The atmosphere in the boardroom was choking. Not from heat — the air conditioning purred smoothly in the background — but from the overwhelming presence of one man.
Sin.
Seated at the head of the long glass table, he leaned back slightly in his dark designer suit, fingers laced beneath his chin. His icy grey eyes swept across the room like a hawk studying prey, silencing every heartbeat with his gaze alone.
The CEOs and shareholders before him — grown men with power, influence, and reputations — were sweating like boys caught cheating on a test. One of them, Mr. Shaun, was visibly trembling as he clutched his Montblanc pen, knuckles white.
"Mr. Shaun."
Sin's voice cut through the silence like a cold blade. Deep, slow, and laced with his Italian accent — calm but commanding. "The cooperation project. Update."
Shaun nearly dropped his pen. He fumbled for his handkerchief, dabbing at his forehead with shaking hands. "I-It's progressing well, Mr. Sin," he stammered, his voice dry and unsure. "We're already finalizing the legal—"
Sin tilted his head slightly, and Shaun's sentence died in his throat.
"Good," Sin said, eyes narrowing just enough to convey disapproval. "Next time, don't waste my time with fluff."
"Yes, sir," Shaun murmured, almost inaudibly.
Sin scanned the room again. "Anyone else?"
Silence.
He could feel their discomfort, almost smell their fear — like prey frozen before a predator. One man opened his mouth, thought better of it, and looked down at the notepad in front of him.
"Meeting's over," Sin said coolly, rising from his chair. "You may leave."
There was a sudden burst of movement as chairs scraped against the marble floor and polished shoes scrambled toward the door. Within seconds, the room was empty — except for Sin.
He stayed still for a moment, then leaned his head back, resting against the sleek leather of his chair. His jaw tensed slightly. The silence was peaceful… until the door swung open.
No knock.
Only one man had the audacity to enter Sin's space unannounced.
"Hey, buddy," said Charles casually, strolling in with his usual crooked grin and no trace of fear.
Sin didn't bother to look up at first. "You're lucky it's you."
"I know," Charles chuckled, hands buried in his pockets. "But seriously, I'm starving. Let's hit that hotel of yours. There's a new dish the chef's been bragging about. I'm dying to try it."
That got Sin's attention. He turned slowly, one eyebrow raised. "Really?"
Charles nodded. "Swear. Some truffle-oyster pasta thing with gold flakes or whatever rich people eat these days. You'll like it."
Sin pushed up from his chair without a word, grabbing his phone and keys. Charles smirked, following him as they walked side by side down the hallway.
Outside, the matte-black Lamborghini was already waiting. Charles tossed the keys up and caught them mid-air with ease. "I'm driving."
Sin didn't argue. He just slid into the passenger seat as the beast of a car roared to life.
As they sped off, the city of New York blurred around them — skyscrapers, honking cabs, flashing lights. But inside that Lambo, it was just two men in the shadows of power… heading toward fate.