Arthur stirred awake to a thin stripe of morning light cutting across the hotel room ceiling. His head throbbed faintly — a reminder of the wine and whisky from the night before. He turned his head and blinked.
Daniella lay asleep beside him, one arm draped loosely over the pillow where he'd been. Her auburn hair spilled across the sheets like a splash of fire, the covers pulled up only enough to hint at her bare shoulders. She breathed slow and steady, utterly at ease.
Arthur sat up, rubbed his temples and let out a low chuckle. He really shouldn't have done this. Daniella wasn't just another date; she was one of the principal shareholders in his company. Messy. Risky. But at the same time... he couldn't pretend he regretted it. She was brilliant, magnetic, and, well, last night had been quite something. A dangerous kind of leverage, but leverage all the same.
He swung his legs off the bed, reaching for his crumpled trousers on the carpet and stepping into them. Crossing the room, he tugged open the curtains. Morning sunlight poured in, washing everything gold and making the scene look even more surreal. he glanced back at the sleeping woman; she shifted slightly, the sheet sliding down to the curve of her back.
Arthur shook his head as the scenes of last night floated in front of his eyes again and decided that he should just take a shower. Smiling wryly, he picked up his things—wallet, shirt, tie, all abandoned in haste the night before. He put on his shirt, but didn't button up and padded toward the bathroom. A hot shower, a Monster Ultra, then home. His head still throbbed from the drinking, but the thought lingered stubbornly: damn, that woman...
The cold water hit Arthur's skin and it did wonders to clear his head. He put his hands against the shower wall, trying to think about his evening ahead, anything to pull himself out of the night before.
He didn't hear the door open.
Soft footsteps crossed the tile. Then, suddenly, a pair of wet, cool arms slid up around his torso, fingers tracing the lines of his stomach to his chest. Arthur's spine jolted; his eyes snapped open. He spun, water spraying, and found himself looking straight into Daniella's laughing eyes.
Without thinking, he caught her wrists and guided them up above her head, pinning her lightly against the shower all. The cold shower hitting them with full force. His mouth curved into a smirk.
"You," he murmured, voice low and rough, "are a very dangerous woman."
Daniella tilted her head, unbothered, lips quirking in answer. "And you," she shot back softly, "are a very addictive man."
Arthur couldn't help but laugh under his breath. Merlin help me, this woman will trap me for life if I'm not careful. Saying Merlin was something he had picked up from his favourite books from his childhood—the Harry Potter series. He was about to step back, turn off the water, end if before it got out of hand again—but Daniella moved first. She caught his arm, spun him with surprising strength and pressed him back against the opposite wall, kissing him with a sudden, hungry urgency.
He broke away just long enough to rest his forehead against hers, trying to steady himself. "Daniella… I'm the CEO and founder of a multinational. You're a major shareholder. If anyone knew…" His voice trailed off at the thought of the headlines.
Her eyes sparkled. "I'm not going to tell anyone," she said, still close enough that he could feel her breath. "Are you?"
Arthur's smirk returned slowly. "You might just be the death of me," he growled softly, then leaned back in to kiss her again, the sound of water and the thrum of danger wrapping around them both.
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Arthur stood in front of the mirror, buttoning his shirt with slow, practiced movements. The light from the hotel window washed over his shoulders. Behind him, Daniella lay sprawled on the bed, sheet draped lazily across her curves, propped on one elbow. Her eyes followed him like a cat's, and when her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, he caught the motion in the mirror.
"No more," he said with a half-laugh, tucking his shirt in and reaching for his cufflinks. "I've got to get home."
"Home?" she echoed, a teasing lilt in her voice. "Why are you in such a hurry? You live alone."
Arthur smiled faintly, slipping on his watch. "You wouldn't understand."
"Oh? And just how deep could a 26-year-old self-made billionaire be?" she teased.
"That's exactly why you wouldn't understand," he murmured, turning to face her. "Because I'm a 26-year-old self-made billionaire."
Daniella exhaled dramatically and rolled onto her back. "Fine. Then at least tell me how you did it."
"How I did what?"
"How you became a billionaire at twenty-six. You came from nothing, Arthur. How?"
He shrugged, forcing a wry smile. "I don't know myself. I just… somehow did."
She stared up at the ceiling, her expression softening. "You're incredibly lucky."
Arthur chuckled as he reached for the door. "Maybe I am." He glanced back at her. "I'll pick you up in a few hours."
He closed the door behind him. The quiet hallway wrapped around him like a vacuum, his footsteps suddenly very loud.
Lucky. The word echoed in his skull as he walked toward the elevator. He let out a long, shaky breath. People always called him that. Lucky. Blessed. Golden boy. But none of them had been there at the kitchen table when he had to see his father and mother discuss finance troubles in hushed voices, or at the hospital when his father's lungs gave out, or at the funeral where his mother wept herself empty. None of them had seen the hunger in his parents' eyes for a life they would never reach. For a life they dreamed of giving him, but never were able to.
