The nighttime sea stretched out like a vast sheet of black glass.Above it, a grand palace made of shimmering silver steel floated silently.
It was much more than a typical yacht; referring to it as a "yacht" barely captured its true scale. It resembled a moving fortress, a testament to the power amassed over generations.
But tonight, that power felt precarious.
Within the lavish lounge, the ten most powerful pharmaceutical titans in Panterra had convened around a sleek obsidian table.
The walls gleamed with gold detailing, the lighting was dim, and the air was thick with tension. Waves lapped gently against the hull, yet none of them paid attention. Their empires were in ruins, and each one knew who was the architect of their downfall.
Darius Veyne sat at the head of the table.
Tall, with a defined jawline and immaculately combed silver hair, his typically calm eyes now bore an icy storm. He scanned the room, making sure everyone was there:
