Semua Bab Signed In Silence : Bab 61 - Bab 65

Leander Three weeks had passed since the night I stepped into the soot-blackened ruins of the Horizon building and begged the woman I loved to let me stay. Three weeks since she looked at me with bleeding, agonizing heartbreak and uttered those four quiet words that had been carving through my chest like a dull blade every second since, Not tonight, Leander. If Voss Enterprises had been a cold corporate machine before, under my uncle Jose’s complete administrative grip, it had dissolved into an unyielding tomb of polished granite, icy brass, and black glass. In my executive suite on the fifty-second floor, I kept the blinds drawn permanently shut against the bleak gray winter sky. I couldn't bear the light. The sun felt like an insult, a cruel reminder that the world was still turning while every bone in my body was grinding itself down into fine, worthless ash. I sat behind my massive desk, buried alive inside the titan persona I had spent a decade perfecting. But it wasn't a t

Wren The night air inside the surveillance van was bitterly cold, smelling of stale coffee, cold copper, and damp wool. Outside, snow had begun to fall in heavy, silent flakes, dusting the darkened pavement of 5th Avenue and blurring the yellow halo of the streetlamps two blocks away. The Voss Private Officers Club loomed like an ancient, gilded fortress. It was an elite, secret sanctuary where titan CEOs, politicians, and old-money dynasties gathered far away from the prying cameras of the press. Inside the cramped van, Arthur, Manasseh, and I leaned over a laminated blueprint of the mansion's subterranean floor plan under the faint red glow of a tactical reading lamp. "Leander goes there every Thursday night at nine o'clock," Arthur said softly, his lined face shadowed in the dim crimson light as he pulled a heavy brass pocket watch from his vest. "He’s gone there every week since his twenty-first birthday. It’s the one habit he kept from his father. He sits in his father’s o

Leander I rushed back to my office with my head messed up. I wanted to believe what my eyes saw and what my ears heard were just a mere illusion and nothing more. The more I tried to tell myself that, the more my head kept getting heavier. I could only drown myself in alcohol. Not until Arthur interrupted. The heat radiating from the hearth felt suffocating, yet my skin was ice-cold. My hand hovered over the dark table, suspended in the dim red light. My fingers were shaking so violently that I couldn't even keep my knuckles steady. The heavy manila folder sat in the center of the leather blotter, bound tightly by a thick red cotton string that looked like a bloodline drawn across the wood. I felt like a man standing over a ticking bomb, terrified that lifting the paper flap would detonate the very foundation of my reality and reduce whatever was left of my life to unrecognizable ash. "Open it, son," Arthur said softly from the doorway. His voice was thick, dripping with a m