He leaned against the wall of the lift, head bowed, eyes closing. Everything he'd built — the companies, the money, the cars — had been for them. At least he had dreamt them all for them. All of it, just to see their faces without any worries about money ever again. Every risk, from fighting to countless days of no sleep, every ruthless decision. All so he could do something that could give him the chance to give the best life to his parents. A better life.
And now he was here, a billionaire at twenty-six… and they weren't. They never saw any of it. He had nothing to give them anymore except a grave to visit. Keeping the house he grew up in, blessed with such parents, the house that reminded him of them every single day. That's all he could do. That's...
Images began to flicker behind his eyes, unbidden.
First, his father.
The man that did everything without thinking about himself, just so he could provide for the family of his, but that's not what was in front of his eyes right now. Arthur could still hear the flatline cutting through the sterile air in that hospital room. He could still feel the helpless rage as he stood there with fists clenched, unable to save his father. They'd argued so much, but he'd loved the man. That was the first blow.
Then his mother.
The very same room that took his father from him, claiming his mother. Her tear streaked face as she said her final goodbyes to him. Both of them gone, before Arthur could do anything for them.
He blinked hard, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He'd built empires for her, or so he told himself. But she never saw any of it. Neither of his parents got to see anything.
And then Ria.
Twelve years of friendship, gone in a phone call. The disbelief, the choking sense of betrayal, the night he'd sat alone staring at nothing, thinking about following her just to stop the ache. He still didn't know how he'd survived that stretch of darkness.
No one saw that. All they saw was the lucky guy who got to the billionaire status at 26. The golden boy.
Arthur's chest tightened. His reflection blurred; his eyes burned. He tilted his head back against the cool panel, willing himself to breathe. Not now. He had meetings. A mask to wear. Daniella to pick up later. The world thought he was a golden boy at twenty-six, but inside he was still that kid who'd lost everything, still trying to buy ghosts the life they deserved.
The elevator chimed softly. Arthur straightened, rolled his shoulders once, and fixed his expression back into something easy, charming.
He stepped out, anger still etched across his face. Two men in dark suits straightened immediately, falling into step beside him without a word. The marbled lobby of his hotel—the one he owned, top to bottom—was quiet at this hour, but his presence seemed to ripple through it like a current.
Arthur pushed through the revolving doors. Outside, the evening air was cool, the street lit by the muted glow of designer streetlamps. His convoy was already lined up: two armored SUVs idling ahead, two behind, engines purring like restrained beasts.
He walked directly to the matte-black, bulletproof G-Wagon waiting at the curb. Thick glass, reinforced panels, his own custom security systems—his mobile fortress. He didn't like chauffeurs; he never had. Driving himself was one of the few things that still gave him a sense of control, but control came at a price—serious protection.
Arthur slid into the driver's seat without a glance back, slammed the heavy door shut, and started the engine. Behind him, his bodyguards slipped into their vehicles with practiced precision, two in front, two in back, sealing him in a moving cocoon of steel and loyalty.
He gripped the steering wheel, still fighting the ghosts clawing at the edge of his mind, and pressed his foot on the accelerator.
The convoy rolled smoothly through the downtown traffic before turning into the private drive of AM Organics' headquarters. The building rose in sleek glass and steel, its green-lit logo glowing against the evening sky. Arthur eased the G-Wagon to a stop under the awning.
Drake, the young valet, jogged up immediately. Arthur stepped out, handing him the keys with a practiced flick."Here you go, champ," Arthur said, noticing the sharper edges around Drake's temples. "New haircut? Looks good on you."
Drake grinned, a little surprised. "Yes, sir. Thank you."
"And how's Mia doing?" Arthur added, referring to Drake's girlfriend by name. "Still managing that bakery?"
Drake's face lit up. "She's great. We're actually expanding."
"That's fantastic," Arthur said, clapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Tell her I said congratulations."
The security detail fanned out quietly as Arthur strode through the revolving doors. The moment he entered the bright, plant-filled lobby of AM Organics, the atmosphere shifted—staff straightened up, not from fear but from genuine energy. He had built a culture where people wanted to be here.
"Good evening, Arthur," one of the receptionists called.
"Evening, Sara," Arthur replied, pausing just long enough to smile at her. "How's your little boy doing with that science fair project?"
Her eyes widened. "You remembered! He won third place."
"Brilliant," Arthur said warmly. "Give him a high-five from me."
Carol, his longtime assistant, was already approaching at a brisk but measured pace, tablet in one hand, a neat stack of papers in the other."Arthur," she said, matching his stride as he headed toward the elevators. "We've got the investor call at ten, product team at eleven, and these contracts need your signature before noon."
