The crystal glasses on Julian Voss’s private bar glimmered under soft amber light. The room was built to feel like power—mahogany walls, leather chairs, a grand piano that no one ever touched. Tonight, however, the only sound was the muted drone of a press conference playing across a giant flat screen.Julian leaned back in his chair, one leg crossed neatly over the other, a tumbler of bourbon balanced in his hand. His eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, were fixed on the image of Jason standing at a podium with Leah at his side. Their hands touched, fingers intertwined, as if daring the world to pry them apart.Jason spoke of transparency, of new beginnings, of building legacies on truth instead of shadows. Leah stood beside him, not silent or hidden, but proud and unflinching.It was meant to be simple. But to Julian, it was a slap in the face.He chuckled once, a low, humorless sound, before setting the glass down with a sharp click.Julian: “How quaint. A ring and a promise.”His associate,
Magbasa pa
Mag-log in
