Predator in a Suit
By GIANCARLO
Adrian Vale woke before sunrise.
He preferred it that way.
The city at that hour was quiet, stripped of performance. No traffic. No negotiations. No false charm. Just glass towers reflecting pale morning light.
Control began with discipline.
He moved through his penthouse in silence, already reviewing the day in his head before his phone even buzzed. Meetings. Financial reports. A conference call regarding a new acquisition. Clara would have finalized the schedule hours ago.
Right on time, his phone vibrated.
Clara.
"Good morning," she said, efficient as always. "The Anderson file is on your desk. Legal cleared the amendments. The board dinner remains at eight."
"Any changes?"
"None."
Good.
Clara did not make mistakes. That was why she was still here.
He stepped toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. From this height, everything appeared small. Organized. Contained.
It was an illusion.
He knew better than most what chaos looked like.
Two years ago, this same city had whispered about him. Speculated. Watched his name circulate through headlines like smoke. They called it stress. Burnout. Instability.
They did not know the truth.
They did not know about Catherine.
He had once believed loyalty was strength. That love was partnership. That trust was earned and therefore safe.
He had been wrong.
The manipulation had been subtle at first. Adjustments to schedules. "Helpful" suggestions. Isolation disguised as protection. By the time he realized how deeply she had embedded herself into his decisions, it was almost too late.
Financial damage. Reputation damage. Psychological strain.
He had survived it.
But survival changed a man.
Now, he calculated everything.
Every partnership was vetted twice. Every contract reviewed personally. Every person kept at a deliberate distance.
Especially women.
At nine sharp, he entered the boardroom. Conversations stopped instantly. Chairs shifted. Postures straightened.
Power did not need to be announced. It was felt.
He spoke calmly. Never raised his voice. Never repeated himself. When someone attempted to challenge projections, he dismantled the argument without visible effort.
Precision over intimidation.
Fear was useful. Respect was better.
By midafternoon, three deals were secured. One was declined. Another postponed. No wasted movement.
Clara walked beside him through the hallway afterward. "You have a proposal from a mid-level real estate firm requesting partnership exposure for one of the redevelopment districts."
"Decline."
"Without review?"
"If they were significant, we would already know them."
Clara nodded once. She never questioned unnecessarily.
He did not care about smaller players in the market. The city was full of firms trying to climb into relevance. Most failed quietly.
By evening, he returned to the penthouse alone.
No dates. No distractions.
He poured a glass of water and stood once more before the window. The skyline glowed against the darkening sky.
People often assumed wealth eliminated loneliness.
It didn't.
It simply gave you better walls.
He preferred it that way.
Silence was predictable. Silence did not betray you.
His phone buzzed once more.
Clara again.
"One last thing," she said. "Press inquiry about the restructuring rumors. I've handled it."
"Thank you."
There was a pause on the line. Not awkward. Just human.
"You should rest," she added.
"I will."
He ended the call.
Rest was relative.
His mind rarely slowed. It analyzed, recalculated, projected.
He did not believe in fate. Did not believe in coincidence. Lives intersected because of choices. Strategy. Timing.
Nothing more.
Somewhere in the city, thousands of people moved through their own routines, unknown to him, irrelevant to him.
And he preferred it that way.
Attachment created weakness.
Control ensured survival.
Adrian Vale had learned the difference.