Romans & histoires The Master Algorithm

"Alex, who did you go to? Is that person better than the famous Dew?" Luna's voice came through the screen, sounding indignant. Alex could tell she had misunderstood, thinking that he had found another Master, and today's situation was orchestrated by a different Master. Alex Quinn’s throat started itching again, and he denied, "I haven't." He hadn't, he hadn't looked for anyone other than her. But he didn't dare to admit that he was the one on the other side of the internet, lusting after Dew. Just like now, he found it hard to face the fact that he could get aroused just by holding Luna's coat.

Amir lifted her and the Grandmaster’s suitcases. Before they could enter, the main door opened. Master Markus appeared in his wheelchair, pushed by his loyal nurse. "Good afternoon, Grandmaster," Moza greeted him with a respectful bow. Master Markus offered a thin smile, his wrinkled face looking more relaxed than the last time Moza had seen him. "I summoned you because I wish to stay here longer, Moza. This house was designed by Angela," he said, his voice trembling as he mentioned his late wife. He looked toward the distant green hills, seemingly lost in memory. "I hope you find it to your liking."

Of course he did, I lowered my eyes to my lap so they wouldn’t see the hatred flicker briefly across my face, hatred itself was dangerous, the Mothers said bitterness poisoned a woman’s spirit, but lately I felt poisoned already. Two months ago, the Master summoned me to his private study after evening prayer. I still remembered every detail, the smell of incense, the heavy silence, the guards outside the door and him, Gabriel Vane. The man everyone worshipped like a prophet, he was old enough to be my grandfather, perhaps older, no one actually knew his real age because nobody dared ask questions about the Master, but whispers among the older women claimed he was already in his sixties, his

MYRA The moment we left Young Master's room, Madame Beatrice stopped walking and turned toward me. I immediately knew what was coming. "You are unbelievable." I blinked. "Ma'am?" "You talked back to the Young Master." The disappointment in her voice should have made me feel guilty. Instead, I noticed something strange. She looked more surprised than angry. "I apologize." "You called him a rude billionaire." I cleared my throat. "Technically, I only defended myself." Madame Beatrice stared at me.

I turned the pages and skimmed over writings that ranged from ordinary observations to terrifying disclosures. I flipped through the pages, scanning entries that ranged from mundane observations to chilling revelations. And then I found it. Project Eden. The words were underlined, bold against the faded ink. I skimmed the following paragraphs, my heart pounding as the details unfolded. My mother had been working on something—a financial algorithm capable of manipulating markets on a global scale. It wasn’t just a tool; it was a weapon. “Collapse entire economies with a single command,” she’d written. “Control chaos. Create leverage.”

One moment, he is enjoying a good fuck from an Alpha, and the next moment—here he is, trying his best not to skin himself alive. There are voices inside his head that are way louder than his own voice. Those voices keep on reminding him that he is an Omega—just an Omega. The lowest of the lowest. The ‘thing’ who’s only goal in life is to be played by those fucking Alphas. A nothing. A sudden crawl of goosebumps invaded his whole body. He can literally feel how hard his heart is hammering inside his chest. He called Cross ‘master’. Master. He looks at his reflection once again and laughs hysterically.