The night was thick with a suffocating silence, the kind that warned of an incoming storm. Ochieng sat alone in the dimly lit study of his estate, a glass of whiskey in hand. The city lights below shimmered like false promises—bright, alluring, but ultimately empty. His mind was far from the luxury around him. Rolex was gone, but his death had left behind a deeper mystery.
A soft knock at the door.
Lucy stepped in, draped in an oversized shirt that barely covered her thighs. Her hair was messy from sleep, but her eyes held the sharpness of a woman who had seen too much. "You're not sleeping again," she murmured, closing the door behind her.
Ochieng smirked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Sleep is a luxury I can't afford."
Lucy crossed the room, settling on the arm of his chair. "You're thinking about who's behind Rolex."
He took a slow sip before setting the glass down. "Whoever they are, they have power. Rolex was rich, but he wasn't the kind of man to move in silence. Someone else was pulling his strings."
Lucy bit her lip, her fingers tracing absent patterns on his shoulder. "So what's the plan?"
Ochieng's gaze darkened. "We lure them out."
---
In the depths of an underground chamber, far from the city's prying eyes, a gathering of figures sat in a circular formation. Their faces were masked, their voices a mix of accents from across the world. At the center, a man in a deep crimson suit stood, his fingers tapping against the oak table.
"So, Rolex has fallen," he announced, his voice calm but carrying an undertone of amusement. "And Ochieng remains untouched."
A woman with piercing green eyes leaned forward. "Do we move now?"
The man chuckled. "Not yet. Ochieng believes he's winning. Let him. A man who thinks he's in control is the easiest to break."
Another figure, this one older, cleared his throat. "And if he proves more difficult than expected?"
The man in crimson smirked. "Then we remind him—true power isn't about wealth or reputation. It's about control. And we will take away everything he holds dear."
---
Morning came with an eerie calmness. Ochieng stood in front of a large mirror, buttoning his shirt when his phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number.
"Tick tock, Ochieng. Rolex was only the beginning."
A slow smirk played on his lips. Finally, the hunt had begun.
He walked into the dining area, where Victoria, Eugene, Gideon, and the rest of his inner circle were waiting. Lucy sat beside Tilda, her eyes already fixed on him.
"We have their attention," he announced, tossing his phone onto the table. "Now we make them regret it."
Victoria raised a brow. "And how do we do that?"
Ochieng's smile was sharp. "By becoming the nightmare they never saw coming."
---
That night, Ochieng arrived at the most exclusive high-society event in the city—an invitation-only gala where billionaires, politicians, and underworld figures mingled under the guise of wealth and civility.
His entrance was like a ripple through a still pond. Heads turned. Eyes lingered. Whispers followed.
Lucy, in a breathtaking black dress, walked beside him, her arm looped through his. "They're watching you."
"Good," Ochieng murmured, scanning the crowd.
A waiter passed by, slipping a folded note into his hand. Without breaking stride, Ochieng unfolded it.
"Penthouse. Midnight. Come alone."
Lucy leaned in. "It's a trap."
Ochieng smirked. "I know. But they don't realize—I'm the one who set it."