Ryan woke up late the next morning. His body had sunk so deep into the mattress that it felt like the bed wanted to hold him there forever. His eyes opened slowly. He blinked a few times, getting used to the light that came through the velvet curtains.
The tall windows let in just enough sunlight for thin beams to stretch across the polished marble floor. They looked like warm streaks against the cool stone. The ceiling rose high above him, painted in a soft ivory color that made the room feel grand but also distant. Like this was a room meant for someone else, not him.
Even though the mansion was huge, there were small signs that he lived here. The black shirt from last night hung neatly over the arm of a chair. On the table beside his bed sat a half-empty glass of whiskey left behind as a quiet reminder of the thoughts that had kept him awake last night.
Ryan pushed himself up into a sitting position. He let out a small groan and rubbed his hand across his face. His body felt heavy, weighed down by exhaustion. But his mind was already starting to wake up, turning over pieces of the conversation from the night before. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Then he walked into the quiet hallway.
The house was filled with its usual silence. The kind that seemed to push against the walls of a mansion that was far too big for just one person.
His footsteps made soft echoing sounds as he walked. Then he heard another set of footsteps, lighter and quicker, coming toward him. A servant appeared, moving with practiced efficiency. The servant crossed paths with him and gave a light bow.
By the time Ryan stepped into the dining room, the table was already set and waiting. A plate of toast and eggs sat neatly in the center. Fresh fruit had been arranged carefully on the side. A glass of water stood ready, as if the house itself somehow knew what he would need.
"Good morning, sir," the servant said quietly, with practiced respect. The servant bowed once more and then left the room, leaving Ryan alone in the silence again.
Ryan sat down without any ceremony. He picked up his fork and started to eat. But each bite felt more like a routine than actual hunger. His mind was somewhere else. He kept thinking about Matt's words from the night before.
"I found the location of one of the rebels. I'll be back tomorrow around night time."
Those words stirred something sharp and urgent inside him. They were a reminder that the calm he felt this morning was only temporary.
Tonight would be the start of a chain of events that wouldn't stop once they began. Calling it "busy" was too simple. It would be dangerous. It would consume everything. He chewed slowly, letting the food anchor him to this moment, even as worry coiled tight in his chest.
His appetite disappeared before he'd finished the plate. He left it half-eaten and got up. Then he made his way to the bathroom.
The bathwater was warm and refreshing. It washed away the last bits of tiredness that clung to him. He leaned back in the tub and closed his eyes, letting the steam clear his mind and sharpen his senses. By the time he stepped out and looked at himself in the mirror, his reflection looked more awake. More focused.
And then another thought slipped into his mind. He was supposed to meet Marcus for lunch today.
He got dressed, taking his time but being careful with his choices. A black and gray checkered shirt. Loose dark jeans. A pair of black slides.
It was casual enough to look like he hadn't tried too hard, but every detail had actually been chosen on purpose.
The men who worked for him were used to seeing him as someone untouchable, someone above them. But this outfit softened that image just enough to blur the edge. This was a different version of Ryan. One that only a few people ever got to see.
He grabbed his keys and stepped out of the mansion.
*********
In one of the meeting rooms at Apex Holdings headquarters, Marcus sat at the head of a long, polished table.
He looked completely in control. His back was straight. His eyes moved steadily back and forth between the file in his hands and the presentation projected on the wall.
Every now and then, he flipped through a few pages. He nodded in response to the man who was presenting.
Ethan sat on Marcus's left side, with two other colleagues beside him. Four more people sat on the right side of the table.
Everyone's attention was fixed on the charts, the numbers, the careful language of business proposals. Approval seemed to float through the air with every nod and quiet murmur of agreement.
The meeting ended with the soft sounds of papers being shuffled and chairs being pushed back as people gathered their things.
Marcus stood up first. He slipped his pen into the breast pocket of his suit jacket. His face gave nothing away.
"We'll have another meeting once the contract has been finalized," he said in an even tone. He was already walking toward the door.
Ethan noticed and quickly gathered up his own folder. "Excuse me," he said to the others. Then he followed Marcus out.
His shoes made quick clicking sounds against the floor as he hurried to catch up.
"Hey," he said, his voice full of concern. "You don't look so good. You alright?"
"I'm fine. Just a small headache," Marcus replied. He walked faster. His tone made it clear there was no room for more questions. Ethan's words, the ones he'd been about to say, died between them in the silence.
Marcus reached his office. The door closed behind him with a quiet thud. He sank down into the leather chair behind his desk and let out a long breath, as if he'd finally been given permission to stop pretending.
But the silence brought memories with it.
Two months ago, when he'd still been living overseas, he'd gotten a phone call. The voice on the other end had been hushed and urgent. It carried a message he hadn't wanted to believe, his uncle had gone missing. No one knew where he was.
As the only heir to Apex Holdings, Marcus had grown up surrounded by a strange mix of privilege and emptiness. His mother had died giving birth to him. His father had buried himself in work.
The only person who had filled the gap, who had given him care and attention, was his uncle Logan Jensen. Logan had been the closest person to him in the world, until Marcus turned ten and was sent overseas for school.
Twenty years had passed since then. But they'd stayed in touch through messages and phone calls.
But three months ago, the messages had stopped coming. The calls went unanswered. And now he had confirmation that his uncle had disappeared.
For weeks, he tried to pretend nothing was wrong. He worked on his duties overseas while a heavy worry kept growing inside him.
There were projects waiting to be finished and contracts that had to be handed over. For two months, he did his best to close everything properly. At last, he packed his bags, got on a plane, and went back home. He was hoping to find some answers.
That had been two weeks ago.
Now he was working as a manager in the company. Still searching for any trace of his uncle. And beneath everything else, one question remained. Stubborn and sharp, like a thorn he couldn't pull out.
What really happened to my uncle?
Marcus leaned back in his chair and glanced down at his wristwatch. A faint smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. It was almost time for lunch.
And lunch meant Ryan..