It resembled a sheet of frigid iron cascading over the metropolis, obscuring the outlines of skyscrapers and transforming the streets into obsidian currents.
Victor piloted his high-end vehicle with the same precision he applied to every facet of his existence—methodical, disciplined, almost like a machine.
The wipers swept across the glass in a rhythmic cadence, counting the seconds in the hollow life of a man who had attained wealth but little else.
To an observer, Victor appeared to possess it all.
He directed corporations, held deeds to estates in the city’s most prestigious districts, and commanded a fortune that expanded even during his hours of rest.
People offered him deference—sometimes out of genuine respect, sometimes out of trepidation.
Yet within the muffled, opulent sanctuary of his car, the reality was starkly different.
No soul awaited his arrival at home.
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