Chapter 9: Haunting Thoughts and Heated Rivalries
The sharp scent of black coffee mingled with the cool, sterile air of the 55th floor office, perched like a fortress above the city skyline. King Albanian sat behind the monolithic obsidian desk, eyes trained on the documents before him—but his mind was far from the numbers and forecasts.
He'd barely touched the report on the merger proposal.
For the fifth time that morning, he turned his head toward the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him. His reflection stared back—sharp suit, immaculate features, cold eyes. A mask. Beneath that mask, chaos brewed. He had lived the last few years like a ghost among the living: sterile, emotionless, untouched. Until her.
That woman.
The mysterious vixen who barged into his hotel suite like fate in heels. She had drugged him—not with poison or chemicals, but with the inexplicable calm she carried in her presence. The scent of her skin still clung to the corners of his thoughts like a fever. Her voice, drunk and defiant. Her touch, soft and unintentional. Her kiss…
His fists clenched around his pen.
She had kissed him.
Not even his brother Kwok's endless tests—sending women night after night to tempt him—had ever broken his carefully sealed desire. Not until her.
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in," he said, his voice sharper than intended.
Wayne, his sharply dressed secretary, entered with a tray in hand. "Lunch, sir. Brought it up myself since you haven't touched breakfast either."
King didn't respond.
Wayne placed the tray down and hesitated. "And… just a reminder. You have the meeting with the Barclay Group in forty-five minutes."
King nodded absently. His eyes never left the window.
Wayne cleared his throat. "Sir, this meeting is a show of strength. The Board sees it as your way of reaffirming control. Your grandfather might—"
"I know what it means," King snapped.
Wayne stiffened. "Understood."
King exhaled. "Sorry."
The younger man gave a respectful nod. "No worries, sir. Would you like me to brief you?"
King stood abruptly. "No. I'll handle it."
The moment Wayne left, King moved to the side room and splashed cold water on his face. He stared into the mirror. What kind of man loses himself over one woman?
A stranger.
But no matter how many connections he called, how many surveillance footages Morgan combed through, or how many high-level tech experts he assigned to decrypt the hotel logs—she was gone.
No trace.
It wasn't just disturbing. It was impossible. He was King Albanian, a world-class tracker who once found a rogue arms dealer in the deserts of Libya within forty-eight hours. But this woman?
She'd vanished like mist.
Morgan had confirmed it. There was only one person capable of erasing herself that completely.
Brown.
The legendary ghost-turned-tracker, rumored to be a woman, a shadow in the wind who left no footprint behind. The very name had been whispered in the criminal underworld and among elite intelligence teams. King had hunted her for years. And now, his instincts screamed one truth:
The woman in his bed… was Brown.
But why would Brown, of all people, be mixed up in his personal war with Kwok?
His phone buzzed. A text. From a blocked number.
> "You broke the contract, you filthy liar. You'll pay for this. I swear it. —S."
King narrowed his eyes. He didn't recognize the sender. But the venom in the message sparked something darker within him. A threat to her?
He made a mental note to track the source.
---
Meanwhile, miles across the city, Valerie stirred groggily from a deep sleep on the hotel suite's balcony.
The sun was blinding. Her head throbbed with a dull ache, but the hangover wasn't what jolted her fully awake—it was the vibration of her phone.
Six missed calls.
All from Mother Stepmother.
Valerie frowned, swiping to check the messages.
"You ungrateful child! Where did you run off to?"
"You better come back here, Valerie, or I swear I'll drag you out myself!"
"Do you know what you've done to Sophia?!"
Valerie let the phone drop onto her lap and looked out over the railing. The city buzzed beneath her, uncaring of the storm brewing in her life. She took a deep breath.
She didn't regret her decision last night.
Maybe she was drunk. Maybe it was foolish.
But for once, she had chosen her own path.
Even if that path led her straight into the arms of a man far more dangerous than she imagined.
King Albanian…
The name alone sent a shiver down her spine. She had no idea who he truly was until the morning after, when she glimpsed a glimpse of his ID on the table as she fled. And now she held a bracelet—his bracelet—tight in her purse. The one he never took off.
She didn't mean to steal it. But in her haze, she grabbed it while collecting her scattered belongings. It was instinctual, as though the bracelet called to her.
Now it lay in her possession, the symbol of a night that would change everything.
Especially thinking about how gentle he is, he didn't take advantage of her despite her being drunk and almost naked.
Unless a man is not potent, seeing her perfect figure could drive anyone crazy.
---
Back in the office, King entered the conference room with practiced calm. The Board members stood out of respect, the executives of the Barclay Group included.
His grandfather's company, the Albanian Group, worth over $500 billion in assets alone, had been his birthright—but he had walked away from it years ago. Built his own empire from scratch. And now, ironically, he had returned—not for power, not for revenge, but for control.
Control of what his brother had begun poisoning from the inside.
Kwok was lazy, greedy, and ambitious in the worst way. He never worked a day in his life, yet demanded the inheritance King never wanted.
But now that he had a reason—her—King would claim everything, including the legacy.
Even if he had to burn the world down to do it.
He is back to the Albanian Group for good, he have to go talk to the Barclay's group about Albanian group.