The car stopped precisely at 12:14 PM.
Not early.
Not late.
Precise.
Leah stepped out beneath the towering glass structure of Veridian Tower.
The building rose like a mirror into the sky, its exterior reflecting the harsh midday light in fractured brilliance. It was beautiful.
And blinding.
She squinted slightly as the sun bounced off the glass panels.
The entrance doors opened before she reached them.
Inside, the lobby was cool and silent.
Too silent.
No guests.
No staff moving about.
Just a single receptionist seated behind a polished white desk.
"Miss Leah," the woman greeted with a polite smile. "Please proceed to the private elevator. Penthouse level."
No confirmation requested.
No verification.
As if they had been expecting her — and only her.
Leah's steps slowed almost imperceptibly.
"Is the luncheon already underway?" she asked.
"It will begin upon your arrival."
The phrasing made her stomach tighten.
She walked toward the elevator.
The doors were already open.
Inside, the mirrored walls reflected her small figure back at her — composed, but increasingly uneasy.
The doors slid shut.
The ascent began.
The elevator rose smoothly, silently.
She checked the time.
12:16 PM.
Her pulse quickened.
The ride felt too long.
When the doors finally opened, bright light flooded in.
The penthouse level was unfinished.
No interior walls.
No ceiling panels.
Just exposed steel beams and vast open space — and glass walls on three sides.
And at the far end—
A long table set for one.
No food.
No drink.
Just a single chair.
Leah stepped out slowly.
The elevator doors closed behind her with a soft mechanical finality.
She turned slightly.
No button panel inside.
It had been controlled externally.
Her chest tightened.
The air here was hotter. Brighter. The sun poured through the glass unfiltered, the light reflecting off the polished floor and metallic surfaces.
Her eyes adjusted.
Then—
Applause.
Slow.
Measured.
Deliberate.
She turned toward the sound.
From behind a steel support column stepped the rival.
Impeccably dressed. Calm. Hands loosely clasped behind his back.
"Miss Leah," he said smoothly. "You are punctual. I appreciate that."
The world inside her shifted instantly.
She recognized him.
The political rival.
The one who had smiled too politely at the event.
The one Izana had watched without looking.
Her voice remained steady.
"This was your invitation."
"Yes."
He gestured lightly toward the empty chair.
"Please."
"I think I'll stand."
A faint smile curved his mouth.
"Of course."
From the shadows along the perimeter, men stepped forward.
Not rushing.
Not aggressive.
Just… present.
Blocking exits.
Positioned near structural beams.
Near the elevator.
Near the stairwell access.
Leah's heartbeat accelerated, but she forced herself to breathe evenly.
"You said good faith," she said quietly.
"I meant it."
"In what way?"
He stepped slightly closer, though still leaving a respectful distance.
"I have no intention of harming you."
"Then why am I here?"
The clock mounted temporarily on one of the support pillars ticked forward.
12:17 PM.
He glanced at it briefly.
"Because," he said softly, "sometimes the only way to speak to a king… is through what he protects."
The words settled cold in her stomach.
"You're using me."
"Not yet."
Her gaze sharpened. "And if I refuse to cooperate?"
His expression did not change.
"You misunderstand, Miss Leah. You are already cooperating."
Her hands clenched slightly at her sides.
"Let me leave."
"I will."
"Now."
A slight tilt of his head.
"Not yet."
The light in the room seemed almost oppressive now — glaring, sharp, reflected in every direction.
She took a small step backward.
Two men shifted subtly to close the distance behind her.
Her pulse pounded.
This wasn't a negotiation.
It was positioning.
"You're waiting for him," she realized.
"Yes."
"Why?"
His eyes sharpened faintly.
"Because I want him tired."
Across the city—
Izana's eyes snapped open.
The shift was violent.
Not gradual.
Not gentle.
His chest rose sharply as if pulled from deep water.
Silence filled the room.
The bed beside him was cold.
Empty.
His hand moved instantly across the sheets.
Nothing.
His body went still.
Too still.
His senses sharpened.
The air felt wrong.
He sat up slowly.
The blindfold lay discarded on the nightstand.
His vision adjusted painfully to the dim light filtering through the curtains.
His pulse was steady.
But something else—
A hollow.
A tension.
He stood immediately.
Crossed the room.
Opened the door.
The hallway outside was quiet.
A guard straightened upon seeing him.
"Boss—."
"Where is she."
Not a question.
A demand.
The guard hesitated half a second too long.
"There was… a delivery this morning. An invitation addressed to her."
The air shifted.
"She left around eleven fifteen."
Izana's jaw tightened.
"Alone?"
"Yes, sir. She declined escort."
Silence.
The curse stirred faintly beneath his skin.
Not flaring.
Waiting.
"Destination."
"Veridian Tower."
The name dropped like a blade.
Izana turned immediately, walking with lethal calm toward the main corridor.
"Prepare the car."
"Yes, Boss."
His steps were controlled.
Measured.
But the temperature in the mansion seemed to drop as he passed.
Back at the penthouse—
Leah stood near the glass wall now, light blazing across the skyline behind her.
The rival watched her carefully.
"You timed this," she said quietly.
"Yes."
"For what?"
He glanced toward the sun overhead.
"For peak conditions."
Her stomach dropped.
Peak conditions.
Light.
Her mind raced.
"You're not trying to kill him," she realized slowly.
"No."
"Then what?"
He stepped closer.
Not touching.
Not threatening.
Just close enough for his words to land clearly.
"I want him to choose."
"Choose what?"
"You."
Her breath hitched.
"And when he does," the rival continued calmly, "he will not survive it."
Below, far beneath the tower, traffic moved normally.
People walked.
The city continued unaware.
In the distance—
Sirens.
Not emergency.
Escort.
Fast.
Approaching.
The rival's lips curved slightly.
"Right on time."
Leah's heart slammed against her ribs.
"He'll come," she whispered.
"Yes."
"And he won't think."
The wind shifted slightly at this height, brushing against exposed beams.
The sun burned directly overhead.
Bright.
Unforgiving.
Perfect.
The rival stepped back, giving her space once more.
"I told you," he said quietly. "You are not harmed."
Her throat tightened.
"But he will be."
Far below—
A black car sped through an intersection without slowing.
Inside, Izana sat perfectly still.
His blindfold was in his hand.
Not yet tied.
His eyes were open.
Enduring the light.
Enduring the pain.
He did not blink.
He did not speak.
But the curse beneath his skin—
It was no longer waiting.
And above, at the top of the glass tower, twelve seventeen had passed.
But the real countdown had just begun.