The King's Castle had ceased to be a sanctuary; it had become a gilded cage, and Sarah was its unwilling zookeeper. Her uncle and cousin had shed any pretense of being guests and had fully embraced the role of parasitic squatters. The grand living room, once a symbol of impossible luxury, was now their permanent domain. The enormous flat-screen television blared action movies and sports channels from dawn until the early hours of the morning, the sound punctuated by the electronic pings and explosive sound effects of Jason's video games. Empty beer bottles, greasy pizza boxes, and crumpled chip bags littered the marble coffee tables.
Sarah's attempts to impose order were met with lazy indifference from her relatives and outright hostility from her mother. "They're just enjoying themselves, Sarah! Stop being such a spoilsport," Amanda would snap, settling onto the couch with a glass of wine to watch Jason play his game. Last night, they had thrown an impromptu party, inviting a dozen of Jason's friends over without so much as a word to Sarah. She had come home from a grueling day at work to find strangers in her swimming pool and loud music thumping through her home. She was exhausted, a prisoner in a palace she didn't even want, paid for by a phantom benefactor while her real problems festered under her own roof.
Thousands of miles away, in a sterile boardroom high above the streets of London, Aaron sat in quiet observation. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and fear. A dozen executives, the top brass of one of the UK's most powerful investment banks, sat rigidly in their leather chairs, their eyes fixed on Natalie.
"Your profit margins over the last two quarters have been exemplary," Natalie began, her voice cool and even as she paced slowly before the floor-to-ceiling windows. "Mr. Turner is pleased with the returns. However," she paused, letting the word hang in the air, "it has come to our attention that your methods for achieving these profits have been… ethically questionable." She stopped and turned to face them, her gaze sweeping across their anxious faces. "There have been violations. Insider trading, market manipulation, and the deliberate suppression of negative reports to inflate stock values. These activities are not only illegal but sloppy. They draw unnecessary attention."
A portly man at the end of the table cleared his throat. "Miss Stirling, I assure you, our practices are all within the accepted norms of competitive finance.".
Natalie's expression didn't change, but her voice acquired a diamond-hard edge. "The bank sets the norms. You do not. These violations will be dealt with. The individuals responsible will be removed, and the paper trails will be erased. This is your only warning. If we have to have this conversation again, every single one of you will be removed from your positions, and your careers will cease to exist. Am I understood?". A wave of pale, frightened nods was her answer.
Back at the hotel, Aaron loosened his tie as he entered the penthouse suite. "You're very good at that," he commented.
Natalie, who had followed him in, merely nodded. "It is my function, sir. Now, please change into something more casual."
Aaron paused. "Are we going to another meeting?".
For the second time since he had known her, a genuine, if fleeting, smile touched her lips. "No, sir. You have been working nonstop since you inherited Mr. Williams's estate. You have toured farms, confronted boards, and navigated complex financial issues. Now, it's time for you to have some fun."
A short while later, they stood in a car dealership that looked more like an art gallery. Sleek, exotic machines gleamed under spotlights on polished white floors. "The bank owns a controlling interest in this dealership," Natalie explained. "My only instruction for you is this: do not be cheap. You are a billionaire. You are expected to act like one on occasion. Buy as many cars as you want."
A saleswoman with a practiced, predatory smile approached them. "Good afternoon! May I interest you in the new Bugatti? It's our finest model, a true statement piece for a man of distinction.".
Aaron glanced at the ostentatious vehicle and shook his head. "No, thank you. I'm just looking.".
She persisted, trying to steer him toward a garish, gold-plated Lamborghini. "But sir, this is the car that says you've arrived! You must have it!".
Aaron's patience wore thin. "Thank you, but I can make my own choices," he said, his tone polite but firm. The saleswoman's smile faltered, replaced by a look of disdain. She scoffed quietly and turned away, moving on to what she likely deemed more promising clientele. Aaron's eyes, meanwhile, settled on a vehicle in the corner—an Aston Martin DB11, painted in a deep, understated shade of magnetic silver. It was elegant, powerful, but not desperate for attention. He pointed. "That one.".
