Betrayal cracked across his face like shattering glass—raw, irreversible. He said nothing at first. Just pushed himself up awkwardly with cuffed hands, shuffling to the window on unsteady legs. He stared out at the city, his city, once, for a full, agonizing minute. Shoulders sagged. The view that had been his throne now mocked him. Defeated. Hollow.
Then he turned, voice barely a rasp. "Fine. Not like I only own this home. And have one company."
"Ms. Anotta," I said, turning to her with a triumphant grin. "I'm no lawyer. This penthouse is mine now—can your people handle the paperwork? Make it airtight?"
"Of course." Her smirk widened, eyes gleaming with shared victory. "Consider it done by morning. Titles transferred, NDAs signed. Clean as a whistle."
Milen holstered her tablet with a satisfied nod, bodycam still rolling. "I guess that's it, then. Am I done here, Ms. Anotta?"
"Yes, my dear Milen. You may go. Excellent work."
"Thank you, ma'am."
