"Knock, knock, knock."
The sound was hesitant, a rhythmic tapping that received no answer. Steven, usually a model of professional restraint, finally pushed the heavy oak door open. He found the CEO of the Marcus Group—the heir to Havenport’s most formidable fortune—dead to the world.
Harrison was slumped across his desk, his cheek resting on a mahogany surface that cost more than a family sedan. His laptop was still open, the screen in sleep mode, a small blue light blinking in the corner like a mechanical heartbeat. He had clearly worked until his body simply gave out.
Steven coughed loudly, but Harrison only groaned, shifting his weight.
"Are you planning on working through the morning too?" Steven asked, his voice booming in the quiet office.
"Go away, Steven," Harrison muttered, his eyes flickering open for a second before they glazed over. He saw Steven’s wide, knowing smile and immediately felt a prickle of unease.
"Brak!" Harrison suddenly realized the laptop was open. He slammed the screen shut with a violence that made the desk vibrate.
Steven fought the urge to laugh. He knew exactly what was on that screen. He knew about the private investigator’s feed, the photos from the sky garden, and the digital ghost of Caroline Hale that Harrison had been chasing all night. Steven bit his lip until it hurt, tensing his stomach to keep from exploding into hysterics.
"What do you want?" Harrison stood up, his eyes bloodshot and heavy. "You’re just here to annoy me."
"I’m here because I am your primary assistant," Steven replied, his tone mockingly formal. "Even on a Sunday, I am willing to endure your presence. It’s a calling, really."
"Just say you want me to forget your resignation request," Harrison grumbled, walking past him toward the private suite attached to the office.
"Well, that too. I plan to beg for your forgiveness for stranding you on the sidewalk. Can we... pretend yesterday’s incident never happened?" Steven’s voice was soft, like a customer service rep.
Harrison glanced at him indifferently, then lunged toward his desk as Steven reached for his phone. "Don't touch that!"
Steven froze. "I was only going to say... you left this behind." He pointed to the phone. Harrison snatched it away, his knuckles white.
"Don't bother me," Harrison commanded. "I’m going to sleep all day."
"Actually, you can't."
Harrison stopped at the door, his shoulders tensing.
"On Friday, you rescheduled the marketing division’s quarterly meeting because it conflicted with the Singapore delegation. You moved it to today, eleven o'clock. You can't miss it, Harrison. The board is watching."
Harrison closed his eyes, his head throbbing. "Give me one hour. Tell them the Orange Room."
The cold water of the rainfall shower pelted Harrison’s shoulders, but it couldn't wash away the images from the night before. His mind kept drifting back to the last photo the investigator had sent. It was a shot of the sky garden—Caroline and Daniel. She was sitting on a bench, and he was leaning in, his hand in her hair.
It’s just a contract, Harrison told himself, rubbing his face with his palms. A transaction. Who cares who she cries to?
He stepped into the massive dressing room, selecting a charcoal-grey shirt and a watch from his collection. Even with dark circles under his eyes, the mirror didn't lie; he was a Marcus. His nose was sharp, his chin masculine, his blue eyes framed by long, dark lashes. He looked like the prince of Havenport, even if he felt like a fraud.
A ping from his phone interrupted his thoughts. Your breakfast is ready in the suite, sir. Please enjoy.
"Why a woman?" Harrison asked the empty room, his voice full of an old, ingrained paranoia.
He remembered the incident a year ago—two female servers who had hidden in his closet at the Ritz, taking photos of him while he slept. They had sold them to a tabloid for a fortune. Since then, his rule was absolute: no female staff in his private quarters.
"Call your manager!" Harrison yelled toward the door, not wanting to emerge from the dressing room until he was sure the coast was clear.
"I’m sorry, sir!" a voice squeaked from the suite. "Our regular server is on leave. I’ll leave the tray and exit immediately!"
Harrison waited for the sound of the door clicking shut. He emerged, feeling a sudden, sharp pang of self-loathing. Now I’m a stalker too, he thought, hitting his forehead gently. I hire men to watch her, but I’m afraid of a girl with a breakfast tray.
"Is that all your team has to present?"