Minutes later, he was behind the wheel, the engine purring with restrained power. Natalie directed him out of the city, to a long, cleared stretch of private road owned by one of the bank's subsidiaries. "Here, sir," she said from the passenger seat. "You can go all out.". Aaron grinned, a true, unburdened grin, and pressed his foot to the floor. The car surged forward, pinning them to their seats as the English countryside blurred into a vibrant streak of green and gold.
That evening, they dined at a three-Michelin-star restaurant where the waiting list was over a year long. After dinner, they attended a private concert, and walked through a closed-to-the-public museum exhibit. As they were heading back to the hotel, Aaron paused. "Can I get my wife a souvenir? Something to bring back for her.".
Natalie smiled. "I know the best way to get something truly unique, sir.".
She took him to a discreet, invitation-only auction held in a historic London manor. The room was filled with the quiet, confident hum of old money and new power. "The items here are often one-of-a-kind, with impeccable provenance," Natalie explained in a low voice. "Simply raise your paddle to bid. Don't worry about the price." Just then, her phone buzzed with an urgent message. "Excuse me for a moment, sir. I must take this." She slipped out of the room.
A moment later, a woman with kind eyes and an elegant silver dress took the empty seat beside him. "First time at one of these?" she asked with a gentle smile.
Aaron turned, slightly surprised. "Was it that obvious?".
She laughed softly. "A little. You don't have that predatory look most of the regulars get when the bidding starts. You seem… like you're just observing. I am, mostly. It's my first time at an auction. I came to get a gift for someone.".
"This is certainly the place for it," she said. The auction began, and a series of paintings and sculptures were sold for astronomical sums. Aaron saw nothing that felt right for Sarah. Then, a rare, intricate Fabergé egg was presented. The woman beside him took a sharp breath, her interest piqued. She began bidding, her paddle rising confidently, but soon the price climbed beyond her reach. With a disappointed sigh, she lowered her paddle and gave up.
On impulse, Aaron raised his paddle. "Twenty-eight million," the auctioneer called out, his voice echoing in the stunned silence. The gavel fell. "Sold!" Aaron had won the item. A few lots later, the perfect gift for Sarah appeared: a breathtaking diamond necklace known as 'The Star of the Serene Sea,' famous for its flawless, deep blue centerpiece. Without hesitation, Aaron entered the bidding. When the price hit forty million, he simply said, "Fifty million," in a clear voice. The entire room turned to stare at the unknown man who was bidding with such casual, overwhelming force. He won it easily.
After the auction, the items were brought to him. He turned to the woman in the silver dress and handed her the box containing the Fabergé egg. "This is for you," he said simply.
She stared at him, utterly speechless. "I… I can't accept this. It's worth a fortune!".
"You seemed to want it," Aaron said with a shrug. She finally found her voice. "Thank you. My name is Eleanor Vance, by the way. I'm staying at the Savoy just down the road. Perhaps you could come visit, and I could thank you properly.".
Aaron smiled warmly. "I think my wife wouldn't be too happy with that, but I appreciate the offer.".
Her eyes lit up with understanding. "So that's who the other gift was for," she said, gesturing to the necklace box. "She's a very lucky woman. Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Mr…?". "Turner," Aaron supplied.
When they returned to the hotel, Aaron felt a lightness he hadn't experienced in years. "Thank you, Natalie," he said sincerely as they stood in the suite's living room. "For today."
"It was my pleasure, sir," she replied, her expression softening almost imperceptibly.
Feeling a renewed sense of purpose, Aaron decided to call his wife. She picked up on the third ring. "Aaron? Is everything okay?".
"Everything's fine. I just wanted to check in. How are you?".
"I'm fine," she said, but her voice was tight, agitated, despite her claim. "Just busy with work.".
"Is something wrong, Sarah? You sound stressed.".
"No, nothing's wrong," she insisted, a little too quickly. "How is your friend?".
Aaron felt a pang of guilt over the lie. "He's doing better, but the doctors say he still needs some time to recover. I might have to stay a little while longer.".
"Oh. Okay. Well, take care of yourself," she said, her voice distant. She hung up before he could say anything else. Aaron lowered the phone, the joy of his day evaporating instantly. He knew her tone. He knew that forced nonchalance. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. He walked over to where Natalie was reviewing their itinerary for the next day.
"Natalie," he said, his voice firm. "Cancel Zurich. We have to go back home. Now.".