Billionaire Namdi had mastered the art of winning.
At just 32, he was already a name that echoed through boardrooms, business headlines, and elite gatherings. His company dominated industries. His decisions moved markets. And his lifestyle—well, it was the kind people only saw in movies.
But on this particular morning, standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass window of his penthouse, none of that mattered.
Below him, the city roared. Horns blared endlessly. Cars crawled like restless ants. People rushed as if time itself were chasing them. Even the sky looked tired, faded behind a thin layer of pollution.
Namdi exhaled slowly, loosening his tie.
“I’m tired,” he muttered.
Not physically. That kind of tiredness sleep could fix. This one sat deeper.
A knock came on the door.
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