HOWL OF A BILLIONAIRE

The thunderstorm outside matched Sarah Chen's mood perfectly as she stared motionless at her laptop screen, reading the email for the fifth time. Her tiny apartment's window vibrated with each thundersound, but she almost did not notice - too focused on the words that might end her career: Final Warning: Termination Notice From: Marcus Stewart, Editor-in-Chief To: Sarah Chen Your recent articles have failed to meet the standards expected at The Daily Chronicle. While your writing skills are commendable, your continued focus on unsubstantiated conspiracy theories and "supernatural" stories is damaging our paper's credibility. Consider this your final warning. Your next story must be concrete, with proofs, and worthy of our front page, or we will be forced to terminate your employment. "Screw you, Marcus," Sarah muttered, banging her laptop shut. She ran her fingers through her messy black hair, glancing around her cramped studio apartment. Rent was already two weeks late, and nothing is left in her refrigerator but half a bottle of wine and some questionable leftovers. Her phone buzzed. It was her best friend and fellow journalist, Maya. "Please tell me you're not spiraling," Maya said without greeting. "Define spiraling," Sarah replied, reaching for the wine bottle. "Because if you mean 'about to be homeless and unemployed,' then yeah, I'm totally spiraling." "Girl, I might have something that could save your ass." Maya's voice dropped to a whisper. "But you have to promise not to go all crazy conspiracy theorist on me." Sarah sat up straighter. "I'm listening." "You know that reclusive tech billionaire, Alexander Kane?" "The one who bought that massive estate outside the city? What about him?" "My cousin works security at his company, Kane Industries. She just told me something... weird." Maya paused dramatically. "Every full moon, Kane completely disappears. Like, cancels all meetings, no phone calls, nothing. And get this – she swears she heard howling coming from his private floor last month." Sarah rolled her eyes. "Maya, I'm about to lose my job. I need a real story, not another supernatural wild goose chase." "That's the thing – Kane never gives interviews. No one's gotten close to him in years. But rumor has it he's hosting some fancy charity gala next week. I managed to snag you a press pass." Sarah nearly dropped her wine glass. "You're kidding." "Nope. One condition though – you focus on the business angle. His company's new AI development, the charity work, that kind of thing. No werewolf theories, no matter how much fur you find. Deal?" Sarah bit her lip, her mind racing. Alexander Kane was notoriously private – the only photos of him were at least five years old, showing a devastatingly handsome man in his early thirties with piercing gray eyes and dark hair. Getting an exclusive with him would definitely save her job. "Deal," she said finally. "Total professionalism. No weird stuff." "Promise?" "Cross my heart." After hanging up, Sarah opened her laptop again and typed "Alexander Kane" into the search bar. The same old articles popped up: child prodigy who built a tech empire by twenty-five, parents died mysteriously when he was young, rarely seen in public since a failed assassination attempt five years ago. But something new caught her eye – a recent photo taken by a security camera. It was blurry, but she could make out a tall figure leaving Kane Industries at night. The way his eyes seemed to reflect the light, shimmering like that of animal's in the dark made her pause. Her phone buzzed again – this time with a text from her landlord: *Rent's due. Final notice.* Sarah looked at the security camera photo again, then at her termination warning email. She had one week to get the story of her life, or she'd lose everything. No pressure. Little did she know that at that exact moment, in a penthouse office across the city, Alexander Kane was standing at his floor-to-ceiling window, watching the storm. His grey eyes reflected the lightning unnaturally, and his hands gripped the windowsill so hard that his knuckles turned white. The full moon was close, and with it, a journalist who might expose the secret he'd spent a lifetime protecting. He pulled out his phone and dialed. "Harrison? That reporter from The Daily Chronicle – I want everything you can find on her. Background, family, everything." He paused, watching another lightning bolt split the sky. "And increase security for the gala. No one gets close enough to see what I really am." —----- Sarah's dreams that night were filled with glowing eyes and howling winds. She woke up gasping, twisted in her cheap sheets, her phone buzzing repeatedly. This time it wasn't Maya – it was her younger sister, Katie. "Sar?" Katie's voice was shaking. "The hospital's threatening collections again. They say if we don't make a payment by next week, they'll stop Mom's treatments." Sarah's