The city always woke before I did, buzzing and grinding beneath my windows like a restless beast that never slept. I never minded the noise. It reminded me that I still had something to rule over—something loud, unruly, and mine.
I dragged a hand down my face as I sat up, the silk sheets bunching around my waist. Morning light cracked through the blinds in narrow slits, cutting across the black marble floor like gold-bladed knives. My head was still fogged from whatever dreams had tried to creep in. I never remembered them, only the feeling they left—cold, distant, vaguely violent.
I stood, bare feet against cool stone, and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. There it was—my kingdom, my curse. The skyline bled into morning, and below, the lower streets were already choked with cars, noise, and ambition. The syndicate had tendrils in every block of this city. Some days, that made me feel powerful. Other days, like today, it just made me feel tired.
I went through the motions—shower, shave, black suit, charcoal tie. Everything clean. Everything pressed. My closet was a mirror of me: sharp lines, muted color, no softness. I didn't do softness.
Breakfast was nothing more than coffee and half a protein bar. I ate mechanically, reading through the encrypted messages that had come in overnight. Two shipments made it through the border. One didn't. One enforcer got picked up near Eastbridge but didn't crack under questioning. He'd been dealt with—extracted before sunrise. I made a mental note to send his family something. Not out of sentiment. Just efficiency.
The car was already waiting, engine humming like a purring beast. I slid into the back seat, leather creaking under me. Marcus, my driver, didn't speak unless spoken to. That's why he was still alive.
"Tower," I said, voice flat.
He nodded and pulled into traffic.
The Tower was the beating heart of my operation. Not that anyone called it that. Officially, it was just another corporate building—steel, glass, and lies. But everyone who mattered knew better. Inside, the walls held more secrets than the Consuls' private chambers.
I stepped into the private elevator, scanning my ID badge across the sensor. It blinked green. The doors slid shut. My reflection stared back at me in the mirrored panels—perfect suit, unreadable face. I didn't recognize the boy I used to be in that reflection. That was the point.
Fiftieth floor. My floor.
Ana was already waiting by my office door, tablet in hand. Efficient. Terrified. Good.
"You have four meetings today, but I pushed the third. Your father called—"
"Ignore it," I cut in. My voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. Ana flinched anyway and nodded.
"Understood."
I pushed open the double doors and stepped into the office. Glass walls, steel edges, a view that could swallow the world. And on the far side, my desk—clean, dark, and empty. Just the way I liked it.
I sat, cracked my knuckles, and pulled up the first report. Magic movement along the northern edge—unlicensed. Possible relics being smuggled in from outside the sanctioned zones. I flagged it. That could be useful.
Everything useful came with a cost. And I'd learned early to calculate those costs faster than anyone else.
Midway through the second report, there was a knock.
"Come in," I said without looking up.
The door opened. Caleb walked in—tall, lean, eyes too clever for their own good. He was one of the few people I tolerated in close quarters.
"You're brooding again," he said.
"I'm working."
"Same thing, in your case."
I looked up. "Spit it out."
He tossed a folder onto my desk. "New intel. Word is, the Consuls are sniffing around the old sectors again. Something's stirred."
"Let them sniff," I said. "They'll choke on what they find."
He grinned, wolfish. "You always did have a way with threats."
"I don't make threats. I make promises."
He left after that, and I sat back, fingers steepled under my chin. The Consuls stirring meant something was about to break. Maybe not today. Maybe not this week. But soon. I could feel it.
And when it broke, I needed to be ready to pick through the wreckage.
The rest of the day bled on—meetings, decisions, small wars disguised as negotiations. I didn't flinch. I never flinched.
But somewhere, beneath the armor, I felt the whisper of a storm coming. And I'd be damned if I let it hit without a fight.
Let them come.
I had built my empire in the shadows.
And I had no intention of burning alone.