Late Afternoon – Cinder Square
A sleek white sedan rolled to a smooth stop in front of the towering glass structure of Sterling Enterprises, its chro emblem glinting in the sunlight. The heart of Cinder Square bustled with energy, but the mont the car door opened, the noise seed to hush.
Kenan stepped out, his presence commanding even without effort. His dark tailored suit carried quiet authority, but his calm eyes and steady pace reflected a man who never let wealth corrode humility. Two bodyguards followed closely behind, alert yet disciplined.
Kenan lifted his gaze, following the glass façade of the skyscraper from the ground all the way to its glinting peak.
"Sterling Enterprises..." he murmured to himself. His lips curved faintly as if in thought, and then he strode inside.
The polished marble of the lobby glead beneath his shoes. The receptionist rose instantly, her voice polite and welcoming.
"Greetings, Mr. Kenan. Welco to Cinder Square. The Chairman is expecting you on the top floor. Please take the private elevator on your left."
Kenan inclined his head. "Thank you."
Chairman? The word lingered in his thoughts. He was one of the wealthiest n in his holand, yet the title still carried a certain weight here in Star Harbor.
But Kenan was not a man consud by status. He rembered his roots, the soil of his country, and he carried it in his walk. Wealth had given him reach, but not arrogance.
As he entered the glass-walled elevator, his gaze drifted outward. The view stretched across Star Harbor—streets bustling, towers glittering, the distant sea shimring under the fading sun. He exhaled softly.
"This city is sothing else."
The elevator chid, doors sliding open onto the top floor.
Waiting at the threshold was June. Elegant in her business attire, tablet in hand, she bowed respectfully.
"Hello, Mr. Kenan. Please follow —Boss is waiting in his cabin."
Kenan nodded and stepped forward, his bodyguards halting instinctively.
June knocked gently on the heavy office door.
"Boss, Mr. Kenan is here."
A calm voice answered from within.
"Send him in."
June gestured, then bowed once more before slipping away down the hall. Kenan glanced at his bodyguards, giving a subtle signal. They remained outside as he entered alone.
The office was expansive, the glass wall behind the desk offering a breathtaking view of the city stretching into the sea.
And at the desk sat Miles.
For a heartbeat, Kenan froze. mories crashed into him—the shadowed ruins, the map, the young but terrifying figure once known only as Ghost of the Graveyard. To see him now, seated in a crisp suit, the aura of a corporate giant wrapped around him, was almost surreal.
Miles’s voice broke the silence, calm yet carrying the sa edge Kenan rembered.
"So, Mr. Kenan. How are you doing? Please, have a seat."
Kenan settled into the chair opposite, his eyes never leaving Miles. His voice was a blend of awe and disbelief.
"I didn’t expect this. To see the Ghost of the Graveyard here, in this city, as... a chairman. I thought you were just a rcenary."
Miles leaned back slightly, his smile faint but sharp.
"Well. Everyone has secrets. You have yours too."
Kenan chuckled, shaking his head. "True. But your secret could give people a heart attack. The man the world fears as one of the deadliest alive... is also the head of Sterling Enterprises."
Miles’s smirk deepened.
"I only look dangerous to people who fear , Mr. Kenan."
Kenan exhaled, his honesty slipping through.
"You’re right. And I’ll admit it—I am afraid of you. That’s why I agreed to this eting so quickly. But knowing what I know of you... I’m relieved too. You may be dangerous, but you’re also a good man."
Miles laughed softly, the sound low but genuine.
A knock broke the mont. The door opened, and two staff mbers entered quietly with a polished tray, setting down porcelain cups and a steaming pot of tea. Neither spoke a word before bowing and departing.
Kenan lifted his cup, the fragrant steam curling around his face. He studied Miles over the rim.
"So..." he said slowly, voice steady, "why do you want to et ?"
Miles leaned back in his chair, then quietly slid open the top drawer of his desk. His hand moved with calm precision as he retrieved a small, velvet box, setting it on the polished wood between them.
Kenan’s eyes followed the motion with curiosity. "And what might this be?"
Miles’s gaze was steady. "This box contains sothing you’ve been searching for... a long ti."
Kenan gave a small laugh, though his eyes sharpened. "I’ve been searching for many things for a long ti."
Miles flicked open the lid. Resting inside, cushioned by red velvet, was a set of worn, iron keys, their surfaces etched with markings too deliberate to be re scratches.
Kenan’s breath caught. His eyes widened slightly, disbelief flashing across his face.
"Wait... are these—?"
"I believe so," Miles replied. "The markings connect them to the locks they open."
Kenan leaned forward, his voice lower, tinged with awe. "How... how did you get them?"
Miles’s tone was casual, almost playful.
"I found them in an auction."
Kenan blinked. "The auction? Seriously?"
Miles gave a short laugh. "What? I bought them for fifty thousand."
Kenan shook his head, incredulous. "Fifty thousand? And what if there’s nothing behind those locks?"
Miles slid the box across the desk, his expression unreadable.
"Then consider it a gift. For putting an end to one of your searches."
Kenan sat in silence, his fingers brushing the velvet as if testing whether this was real. Finally, he exhaled.
"Fifty-fifty," he said. "Whatever I find with these keys, I’ll give you half. If you hand them over."
Miles’s smirk flickered faintly.
"I was expecting less. You’re more generous than I thought."
Kenan chuckled, his shoulders easing. "Without these keys, the whole thing’s a waste anyway. I had nearly stopped funding the search. My focus is on business now."
"I saw that today," Miles said. "On TV."
