In front of the mansion, a row of guards stood firm, each with a holstered gun at their waist. Their gazes were sharp, devoid of emotion, as if they weren't human but machines programmed for a single purpose: to guard the boundaries that must never be crossed.
Not far from there, a black van sat in silence. Inside, a squad of armed men waited, fingers hovering over their triggers, ready to act in a matter of seconds. Several security vehicles bearing an Australian company's logo lurked in the dark corners, their presence barely noticeable but enough to send an unspoken warning: this place was not meant for just anyone.
In the shadows, more personnel lay in wait. They weren't just guards; they were silent sentinels, watching without blinking. To an ordinary person, they were invisible, mere illusions in the night's darkness. But to Navies, they were real. Always there. Always watching.
The mansion, which had always appeared to be a tranquil private residence, was nothing of the sort. It was a fortress. A command center guarded more tightly than one could ever imagine.
Why was he only realizing it now? Or had he simply chosen to ignore it all this time?
Navies took a deep breath, pushing aside the questions racing through his mind. Now was not the time for doubt. Now was the time to prepare.
The bathroom door swung open, releasing a wave of warm steam that filled the room, carrying the scent of soap and lingering moisture. Navies stepped out, a white towel wrapped loosely around his waist. Droplets of water trailed down his taut skin, reflecting the golden light from the chandelier above.
He rubbed his face with both hands, trying to shake off the drowsiness still clinging to his eyes. His steps were steady as he made his way toward the large glass wardrobe in the corner of the room.
Inside the bedroom, Balqis was already waiting.
She stood upright beside the flawlessly arranged bed. Laid out on it was an ensemble carefully selected—an Armani black suit, a crisp white shirt pressed to perfection, a dark silk tie, and a Rolex watch gleaming under the crystal lights. A pair of polished Tom Ford leather shoes completed the impeccable look.
"Mr. Navies, your attire is ready," Balqis said, her tone flat yet certain.
Navies gave a slight nod, reaching for the shirt and slipping it on with practiced ease. His fingers swiftly buttoned it up, one by one, to the very top. Without needing to be asked, Balqis stepped closer, taking the tie in her slender fingers and expertly fastening the knot to perfection.
Once he donned the jacket, Navies stood before the massive mirror. He took in his own reflection—his chiseled jawline, the sharp contours of his face, the dark eyes radiating authority. A leader who would not waver.
"Your appearance must reflect strength and intelligence, sir," Balqis remarked, stepping back to assess the final result.
Navies did not respond. He simply took a deep breath before striding toward the door.
His steps were firm. Unwavering. Fearless.
In the long, silent corridor, the morning sunlight streamed through the towering windows, casting golden patterns across the gleaming marble floor. A soft breeze whispered through the cracks, carrying the fresh scent of dew and earth washed clean by dawn.
From where he stood, vast plantations stretched as far as the eye could see, framing his grand estate with a serene expanse of green. Rows of trees swayed gently, as if welcoming the new day.
Navies paused for a moment. His gaze swept over the landscape that had been a part of his life for so long. But today felt different. This was no ordinary day. This was the beginning of something far greater. The first step toward the fate that had long awaited him.
Without hesitation, he moved forward once more.
On the driveway, a black Rolls-Royce Phantom was already waiting. The engine hummed softly, barely more than a whisper, ready to carry its master to his destined path.
A chauffeur in a crisp suit opened the door with a graceful motion. Not a single word was spoken—only rigid professionalism.
Navies stepped inside, letting himself sink into the comfort of the genuine leather that lined the car's interior. The door shut firmly behind him, sealing off the outside world in an instant.
The journey to the city center was silent. A light drizzle danced on the asphalt, forming a faint shimmer beneath the glow of streetlights. Droplets cascaded down, breaking the reflections of towering skyscrapers, creating a kaleidoscope of flickering lights on the rain-slicked streets.
That night, the city felt eerily empty. Not because it lacked life, but as if it was making way for the silent procession of luxury vehicles gliding through the darkness. High-performance engines purred in low tones, blending seamlessly with the city's quiet rhythm.
The convoy's security was tight—tighter than that of a head of state. Armored vehicles moved in hidden formations, unseen eyes watched from afar, and even above, an unmarked helicopter hovered high, surveilling every possible threat.
But their strategy wasn't just about brute force. It was a perfectly crafted illusion. To avoid drawing attention, the convoy split into several groups, each taking a different route, carving unpredictable patterns through the city. No fixed path. No discernible pattern.
Only one destination mattered.
NFC Tower.
And there, at the top of a skyscraper piercing the night sky, something awaited.
Three black cars came to a stop with impeccable precision. Their wheels glided over the wet pavement almost soundlessly. The drizzle continued, creating a soft rhythm as raindrops struck the gleaming surfaces of the vehicles under the streetlights.
For a moment, everything stood still.
As if time itself was holding its breath.
Then, almost simultaneously, the doors opened. From within, the passengers emerged in perfect coordination, each one shielded beneath identical black umbrellas.
There was no room for onlookers to catch a glimpse of their faces. No chance for anyone to recognize who truly led the procession.
Under the shadows of their umbrellas, three figures walked in unison. Their strides were steady. Unwavering.
Around them, security personnel moved like shadows, their eyes sharp, scanning every corner for threats.
Far in the distance, hidden observers strained to catch a glimpse, desperate to unravel the mystery behind the seamless formation. But all they could do was guess, forced to grapple with the confusion meticulously designed from the start.
Which of the three was the real power behind it all? Was Kein not the true owner of NFC Group?
No one could say for sure.
Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
They entered the building without a word, their footsteps nearly silent against the gleaming marble floor. The entire area was eerily quiet—not because it was deserted, but because everything had been arranged in advance. Employees had been sent home early, leaving only the security teams stationed at every corner.
In the main lobby, crystal chandeliers cast a dim glow, their light refracting against the towering glass walls, stretching long shadows across the polished floor. Surveillance cameras tracked their every movement, yet no one dared to interfere. They were neither guests nor intruders. They were part of an unspoken system, a force operating behind the scenes, far from the public eye.
By the main elevator, two men in black suits stood rigid, earpieces in place, their hands poised for action at a moment's notice. One of them gave a slight nod before pressing a button on a concealed panel. The elevator doors slid open in silence, revealing a spacious interior lined with smooth gold plating.
Without hesitation, they stepped inside.
As the doors sealed shut, the silence deepened, filled only by the steady rhythm of controlled breathing and the faint hum of the elevator ascending. The digital display changed rapidly—10... 15... 20... 25..., until it finally stopped at 30.
"Ting."