Found
702 Words
In a dimly lit office overlooking the restless city, Gabriel stood by the glass wall, his reflection staring back at him. Gabriel stood still, a glass in his hand, his expression unreadable. Power sat on him effortlessly, but last night something was wrong. The faint bitterness lingered on his tongue, and his grip tightened slightly around the glass. Poison. Not enough to kill him immediately but enough to send a message. A calculated move.
His jaw hardened as the memory of the woman flashed through his mind. She had been sent into his room like a weapon wrapped in silk, part of whatever game his enemies were playing. They had crossed a line, and Gabriel did not forgive.
He set the glass down slowly, his movements controlled, deliberate. Anyone watching would think he was calm. He wasn’t. He was hunting.
A sharp knock broke the silence. “Sir,” his assistant’s voice came through, steady but alert. “We found her.”
Gabriel’s eyes darkened, a cold glint flashed in them. So soon. Good. He turned slightly, his voice low but filled with quiet authority. “Then what are you waiting for? Bring her to me.”
Silence fell again after the footsteps faded. Gabriel exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting back to the city. To anyone else, it looked like peace, but inside him, it was something far.
The name Gabriel echoed in his mind, foreign. Not real. Not his.
His real name was Gavrill.
At five years old, he had been taken, ripped from a life he barely remembered in Russia by men whose faces remained shadows in his memory. He didn’t know why they wanted him. He still didn’t. But he remembered escaping. He remembered running alone, cold, forgotten until an orphanage became his temporary salvation.
Then came the billionaires. They gave him everything: wealth, power, a future. And in return, they took everything that made him him. They changed his name and changed his identity. Even his accent, he once had a very thick russian accent but he was refurbished into something his parents called perfect.
But no matter how perfect the mask was, the past had found him again.
And this time, it wasn’t letting go.
He walked into the meeting room, his presence alone enough to silence the space. Everyone who had been seated immediately stood up. Without acknowledging them, he took his seat at the head of the table.
Gavrill pulled out his phone and placed a call, his tone low and controlled. Whatever was said on the other end was brief. When he was done, he dropped the phone onto the table and began twirling his pen, a quiet signal for the meeting to begin.
No one dared to delay.
A woman stood up first, her voice steady as she began analyzing the company’s stock performance, pointing out fluctuations and recent movements. Gavrill listened without expression, his gaze distant, unreadable.
“Next,” he said.
A man rose, adjusting his suit nervously before presenting the company’s financial records. Revenue streams, expenditures, projections he spoke carefully, aware of the man watching him.
“Next.”
Another man stood up, clearing his throat as he began to explain the share distribution and recent transactions.
He didn’t get far.
“Stop.”
The single word cut through the room like a blade. Gavrill’s pen stilled.
His eyes lifted slowly, locking onto the man. “Who sold the stocks?” Silence.
No one answered.
His expression darkened. “Get out.”
The command was sharp, final. Chairs scraped against the floor as the members hurried out, not daring to question him. Within seconds, the room was empty except for his assistant.
The man stood frozen, head bowed, unable to meet his gaze.
Gavrill leaned back slightly, his voice dangerously calm. “Who sold the shares?” A pause. Then, quietly, the assistant answered “it was sold by previous shareholders sir at double prices”
The air shifted.“Buy it back,” Gavrill said, his tone leaving no room for failure. “By any means necessary.”
He stood abruptly, his chair sliding back with a harsh sound, and without another word, he stormed out of the room.
- Writer