The marketing meeting in the Orange Room was a bloodbath. Harrison sat at the head of the table, his arms folded, his eyes closed. To anyone else, he looked asleep. But the marketing leads knew better.
Yvonne, the leader of Team One, stood frozen at the front of the room.
"I don’t care about the font, Yvonne. I don't care about the slide transitions," Harrison said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Let’s talk about content. How is your segmentation based solely on economic class? It’s 2019. Consumer patterns are driven by psychographics and cultural influence, and you’re giving me a textbook theory from 1985. Do your research, or leave the room."
The air in the room felt like it was being sucked out of a vacuum. Harrison’s sardonic smile was the most dreaded sight in the Marcus Tower.
"If there’s nothing better, let’s call the meeting," Harrison concluded.
"I have a proposal."
A man named Bradley stood up. He was the leader of the fourth team, known for being polite, structured, and surprisingly quiet.
"Wow, Bradley’s brave," someone whispered. "He’s going to get fired," another muttered.
Harrison watched him. Bradley didn't use flashy graphics. He spoke about a simple research project—three hundred samples of real consumer perception in Havenport. It was structured, honest, and grounded in reality.
"I like the positioning," Harrison said, his tone softening. "Give me the file by tomorrow morning. If it holds up, we use your strategy."
He dismissed the rest of the room with a wave of his hand. The marketing leads scrambled for the exit, leaving only Bradley behind. The man approached Harrison’s desk.
"May I have a word? Privately?" Bradley asked, glancing at Steven.
Steven caught Harrison’s nod and exited, closing the door behind him.
"I heard you’re getting married," Bradley said, his voice calm.
Harrison’s eyes narrowed. "The information isn't public, Bradley. How did you hear that?"
"Word travels in certain circles," Bradley replied. "I wanted to ask... is your fiancé Caroline Hale?"
The silence in the room became absolute. Harrison stood up, his height giving him a natural advantage. "She is. Why do you ask?"
"I know Caroline well," Bradley said, a small, unreadable smile playing on his lips. "She helped me once. A debt of gratitude I can never truly repay. I hope... I hope you treat her as well as she deserves."
"What is your relationship with her?" Harrison’s voice was ice.
"You'll find out soon enough," Bradley said, tiding his notebook. "She’s a remarkable woman, Harrison. Don't let the Marcus name crush her."
He walked out, leaving the CEO of the Marcus Group standing in a silent room, his jaw clenched. Harrison strode through the executive floor, his face intimidating enough to make his staff press themselves against the walls.
"Steven! Investigate that man!" he barked as he reached his desk.
"Huh? Who? Bradley?" Steven scrambled to keep up. "He’s one of our top analysts, Harrison. What did he do?"
"Just do it! Every connection, every phone record, every time he’s ever crossed paths with Caroline Hale!"
Harrison slammed his laptop open, his mind a whirlwind of jealousy and suspicion.
"Your mood is spiraling, Harrison," Steven said, speaking now as a friend. "You need to take a break. Go for a run. Go to the gym."
"I don't have time for a break," Harrison snapped. Then, he looked up, his eyes flashing with a sudden, impulsive decision. "Steven, buy me a unit in the Sky Park Mansion complex."
Steven froze. "The Sky Park? The residential complex on top of the skyscraper? Harrison, that’s owned by the Ronvia Group. They’re our primary rivals in real estate."
"I don't care who owns it. Buy a unit. Now."
"It’s been sold out for years! And even if a unit is available, we can't just 'pick' one."
"Then find someone who wants to sell. Offer them double the market value," Harrison threatened. "Make sure I have the keys by tonight. I want to meet Caroline there tomorrow."
"Are you serious? You're ignoring the Waterpark construction meeting for a rival's penthouse?" Steven looked at his boss, seeing someone he barely recognized. Harrison had never ignored work. He had never been irrational. Until now.
"Adjust the schedule," Harrison said, his voice final. "Do what I want, or find another job."
Steven sighed, reaching for his phone. "You're out of your mind, Harry. You're going to burn this city down just to see who she's talking to."
Harrison didn't answer. He turned his chair toward the window, looking out at the Havenport skyline, his gaze fixed on the distant heights of Sky Park.