Arthur glanced over the tablet, scrolling with his thumb. "Perfect. Thanks for lining everything up, Carol. You're a lifesaver."
She smiled at the compliment, but he meant it. Everyone here knew he did.
Arthur and Carol reached the top floor, the elevator doors gliding open to a panoramic view of the city. The boardroom was already alive with quiet chatter — department heads and senior managers seated around a long table, screens glowing with charts and forecasts. As soon as Arthur stepped in, the room instinctively hushed — not out of fear, but respect.
"Good morning, everyone," he said, setting his tablet down. "I hope you all had your coffee, because we've got a lot to cover today."
Laughter rippled around the table. Arthur scanned the faces, noting tired eyes here, nervous fingers there. "Priya, how was your daughter's recital?" he asked, turning to the head of Marketing.
Her face brightened. "It went really well. Thank you for asking."
"Fantastic. Next time bring me a video — I want to see her perform."
He shifted to another team lead. "And Tom, how's your back doing after that accident?"
"Much better, sir. Physical therapy is helping."
"Glad to hear it. Don't overdo it; we need you upright, not in traction," Arthur said with a grin.
Carol handed him a folder, whispering a note about the product launch. Arthur flipped through, nodding. "Alright, let's start with the rollout updates. But before we dive into the numbers…" He paused, leaning on the table. "I just want to say: you're all doing phenomenal work. This quarter's results aren't just about revenue — they're about what we're building together. AM Organics isn't a machine; it's people. You. And I'm proud of that."
Several staff members exchanged pleased looks. It was typical Arthur—a hard-driving CEO who still found time to make everyone feel seen.
"Now," he said, his voice shifting smoothly back into business, "let's talk strategy."
The screen flickered to the next slide as the meeting rolled forward, but the energy in the room felt lighter, sharper — the kind of atmosphere only a leader like Arthur could create.
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"…and with that," Arthur said, closing his tablet, "we've hit a record. This quarter's sales of the new line didn't just break projections — they rewrote them. Every single one of you and your teams made that happen."
There was a low hum of pride around the table. Arthur smiled. "So, here's what we're going to do. Team leaders — take your people out. Dinner, drinks, bowling, karaoke — whatever makes them happy. Use the company card. Nobody works like this and goes unrewarded."
The boardroom erupted into cheers and grateful laughter. Someone even clapped. Arthur chuckled and raised a hand. "Alright, alright — don't get too wild. Save some energy for next week."
As the crowd dispersed, Arthur gathered his papers and headed toward his office, Carol moving in step behind him. By the time the door clicked shut, she was already handing him a tablet and a thick folder.
"Investor details, sir," she said crisply. "They're interested in the skin-care and farming verticals. Two different offers; one from Singapore, the other from Berlin. I've marked the key figures."
Arthur took the folder but paused, studying her face. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and the faint smudges beneath them betrayed a string of sleepless nights. "Carol," he said quietly, "when was the last time you slept properly?"
She shifted, caught off guard. "It's been a hectic week. Launches, meetings—"
"Exactly," Arthur interrupted gently, flipping through the spreadsheet. "You're overworking yourself. I didn't hire three PAs so one of you could burn out. You rotate so you can breathe."
"I'm fine," she insisted, trying to straighten her posture.
"No, you're not," Arthur said without looking up. "And I won't have my best people running themselves into the ground. Take time off. Starting today. A week, minimum."
"Sir—"
"Not a debate," Arthur said, finally looking at her. His tone was firm but warm. "Go somewhere. Anywhere. Spa, mountains, your parents. Recharge. Dana will pick up your workload in the meantime."
Carol's lips parted, a protest on her tongue, but the softness in Arthur's expression made her falter. "Thank you," she murmured, a little stunned.
Arthur smiled faintly and returned his eyes to the spreadsheet. "You've earned it. Now go before I book the tickets myself."
She chuckled despite herself, shaking her head as she gathered her bag. "Yes, sir."
Arthur watched her leave, the office door closing behind her, then turned back to the numbers on the page — already shifting gears from benevolent boss to strategist.
Arthur waited until the door clicked shut behind Carol before leaning back in his chair. The moment of warmth vanished, replaced by a glint of calculation in his eyes. The spreadsheet still lay open before him, but now he wasn't just reading numbers; he was mapping possibilities.
Two offers. Singapore wanted a foothold in AM Organics' farming vertical. Berlin was angling for the skin-care line. Both were dangling large sums, but their "valuation" columns told Arthur everything: they had underestimated AM Organics. Perfect.
He picked up a pen and began jotting notes on a yellow pad, lines of arrows and boxes forming a miniature battle plan:
"Offer them joint-venture rights, not equity. 10-year revenue-share clause. AM retains IP."
