The drive back to the Obsidian Tower was a silent, grim procession. The triumph of the auction had curdled into the acrid taste of defeat. Nora stared out at the passing city lights, seeing not their brilliance, but the looming headlines, the scandal, the ruin of everything she had worked to build. Her foundation—her sanctuary, her purpose—was now a weapon aimed directly at her heart.
Demetri was on his phone the entire time, his voice a low, relentless stream of commands in Russian and English. He was mobilizing his legal and financial teams, a digital army scrambling to contain a digital wildfire.
Back in the penthouse war room, the atmosphere was tense. Anya was there, her usual composure strained, her fingers flying across a laptop. Data streams and legal documents flashed across the
