The morning light poured gently through the sheer curtains of the penthouse suite at The George Hotel, Ikoyi, Lagos . The elegance of the space was matched only by its occupant: Alexander Blackwell, seated in a chair of deep mahogany leather, dressed in a tailored black suit that blended effortlessly with the shadows. The room hummed with quiet luxury—from the custom Persian rug beneath his feet to the whisper of a distant fountain outside his balcony. Silence reigned, yet every object, every breath, every pause felt deliberate. Calculated. Like everything else in Alexander's world.
Sebastian, his ever-present butler, stood a few feet away. Polished as always, his hands behind his back, wearing a composed expression that had served him well over the years. He had seen wars waged from boardrooms and watched empires crumble over brunch. Yet, nothing ever rattled him—except, perhaps, the man seated before him.
Alexander's voice broke the silence. "What of Evelyn?"
