The city was still stretching awake, rubbing the last traces of night from its glassy skyline when Xavier Stone stepped toward the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse. Those massive panes wrapped the space like a panoramic canvas, capturing the city in a breathtaking mosaic of steel, glass, and early-morning haze.
Towers punctured the pale blue dawn sky, their cold facades catching the first light and fracturing it into shards of gold and silver that danced across the rippling Hudson below. The streets far beneath were just beginning to stir: cabs crawled like errant yellow beetles, delivery trucks lumbered along with rhythmic thuds reverberating against brick walls, and lazy spirals of steam drifted up from manhole covers, curling like restless ghosts into the chilled air.
Up here, it was quiet. Controlled. Unmistakably his domain.
The early sunlight struck the polished black marble floors with unforgiving clarity, casting sharp, angular shadows that etched themselves across the walls like a master's brushstrokes. Xavier caught his own reflection in the glass—tall and unyielding, shoulders squared like a soldier ready for battle, every inch of his posture a testament to discipline and precision.
His charcoal slacks were tailored to a knife's edge, hugging lean muscles honed from years of relentless focus. Beneath his perfectly fitted navy vest, the crisp white shirt was immaculate, sleeves pressed and cuffs glinting faintly with the subtle gleam of onyx cufflinks. His tie lay untouched upstairs—today, the loosened collar spoke of a man who ruled his time, not the other way around.
Behind him, the faint scent of freshly brewed espresso lingered, a delicate counterpoint to the cold perfection of the room. It had been set out fifteen minutes earlier—an offering to the relentless demands of the day—but Xavier didn't turn toward it yet. Not quite.
"Prepare the car," he said, voice low and steady, like the calm before a storm. "Wait for me downstairs."
"Yes, sir," came Kellan's reply, crisp and precise from somewhere behind him.
Kellan knew better than to linger in the quiet moments before sunrise. Four years as his personal assistant had taught him exactly when to speak—and when to disappear.
The soft click of polished leather shoes against the marble staircase broke the stillness as Xavier descended. Each step fell in perfect rhythm, measured and unhurried, a metronome marking time in a world that never stopped spinning. His fingers grazed the cool banister—a grounding habit, a rare connection to something real beneath the veneer of power.
Halfway down, movement caught his eye.
Scarlett.
His younger sister was curled into a deep leather armchair, swaddled in a pale gray throw blanket that pooled around her like a soft cloud. A steaming mug rested between her hands, the tendrils of vapor curling lazily toward her face as she gazed out the window opposite his.
Her bare legs tucked beneath her, one foot swinging gently in time with the distant city's rhythm. She wore an oversized sweatshirt, collar slipping off one shoulder to reveal a pale line of skin, and her dark waves were tousled—bedhead-perfect, like she'd just woken from a dream only half remembered.
"Hey, bro," she murmured, voice thick with sleep. "Morning. How was your night?"
Xavier frowned, tension tightening his jaw. "You're just waking up? Who's taking Luna to daycare?"
Scarlett rolled her eyes with a lazy smirk. "Relax. She's ready. I wanted you to say good morning before you vanished into your CEO bubble."
Before he could answer, a smaller voice echoed from the hallway.
"Hi, Daddy."
It was absurd how two simple words could crack the armor he wore like chainmail.
He turned.
There stood Luna, clutching the strap of her tiny backpack with one hand. Her hair was parted neatly into twin braids, each tied with a pale yellow ribbon matching her soft cotton dress. The gap in her smile—where a front tooth had gone missing last month—made her grin all the more brilliant. Her dark eyes, deep and watchful like her mother's, fixed on him with unwavering innocence.
"Hey, kiddo," he said, lowering himself so their eyes met. "How are you today?"
"I'm fine, Daddy." Her voice was light as a breeze through wind chimes on a warm summer day.
He gave her a small smile, the rare softness in his world.
"I'll see you later," he said, brushing a stray braid behind her ear.
That should have been the end of it—clean, efficient, a seamless goodbye.
But Scarlett was watching him again with that look—half exasperation, half accusation.
"The cold CEO act again?" her eyes seemed to say.
"Fine," he muttered under his breath. "I love you, Luna."
Her giggle was instant and pure, bubbling up like a secret he never wanted to forget.
His watch buzzed sharply against his wrist.
Late.
The moment snapped like a taut wire.
He straightened, the weight of the day pulling him back into his armor as he moved toward the door.
It opened before he reached it.
Hank, his driver, stood waiting—tall, lean, his black suit pressed to perfection, posture as sharp as a blade. His expression was unreadable, a mask forged by years in the service of men like Xavier.
"Morning, sir," Hank said, stepping aside with a practiced fluidity.
Outside, the air was crisp and biting—the unmistakable edge of autumn flirting with the promise of winter. The black SUV gleamed in the muted morning light, its surface mirror-polished to a deceptive calm. Beside it, Colton—head of security—stood sentinel, scanning the street with relentless vigilance. His tailored black coat swallowed the bulk of his powerful frame, a man built to bend the world to his will when necessary.
Xavier slid into the backseat, the cool leather pressing under his palm, a faint scent of polish and power lingering in the air. Colton entered moments later, settling opposite him like a shadow made flesh, his presence filling the space with quiet menace.
Kellan was already inside, tablet perched on one knee, tie straight, hair combed to a fault. Without looking up, he said, "You're two minutes behind schedule."
Xavier's lips twitched into a smirk laced with dry sarcasm. "Good morning to you too."
Colton's eyes flicked toward him, a silent reminder: in their world, two minutes could mean the difference between control and chaos.
Kellan finally glanced up. "Blackstone Global's security briefing is at nine. Stonemere Elite Services board meeting at eleven. And yes, sir, last night's reports are in your inbox."
He hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen.
"And?"
"Someone from Stone & Vale Communications' recruitment team insists on a private meeting today. Unscheduled. I told them you don't do that, but they didn't care. Said you'd want to hear it firsthand."
Colton shifted, coat parting just enough to flash the Glock at his side. His eyes met Xavier's—unspoken words warning that this wasn't routine.
"Find out who they are," Xavier ordered, voice low and cold. "Make sure they're worth my time."
Kellan nodded, already typing.
Xavier reached for his phone. "Call my secretary. Send the Bentley to Nightingale diner. I want a Caesar salad and a root beer float. From the chef—no shortcuts."
"Right away, sir."
The SUV rolled forward, the city unfolding like a beast beneath them. Pedestrians clustered on sidewalks, taxis weaved like predators, and a cyclist darted recklessly through traffic.
Chaos. But here, inside this rolling fortress, Xavier's world was ordered, controlled, untouchable.
He exhaled slowly, eyes drifting to the tinted windows, watching the streets blur past. Despite the polished steel and leather luxury around him, a knot twisted deep in his gut. Stone & Vale Communications. The name alone spelled intrigue—and trouble. Unscheduled meetings weren't his style, but this felt different. Like the calm before a storm he couldn't ignore.
And whatever game was being played, Xavier Stone intended to win.