Chapter 29. Shadow Rival

The knock at Max’s door came with a precision that set his teeth on edge. It was deliberate—measured, almost clinical—not the hurried rap of a courier or the tentative tap of a hesitant stranger. In the silent hush of his penthouse, it sounded like an incision through calm.

He didn’t move at first. He’d been slumped on the wide leather chaise in the center of the darkened living room, the lights off, the city’s glittering skyline staging a cold, indifferent backdrop through floor-to-ceiling windows. A single glass of water stood on the near table, beads of condensation pooling at its base. He hadn’t touched it. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t done anything but watch dusk bleed into night, listening only to the far-off hum of traffic and the rumble of an unseen world below.

Another sharp knock—three taps, steady as a metronome—broke his reverie. He rose slowly, spine stiff, and crossed the polished marble floor toward the door. With each step, the city lights glowed brighter o