The mansion stood like a king among buildings—tall, proud, silent, too silent.
Inside the master bedroom, where white-and-gold luxury dripped from every corner, Anthony sat on his bed staring at nothing. Thirty years old, handsome, powerful, rich enough to buy three countries and still have change left for suya.
Yet sleep had rejected him like a bad loan application.
He sighed deeply and checked the time.
12:29 a.m.
He froze.
Here we go again.
He did not even bother closing his eyes because he already knew what would happen.
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