On a Seattle winter night, the rain fell like a gray veil, clinging to the eaves, window frames, and the distant lake, so fine it seemed almost constant. The air was thick with the damp scent of earth, mingled with the faint, resinous aroma of burning pine from the fireplace—a fragrance that whispered of ancient forests. Sterling Manor was eerily quiet, save for the soft crackling of the wood popping in the fireplace, like an echo of a suppressed heartbeat. The study was warm, the heat wrapping around the room like a woolen blanket, yet William Sterling's fingertips remained cold—a chill that seemed to seep into his very bones, a persistent reminder of the weight he carried.He clutched the gold-embossed invitation, his knuckles turning slightly white. The invitation, from Sheng Yin Media, was politely restrained, highlighting only one line: Mr. Morgan's Sixtieth Birthday Banquet. On the surface, it was a birthday celebration, but at its core, it was a dinner for capital exchange."Yo
Last Updated : 2026-03-05 Read more