All Chapters of Shadows of Silk & Steel: A Billionaire's Secret, A Bodyguar: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

The Shoreditch safehouse existed in a perpetual, dusty twilight, the heavy drapes drawn against the prying eyes of the city. Days bled into nights marked only by the frantic clicking of keyboards, the hushed intensity of strategy sessions, and the gnawing anxiety of the looming board vote. They were running out of time, and the pressure was a physical weight in the room, thickening the air with every hour that passed without a breakthrough on Vale Holdings AG.Sabe had been working for sixteen hours straight, his posture etched into a permanent curve over his laptop. The glow of the screen was the only light he seemed to need, the only thing he acknowledged. Anton had finally insisted he rest, gesturing to the makeshift bed—a dust-sheeted mattress on the floor in a smaller, adjoining room that might have once been an office.With a grunt of reluctant agreement, Sabe had pushed himself up, his body moving with a stiffness that spoke of old injuries and new exhaustion. He disappeared in

The Shoreditch safehouse was a world away from the forty-seventh-floor boardroom of Rogers Industries, but the video call window on Sabe’s laptop brought the battlefield directly to them. Anton, dressed in the same dark sweater from the day before, his hair slightly disheveled, sat on a dusty crate before the screen. He looked every inch the renegade, a far cry from the impeccably tailored CEO they were used to. Sabe stood just outside the camera’s view, a silent, watchful presence in the shadows, his arms crossed, his expression grim.The faces arrayed in the grid on the screen were a gallery of corporate judgment. Some were pale with anxiety, others flushed with indignation. At the center of it all, appearing flawlessly composed on a monitor in her own office, was Evelyn Voss. She was the calm eye of the hurricane, the only one who seemed in control.“Anton, we are speaking to you as a courtesy,” began Gerald Fitzwilliam, the head of the audit committee, his voice thin and reedy ove

The digital ghost of Lake Geneva was frozen on Sabe’s screen, a mocking paradise of light and water. He was cross-referencing the terrace’s architectural details with property records, his focus a laser beam, shutting out everything else—the dust, the tension, Anton’s pacing. He was in the zone, the place where emotion was a liability and data was the only salvation.Anton, however, was drowning in emotion. The video had been a poison, and it was working its way through his system, twisting every thought. Marcus’s smirk. Evelyn’s calm complicity. The way Marcus had spoken about Sabe. A disgrace… What is he, exactly? A bodyguard? A pet?The words echoed, feeding a suspicion that had been festering in the dark corners of his mind since the server room fire. A suspicion born of a lifetime of betrayals.He stopped his pacing, his eyes landing on Sabe’s back. On the man who moved like silence, who saw the world as a series of vulnerabilities, who had secrets layered like geological strata.

And the fragile truce that was born under the railway arch had offered a very thin shield against the grim work ahead. They returned to the Shoreditch safehouse not as billionaire and bodyguard, not as strategist and operative, but two wounded allies with the air cleared of poison between them, heavy with the caution of those who've seen how fast bridges can go up in flames.Sabe went straight back to his laptops, the confrontation and the chase seemingly filed away as a closed incident. His focus was once more absolute, but Anton now saw the subtle signs of the cost-the tighter set of his shoulders, the deeper silence he carried. He was working not just to save the company, but to prove a point to himself, to reaffirm the purpose Anton had so carelessly questioned.The thread he pulled on was the one Anton had given him: the file reference ‘VH-AG’ from Aegis Resurrection fund transfer."The transfer was approved, but the funds aren't entirely clearer as yet," Sabe muttered under his

The Gulfstream touched down at Geneva’s private airfield in a veil of evening mist. Through the rain-streaked window, the city was a tapestry of muted lights—the serene glow of luxury hiding the rot beneath. Anton watched the tarmac, his reflection a ghost in the glass. Sabe, beside him, was already in motion, his focus a tangible force in the cabin. The lead on Marcus’s travels had led them here, to the heart of a conspiracy that stretched beyond corporate greed into something far more sinister.The safehouse was a minimalist apartment overlooking the Rue du Rhône, its sterile modernity a stark contrast to the ornate 19th-century facades opposite. As Sabe swept the rooms for surveillance, his movements were silent, precise—a predator in his element. He disabled a hidden listening device in the smoke detector with a twist of his tool, his eyes meeting Anton’s in a flicker of grim satisfaction. He’s making this place a fortress, Anton thought, not for the first time, and I’m learning t