The bells of St. Andrew's Cathedral rang with a solemn yet uplifting rhythm, their echoes weaving through the crisp morning air. Sunlight spilled across the white stone steps, catching on the stained-glass windows that told stories older than the city itself. Lukas stepped out of the sleek black sedan, his hand instinctively reaching back to help Bella and their daughter, Liora, out of the car. Noah followed behind with his quiet, dependable presence, his eyes scanning the street with an almost protective instinct.
For Lukas, Sunday mornings had always been sacred—not merely as a tradition, but as a spiritual anchor in the relentless current of his life. In the world of boardrooms, billion-dollar valuations, and sleepless innovation, this was his sanctuary. Here, inside these stone walls, there were no negotiations, no stock charts—only the sound of voices lifted in prayer.