stomach dropped. Their mother's cancer treatments had drained every penny of their savings, and now... She glanced at her empty wallet on the nightstand. "How much do they need?" "Twenty thousand." Katie started crying. "I know you don't have it. I'm sorry, I just... I didn't know who else to call." Sarah pressed her forehead against her cold window, watching the city lights blur through her tears. "I'll figure something out, Katie. I promise. Just... give me till the gala. I'm going to get that interview if it kills me." After hanging up, Sarah pulled out her old journalism notebooks. Her hands trembled as she flipped through years of supernatural investigations – all the stories Marcus had rejected. But one story kept repeating: mysterious deaths around full moons, always near powerful people. She'd tracked similar patterns in five cities, but the trail always went cold. Until Alexander Kane moved to town. Her phone pinged with a news alert: "KANE INDUSTRIES STOCK SOARS AFTER MYSTERIOUS NEW PROJECT ANNOUNCEMENT." She clicked the link, scanning until she found it – Kane's only quote: "What we're developing will change what we think is humanly possible." The article included a new photo, obviously taken from a distance. Kane was leaving his building, surrounded by security, his face partially hidden by dark sunglasses despite the night hour. But what caught her attention was his hand – was that a scar? Or claw marks? Sarah grabbed her jacket and keys. She needed coffee, and she knew just the place to get it. --- The Lucky Bean was the kind of coffee shop journalists loved – open 24/7, terrible coffee, but the best gossip in town. The owner, Joe, had been her source for years. "Looking rough, kid," Joe said as she slumped at the counter. "The usual?" "Make it a double." She slid her last five dollars across the counter. "Any chance you've heard anything about Kane Industries? Specifically about their CEO's... unusual habits?" Joe glanced around before leaning in. "Funny you should ask. My nephew works maintenance there. Says the whole top five floors are completely off-limits during full moons. Security gets tripled. And last month..." He lowered his voice further. "They had to replace all the furniture in Kane's office. Said it was all torn to shreds, like some animal got loose." Sarah's heart raced. "Joe, I need everything your nephew can remember. Times, dates, patterns-" The TV behind the counter suddenly blared: "BREAKING NEWS: Three Kane Industries whistleblowers found dead in apparent animal attack. Police say the victims were mauled beyond recognition..." The coffee cup slipped from Sarah's hand, shattering on the floor. --- Meanwhile, in Kane's mansion, Alexander paced his study, his reflection distorted in the rain-streaked windows. The moon was rising, and with it, the familiar burn under his skin. "Sir," Harrison entered, tablet in hand. "I have that information you requested on Sarah Chen." Kane didn't turn around. "Tell me." "She's... interesting. Top of her class at Columbia Journalism, but turned down offers from major networks to pursue... unusual stories. Heavy debt from her mother's cancer treatments. Lives alone, no romantic attachments. But sir, there's something else." Harrison hesitated. "She's been investigating patterns. Lunar cycles. Unexplained deaths. She's been following a trail that leads directly to-" "To me." Kane finally turned, his grey eyes now flickering with gold. "And the gala's on a full moon." "We should cancel-" "No." Kane's voice was rough, almost a growl. "I want to meet this Sarah Chen. I want to see what she thinks she knows." He picked up a framed photo from his desk – himself as a child, standing with his parents on their last vacation together, before the "accident" that had awakened his curse. "Sir, she's dangerous. If she discovers-" "Everyone has secrets, Harrison." Kane set down the photo, his fingernails lengthening slightly into claws before he forced them back. "The question is, what are hers?" He walked to his private elevator, pressing his palm against the scanner. "Have the car ready in an hour. I need to... see her for myself." "Sir?" "If she wants to hunt monsters," Kane's smile showed teeth that were just slightly too sharp, "let's see how she handles finding one." --- Back at her apartment, Sarah was spreading her research across her walls – photos, newspaper clippings, moon charts. Her hands shook as she connected red strings between the deaths, the lunar cycles, and Kane's locations over the years. Her phone rang – unknown number. "Miss Chen." The voice was deep, smooth... dangerous. "I believe you've been looking for me." Sarah's blood ran cold. Through her window, she could see a black car idling on the street below, and a tall figure stepping out, phone to his ear. "Mr. Kane?" "Let's talk about what you think you know about monsters, Miss Chen." The line went dead. Someone knocked on her door.