Inside Desmond Blackwell's luxurious high-rise apartment, tension hung in the air like a storm waiting to break.
Nathaniel Rockerfeller could hardly believe what he was seeing.
He had always known Desmond to be unpredictable—volatile, even. A man who lived for chaos and thrived in the margins of propriety. Someone Nathaniel would never, under normal circumstances, associate with. But Desmond wasn't just anyone. His worth, his access, and his connections made him difficult to ignore.
Still, this—this—was beyond what even Nathaniel had anticipated.
Across from him, his assistant sat frozen, her composure visibly shaken. Her lips parted slightly as if to speak, but the words faltered and died before they could take form.
"That's…" she whispered, her voice trailing into a stunned hush, disbelief etched across her face.
Nathaniel's gaze shifted.
