welcome to Veloria

The skyline of Veloria shimmered like a promise Kathleen Palmer wasn't sure she believed in. Glass towers pierced the clouds, every corner humming with electric opulence. Private drones zipped across the sky like well-trained falcons, neon-lit advertisements scrolled across entire buildings, and below, a sea of luxury vehicles glided down immaculate roads.

Kathleen tightened her grip on her phone as her ride pulled up to the front of the Andros Hotel—Veloria's most exclusive business and leisure residence. The kind of place where billionaires whispered ideas over whiskey and deals worth millions were scribbled on cocktail napkins.

She stepped out of the car, heels clicking against polished stone. In a tailored black jumpsuit with minimalist gold accents, she looked every bit the woman she'd built herself to be: precise, focused, and unshakable. A small SafeHaven logo—sleek and silver—rested on a delicate pin over her heart.

Tonight was the opening gala for the Veloria Tech Futures Summit. Tomorrow, she would pitch SafeHaven to the panel of elite venture capitalists—many of whom had flown in on private jets for the occasion. Kathleen wasn't here to charm. She was here to win. To secure a future for the company she had built from a mix of trauma, ambition, and stubborn hope.

The lobby was an extravagant vision of marble, glass, and green living walls. Uniformed staff moved with choreographed elegance. Everyone wore wealth like skin.

"Kathleen Palmer?" a honey-voiced attendant asked, appearing at her elbow.

"That's me."

"Your name's on the guest list for the penthouse reception. Elevator's waiting. Mr. Lemaire asked for you personally."

Kathleen gave a polite nod. Lucien Lemaire—her potential investor and the man behind one of Europe's top venture funds. If she could get his buy-in, SafeHaven's next round would be oversubscribed in minutes.

The elevator doors opened with a whisper. She adjusted her posture, lifted her chin, and stepped in.

---

The penthouse was absurd. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a glittering view of Veloria. A grand piano played itself in the corner. The scent of truffle oil and champagne drifted through the air. Socialites, CEOs, and influencers in designer attire mingled beneath golden lights that gave everyone a flattering glow.

Kathleen moved through the crowd with practiced ease. She spotted Ava by the bar, already holding two glasses of champagne.

"You look like you belong here," Ava said, handing her one.

"Don't lie. I'm three seconds away from panic-sipping."

Ava grinned. "You've had bigger rooms eating out of the palm of your hand. Remember Berlin?"

"Berlin didn't have a guest list worth more than the GDP of small countries."

"Neither do half of these men," Ava muttered. "They just inherited better PR teams."

Kathleen's laugh was quiet but real. She scanned the room, looking for Lucien.

Her eyes landed on a man standing near the window, a glass of dark liquor in his hand. He was tall—over six feet—with broad shoulders framed in a dark, custom suit. His posture was relaxed, yet deliberate. Powerful in the way stillness can be a statement. His hair was thick and dark, his jaw square and shadowed with the perfect amount of stubble. And when he turned—just slightly—his eyes met hers with the sharpness of a pulled string.

Electric.

He held her gaze. Didn't smile. Didn't look away. Just watched her with the lazy confidence of a man used to being noticed.

Ava followed her line of sight. "Who's that?"

"No idea," Kathleen replied, sipping her champagne.

"Well, he looks expensive. And very, very dangerous."

As if summoned, the man walked over.

Kathleen didn't flinch.

"Didn't mean to stare," he said, voice low and rich like velvet and smoke. "But you looked like the only person in this room worth talking to."

She arched a brow. "Flattery and a line. Efficient."

"I'm Carl."

"Kathleen."

No last names. No business cards. Just a slow, magnetic pulse that pulled their conversation away from the crowd.

They drifted to the quieter side of the room, where the view spilled out over the sea. Carl leaned against the railing, the city lights framing his silhouette like a painting come to life.

"So," he said, "what brings you to Veloria?"

"Work."

"That's refreshingly vague."

Kathleen sipped again. "I run a tech startup. Cybersecurity. We're pitching tomorrow."

His lips curved, just a little. "You don't strike me as someone who pitches. You strike me as someone who owns the room."

"I do both," she said coolly.

Carl chuckled. "I stand corrected."

"What about you?" she asked. "Investor? Consultant? Or do you just hang out at penthouses looking intense?"

"I'm... in acquisitions."

That wasn't a lie. Not entirely.

Kathleen narrowed her eyes. "So you're the enemy."

"Not unless you're selling something worth acquiring."

She tilted her head. "Aren't we all, in this city?"

Carl's smile deepened. He liked her. Not just her looks—though she was stunning in a timeless, striking way—but the fire in her tone. The intelligence that didn't need to be advertised.

And she had no idea who he really was.

Perfect.

Across the room, Ava was watching like a hawk. Kathleen waved her off with a slight roll of her eyes.

"So what's it called?" Carl asked.

"SafeHaven."

His expression flickered for a second. Just a second.

"I've heard the name."

She studied him. "Have you?"

"It's hard not to. Some say you're building tech that could disrupt the whole industry."

"That's the plan."

He raised his glass. "To disruption."

She clinked his glass. "To enemies in high places."

They laughed. For a moment, it was just a man and a woman, the city sprawling out beneath them, and the buzz of something real. Something inevitable.

---

Later, she joined a tech panel—moderated, of course, by some self-important influencer. Carl stayed in the audience, arms folded, watching as Kathleen held her own with poise and razor-edged wit. She spoke of privacy, protection, and how vulnerability had become a currency in the digital age.

Carl's gaze never left her.

She didn't notice.

But he noticed everything.

---

The night ended with an exclusive dinner for the top founders and a few handpicked investors. Kathleen found herself seated—coincidentally, she was told—next to Carl again.

They talked about algorithms, books, old movies. She liked his mind. Sharp, curious. And she noticed how other people deferred to him, even the ones with titles and old money. There was something about him that commanded rooms. Made men step back and women lean in.

He didn't ask for her number. Didn't kiss her hand. Just stood at the valet line, just a little too close.

"I'll see you around, Kathleen Palmer," he said softly.

She turned to him, suddenly alert.

"I never told you my last name."

Carl smirked. "Didn't you?"

Then his car arrived, and he was gone.

Kathleen stood still, champagne fizzing through her bloodstream. Her mind spun.

Who the hell was Carl, really?

She wasn't sure.

But she knew one thing:

She wanted to find out.