Kenan raised a brow. "You watch TV?"
"Only when the channel is mine," Miles replied dryly.
Kenan barked out a laugh, shaking his head. "Then it’s a deal, Ghost." He extended his hand across the desk.
Miles clasped it firmly, but his voice corrected him.
"Miles."
Kenan hesitated, confused. "Huh?"
"Miles Sterling," he said evenly, eting his gaze.
Recognition flashed across Kenan’s face, followed by a faint smile. "Ah... right. Mr. Miles Sterling. Thank you—for the keys."
The handshake lingered just long enough to mark the bond between them.
The rest of the eting passed in quieter tones, conversation drifting between business, old mories, and brief ntions of the past they both carried. When the sun had begun to dip lower, Kenan finally rose, tucking the velvet box under his arm.
With a final nod, he left the office, his two bodyguards closing in behind him as the door shut softly.
Miles remained seated, the city sprawled behind him through the glass wall.
Another piece had moved into place.
Evening – Star Harbor
The Atelier glowed warmly in the evening bustle of the port city. Inside, Elena was still patiently sharing her cooking wisdom with the chefs—every pinch of spice, every small habit that gave her dishes their holy touch. The family had begun making use of the upstairs rooms ant for the family’s convenience.
Miles drove out into the streets, the city was far from calm.
A noise broke the hum of traffic—a crowd gathered at an intersection, voices raised, faces turned toward a scene at the center.
Miles slowed his car, eyes narrowing as he spotted a familiar vehicle caught in the middle of the commotion. His jaw tightened. He parked sideways and stepped out, his presence imdiately pulling glances.
Inside the circle of onlookers, Chase and his friends stood their ground against a well-dressed woman in her 30s. She was wrapped in glittering party clothes, her perfu heavy even from a distance, her car—an expensive imported sedan—bearing a dented rear bumper and a broken taillight.
"You young kids," she snapped, voice sharp and dripping with disdain. "If you don’t pay for the damage, I’ll call my husband here. He’s a shareholder in Ironclad."
Cole stepped forward, anger simring in his voice.
"Why should we pay you? You were the one who reversed into us at a red signal!"
Isabelle folded her arms, her tone cutting.
"If you don’t know how to drive, then don’t drive. Simple as that."
Chase’s voice was steady but firm.
"You damaged our car. Who’s paying for our repairs?"
Sophia added quickly, her voice calm but laced with logic.
"There’s a traffic cara right there. Check the footage if you want—we’re not paying a penny. In fact, you’ll be paying."
The crowd murmured, most nodding in agreent with the youths. A few sided with the woman, but the balance was clear.
Her face flushed with rage, she crossed her arms.
"Wait. I’ll call my husband. Let’s see how long you keep shouting when he hears you were harassing a woman alone in public."
The crowd’s whispers grew sharper, the tension thick. And then—
"Let make that call for you," a calm voice cut through the noise.
Heads turned. The crowd parted.
Miles stepped forward, his presence quiet but commanding, like a storm gathering on the horizon.
"Brother!" Chase’s face lit up in relief. "You’re here!"
Miles’s eyes swept over the group. "Are you all alright?"
Cole exhaled, shaking his head. "We’re fine, brother. Just a little damage to the car, that’s all."
Miles nodded once, checking them each with his eyes, ensuring no harm had co to them. Then his voice dropped, colder, directed at the woman.
"It’s good no one was hurt. Leave the rest to ."
He walked closer, his gaze steady on her.
"So... you were calling your husband, right?"
The woman tilted her chin upward with pride. "Yes. You’re their brother, aren’t you? Then you’ll have to pay for my losses."
Miles chuckled softly. "You ntioned Ironclad. Who is your husband? What’s his na?"
Her lips curved with arrogance. "He’s a major shareholder. His na is Clive Fisher. He’s well known in the city."
"Clive, huh?" Miles murmured.
The woman smirked. "What, are you already afraid?"
But Miles only pulled out his phone, scrolling casually, and pressed call.
The line connected instantly.
"Hello? Mr. Sterling!" Clive Fisher’s voice rang with eagerness. "What can I do for you?"
Miles’s tone was calm, but the weight behind it silenced the entire crowd.
"Mr. Clive. Mrs. Fisher here is making unnecessary trouble for ."
"What?" Clive’s voice tightened. "What happened, Mr. Sterling?"
Miles’s eyes locked on the woman as he spoke.
"She reversed her car at a red signal, colliding with my brother’s vehicle. Now she’s demanding compensation and creating a scene. I don’t want to embarrass her in public by pulling the traffic cara feed here in front of everyone. I suggest we resolve this privately."
There was silence for a beat, then Clive’s voice ca quick and sharp.
"Don’t worry, Mr. Sterling. I believe you. This isn’t the first complaint I’ve received about her behavior. I’ve ignored it before, but not this ti. I sincerely apologize for the inconvenience. I’ll handle it personally—and compensate you fully. Please leave this to ."
Miles’s tone stayed steady. "Alright. Just make sure it doesn’t happen again—even if it isn’t involved next ti."
"I’ll make sure of that never happens again, Mr. Sterling. Absolutely."
The call ended.
The crowd stared and whispered.
The woman’s pride flickered into disbelief, but she crossed her arms stubbornly.
"So what if you really spoke to my husband? That doesn’t an anything for you. He won’t do a thing."
But even as the words left her mouth, her phone buzzed sharply in her hand. Call flashed– Husband
Her face went pale. As she looked at the screen .
Miles smiled faintly, just enough for the crowd to see.
To be continued..
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