"Lock pricing power on supply chains; make them dependent on our organic raw-material network."
"Skin-care brand: spin off sub-brand exclusively for Berlin fund; keep main line untouched."
"Staggered voting rights; investor's shares convert only after performance triggers."
Arthur tapped the pen against his lips, already seeing five moves ahead. If Berlin wanted exclusivity, give them the illusion — a bespoke line, white-labelled, but produced on AM's terms. Singapore wanted farmland? Offer them leases, not ownership, with automatic price escalators tied to global indices. They'd be thrilled to sign it, thinking they had a steal. Meanwhile, AM Organics would be using their capital to expand its own network without surrendering control.
A faint smile curved his mouth. "You want in," he murmured under his breath, "but you'll play by my rules."
He flipped to another sheet: shareholder dilution. By structuring the deals as licensing and supply agreements, he could bring in hundreds of millions without issuing a single share. No board seat, no veto power, just long-term cash flow.
And the best part? He'd seed cross-dependencies between the two investors. Berlin's product line would rely on Singapore's supply chain, and Singapore's distribution model would need Berlin's logistics partner. If either tried to pull out, the other would suffer — a perfect deterrent. Arthur would sit at the centre like a spider in a web.
He leaned back, satisfied, and dialled his legal chief. "Draw up a term sheet," he said. "No equity, no board seats, staggered milestones. Make it look like a sweetheart deal on their side."
"Yes, sir," came the voice on the other end.
Arthur ended the call, staring out the panoramic window of his office. Outside, the city churned like a living thing, unaware that up here one man was rearranging millions of dollars with a penstroke.
This was the part he liked best — not the money itself, but the game of it. The leverage, the invisible architecture no one else could see until it was too late. He smirked. "Let's see how badly they want a piece of AM Organics."
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Arthur had just come from the private airfield, where he'd walked Daniella to the steps of her gleaming Gulfstream. She was flying to Japan for a round of negotiations, her hair a dark wave in the evening wind as she turned at the door to blow him a teasing kiss. The jet wasn't his; it was hers. He'd stayed only long enough to see it lift off, then slipped behind the wheel of his own car and driven himself home.
Now he sat in the small living room of the house he'd grown up in, jacket tossed across the arm of a chair, a half-empty glass of scotch in his hand. The walls were lined with photographs—his mother laughing, his father's arm slung across his boyhood shoulders, birthdays and small victories captured forever.
A faint, sad smile tugged at his lips. "What I wouldn't give," he murmured to the pictures, "to show you what I've become…"
A single tear slid down his cheek. He wiped it away roughly, tipped back the glass, and let the burn of the alcohol sting his throat. Another pour. Then another. Six glasses disappeared in quick succession, but the ache in his chest stayed.
He rose unsteadily, crossing to the wall. His fingers brushed over a photo of himself between his parents, all three of them grinning at the camera. For a moment he simply stood there, head bowed, thumb tracing the edge of the frame.
Then he straightened and shook his head. "Not tonight," he whispered.
He left the glass on the sideboard and trudged toward the bedroom. The old mattress dipped beneath his weight as he flopped onto it fully dressed. Within moments, the exhaustion of the day and the drink pulled him under, leaving only the quiet house and the ghosts of his memories.
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Harry's eyes snapped open, the dim morning light of the Dursley Mansion filtering through the curtains. His heart was still hammering, his body drenched in sweat as the remnants of the dream clung stubbornly to him. For long moment, he simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to ground himself in the familiar contours of his room.
It took him a few deep breaths to calm the pulse in his veins. The vividness of the dream—voice of Daniella, the power of the car, the sting of the alcohol—left him momentarily shaken.
"Why now?" he muttered under his breath, sitting up and rubbing his face. He flicked his hand, cooling down the room instantly. The question wasn't just the dream; it was the timing. Why had he dreamt about the last day of his past life, now?
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and planted his feet on the floor, taking in the familiarity of his bedroom. The Dursley Mansion felt grounding after the dream of his past life. This was his life now. He wasn't Arthur anymore, he was Harry. Harry freaking Potter.
He had a family he had come to love immensely and friends that he treasured but the pain from his past life had not vanished. He tried not thinking about it, but sometimes he couldn't help it.
Moreover, he had seen his mother in his dreams before and she had said that they will meet in the future again. But how? This universe was different from his... So how will he meet his mother again?
Harry closed his eyes briefly, centering himself. The past was past. Yet the dream had reminded him—no, reinforced—that every choice he made now carried the weight of both lives he had lived. And somewhere deep down, he knew that the lessons of that past life, Arthur's cunning, ambition, and drive, weren't going away. They were part of him. Something that he couldn't throw away.