Taking Emma and Katrina.

The golden glow of the chandeliers cast a warm light over the luxurious halls of Rosenberg Palace, illuminating the intricate details of its hand-carved marble walls and gold-leaf ceilings. Jack leaned back in the grand velvet chair of his private lounge, savoring the moment. Tonight wasn't about work, power, or ambition—it was about Emma.

She sat across from him, wrapped in a silk robe, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders, eyes sharp yet filled with curiosity. She had always been the type of woman who listened not just to words, but to what lay beneath them.

Jack swirled his wine glass, watching the deep red liquid catch the light. "Emma, you've always understood me better than most," he said, his voice smooth but carrying an unmistakable weight. "That's why I need to tell you something—about what I've built."

Emma smirked, setting her glass down. "You always build something. The question is, how insane is it this time?"