"Gerald touches her cheek softly, admitting that protecting her is no longer just a clause in a contract."
The memory of his words echoed in the silence of the secret boardroom, a stark contrast to the thick tension choking the air inside the High Council Chambers. High above the smog-choked lower sectors, the hidden chamber sat enclosed behind three layers of soundproof, biometric-shielded obsidian walls.
A consortium of six wealthy aristocrats sat around a floating circular table made of dark, polished basalt. Each member wore the opulent velvet robes of the upper credit-caste, their wrist-interfaces glowing with encrypted data streams that calculated real-time market movements.
"We cannot allow this upstart to continue his economic rampage," Lord Vane declared, his trembling fing
