The office was quiet again.
Too quiet.
Ethan stepped back into Riley's private office, the doors sliding shut behind him with a soft hiss. His eyes immediately went to the wall monitor.
A live feed showed the black car pulling away from Styles Industries, shrinking as it merged into Crescent City traffic.
Riley Styles stood before it, hands clasped behind his back.
He hadn't moved since Ethan left with Stephanie.
Ethan adjusted his glasses slowly.
"…You know," he said, tone light, "most bosses don't personally track the departure of new hires."
Riley didn't turn around.
"I'm monitoring a security feed," he replied flatly.
"Of course," Ethan said. "Purely professional concern. For… traffic."
Riley remained unfazed, eyes fixed on the screen until the car disappeared completely. Only then did he reach out and switch the monitor off.
Silence followed.
Ethan sighed inwardly.
Completely hopeless, he thought.
Shifting gears, Ethan straightened his posture and stepped forward, professionalism locking into place.
"Sir," he said, "your schedule for today hasn't been fully done."
Riley turned, expression neutral. "Proceed."
"At six hundred hours," Ethan began, "you'll be meeting with the President of Crescent City regarding industrial expansion and national defense contracts."
Riley nodded once. Expected.
"At twenty hundred," Ethan continued, "a private investor requested an audience. A well-established businessman with interests in logistics, infrastructure, and international trade. He's expressed strong interest in partnering with Styles Industries."
Riley's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Background?"
"Clean on paper," Ethan replied. "Very clean. Too clean, some would say."
Riley considered this for a brief moment.
"Name?"
Ethan paused — just long enough to be deliberate.
"He goes by Mr. Vale."
Riley nodded. "Schedule it."
Ethan hesitated, then added carefully, "Security will be tightened. This meeting is… off the usual channels."
"Good," Riley said. "I prefer it that way."
Ethan inclined his head.
As he turned to leave, he glanced once more at the darkened monitor where Stephanie's car had been moments ago.
Something was moving.
And for the first time that day, Ethan wasn't sure which direction the danger was coming from.
———
The rain hadn't eased.
If anything, it had grown heavier — thick sheets of water crashing against the windshield of the armored convoy as it rolled through Crescent City's government district.
Riley Styles sat in the back seat with Ethan, posture straight, expression carved from stone. Outside, the Presidential Complex loomed through the storm — floodlights cutting through the rain like watchful eyes.
Security waved them through without delay.
Inside the compound, warmth replaced the cold rain, but Riley didn't slow. He walked with the same controlled precision he carried onto battlefields years ago. Suits turned. Conversations hushed. Even men used to power felt it when he passed.
The President of Crescent City rose to greet him.
"Mr. Styles," the man said, extending a hand. "You move quickly."
Riley accepted the handshake, firm and brief.
"I don't waste time."
The President smiled thinly. "That much is clear."
They sat.
Outside, thunder rolled.
Inside, discussions turned sharp and deliberate — defense contracts, industrial expansion, border security, the quiet threats no one ever said aloud. Riley spoke little, but when he did, it was precise. Informed. Uncomfortably thorough.
The President studied him carefully.
'This isn't just a businessman', he thought.
'This is a man who knows war.'
---
Across the city, another car pulled to a stop beneath flickering streetlights.
'I wonder how mum is doing? I was away for quite some time'
Stephanie stepped out into the storm as she thought, rain immediately soaking through her already damp clothes, but she didn't even notice as she was worried for her mum. But one of Riley's men opened an umbrella over her, escorting her toward the modest house.
Warm light spilled from the windows.
She froze when she saw him.
Taylor sat beside her mother on the couch, a blanket wrapped carefully around her shoulders. A cup of steaming tea rested in her hands. He looked up instantly when the door opened.
"Steph," he said, relief washing over his face. "You're back."
Her chest tightened.
"I—thank you," she said, stepping inside. "For staying. I didn't know how long I'd be gone."
Taylor shrugged lightly. "Someone had to make sure she didn't try to stand up again."
Her mother smiled weakly. "He wouldn't listen to me."
Stephanie laughed softly and knelt beside her, taking her hand. The warmth, the normalcy — it grounded her in a way nothing else had all day.
After the guards left, she told them everything.
The building.
The machines.
The size of it all.
Riley's office.
The job.
Her mother listened in stunned silence.
Taylor listened too — quietly, carefully.
"A weapons company?" her mother finally asked.
Stephanie nodded. "The biggest in the country."
Taylor forced a smile. "That's… impressive."
But something twisted in his chest.
Weapons. Power. Riley Styles.
None of it sat right.
Yet when he looked at Stephanie — her eyes brighter than they'd been in weeks, hope flickering despite exhaustion — he swallowed the unease.
"I'm proud of you," he said gently.
She smiled at him, grateful.
He didn't tell her about the feeling settling deep in his gut — the sense that stepping into Riley Styles' world meant stepping into something dangerous.
Outside, thunder cracked violently overhead.
"That will be all then"
Back at the Presidential Complex, Riley rose from his seat as he said cooly.
The meeting was over.
As he turned to leave with Ethan, the President spoke again.
"Please hold on Mr. Styles, there is one more thing that you have to know"
Hearing this, Riley quickly paused in his steps but didn't turn to face the president again. The president didn't mind though as he continued.
"Mr. Styles," he said carefully. "Crescent City is not short on enemies. And I think this country may just go through there brutality again for the elections next year."
Hearing this, Riley finally turned to face the president as he said with sheer confidence.
"Mr. President, I'm counting on it."
The storm raged on.
And somewhere between power and shelter, two lives continued moving toward the same inevitable collision.