolve on paper was definitely satisfying to see.But I needed the tactile thing, something real. I needed to see his weak, bloated face and watch him actually tremble right in front of me.I needed to know the person I was crushing was real, not just a line item on a balance sheet somewhere.Victor’s team tracked Jason to the last place you’d ever expect a disgraced heir to be. It was a dive bar downtown, called 'The Rusty Nail,' know
Axel's POVBack in the office, the air conditioning was way too loud. The lights were too bright, and the whole massive place felt empty now that she was gone forever.I was sitting at my desk, but I wasn't Axel, the CEO, anymore. I was just this weaponized version of grief, focused on nothing but the kill list.My grief wasn't for tears or smashing things up. It was pure, terrifying efficiency, instead.I was using the cold silence of my office as a launchpad for total, organized destruction. The first target was easy, obvious, and necessary.That target was Jason. He was the pathetic idiot who enabled Linda, and he was the one who gave the dangerous prototype chip to Sheila.He deserved to be atomized for all of it.I called my legal eagles, the best, meanest corporate lawyers I have, into a secure conference call immediately. Their faces looked blurry on the screen, which was fine.Their voices were sharp and ready, which was what mattered.“Jason is our priority,” I told them, com
Axel's POVIt was raining heavily. Like, a full, dramatic downpour that felt like the sky was just as pissed off as I was.Standing there felt completely ridiculous. I looked like I was in some sad, old movie where the main guy always gets soaked at the graveside.Except, this wasn’t a movie at all. It was the actual, horrible mess of my life.The funeral crowd had already cleared out. That’s exactly what I wanted them to do.They were all there for the show anyway. They came for the “tragedy of the beautiful young wife.”My mother’s people, the Board members, the lawyers—they were all just here to confirm the asset was neutralized. They weren't there to actually grieve.Now it was just me, the fresh pile of wet dirt, and the sound of the rain hitting the black umbrella Victor was holding over me.I completely ignored Victor. He was trying to talk, I could hear his low, worried voice cutting through the noise of the rain.But the sound was just static to me.“Axel, sir, you need to co
Axel's POVI slammed the keys onto the marble counter of the secured suite's kitchen. The metallic clatter echoed in the sudden, deep silence of the room. It was over. The collapse was initiated, Linda was exposed, and the Geist cabal was running for cover. I had sacrificed my world to give Brielle her clean exit."Brielle!" I called out, my voice rough, needing to hear her answer. I needed to confirm she was safe, that she had gone to the extraction point I had secretly provided, the one meant only for her.Silence. Just the expensive, sterile quiet of the unused suite.I walked quickly to the bedroom. The bed was untouched. Her trench coat wasn't there, which was good, so she took the exit. But her backpack—the one with the red binder and the files—was sitting neatly on the desk, sealed shut. That wasn't good. She was supposed to have the leverage with her.I checked the small, connected office, then the bathroom. Nothing. Just the faint scent of her perfume, light and floral, cling
Brielle's POVThe noise was gone, replaced by the soft, ambient chatter of a high-end downtown café. I was sitting at a small table near the window, watching the silent, frantic faces on the muted television screen hanging above the bar. My hand rested on the subtle, undeniable curve of my abdomen. The baby was fine. We were both fine.On the screen, the financial pundit looked pale, sweating slightly under the studio lights. He was struggling to articulate the chaos—the complete, catastrophic collapse of the Julliard energy tech’s valuation. It wasn’t just the collapse of a stock; it was the collapse of an entire future sector, poisoned by the very secret it was built on.Axel’s move—the final, brutal injection of the instability flaw—had worked perfectly. It hadn't saved the legacy, but it had guaranteed that no one, especially not Linda, would ever profit from it. The market had reacted exactly as we calculated: with immediate, wholesale panic and utter abandonment of the technolog







