New beginning: Billionaire love story

Eligos was livid. No, scratch that he was absolutely furious. The heavy oak desk in his study groaned under the force of his fist slamming down onto it. Papers and pens scattered, and the neat stack of documents he prided himself on now resembled the aftermath of a tornado.

"How does this keep happening?" he growled, glaring at the surface as if it had personally wronged him. His men had failed, again. Claire had slipped through their fingers, and Eligos was not one to take failure lightly. "Am I leading a team of circus clowns?" he muttered under his breath.

Pacing the room like a caged tiger, his thoughts kept circling back to one thing: Claire Peterson. Did she really forget who Allan was? It was almost laughable. She's the one who told Matthew to investigate him, Eligos thought bitterly. And now she's acting like the name doesn't even ring a bell.

Eligos let out a bitter chuckle, though it lacked humor. "And this is the woman running Metacortex," he muttered, the sarcasm dripping from his words. He ran a hand through his slicked-back hair, his frustration palpable.

But he wasn't one to let things go. Oh, no. If Claire thought she could just dance her way around this, she was sorely mistaken. He vowed, right then and there, that he would hear the truth from her lips. And I'll be the one to make her say it, he promised himself, his eyes narrowing as his resolve hardened.

Meanwhile, Alexander is still at the Saint Laurent mansion lounging in the lavish living room, holding a glass of wine in one hand while his phone rested on the armrest of his velvet chair. He had been keeping tabs on Adrian through a private investigator-discreetly, of course.

The phone buzzed, and Alexander picked it up, his face unreadable as he listened. "He went where?" he asked, his voice calm but with an undercurrent of curiosity.

"A forest," the investigator replied. "At least, that's what it looks like on the map. No buildings, no landmarks just trees."

Alexander frowned, swirling the wine in his glass as he pondered this new information. "A forest," he repeated, almost to himself. "How... quaint."

The investigator continued, "I kept a safe distance as you instructed. Couldn't see much from where I was, though.'

Alexander nodded, even though the investigator couldn't see him. "And you're sure you didn't spot him meeting anyone?"

"No one, sir. If he did, it was deeper in the woods."

"Hm." Alexander leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as if it held the answers. "Thank you. That will be all for now." He hung up and set the phone down, his mind racing.

Adrian was the host of his own birthday party and yet here he was wandering off into a forest without anyone noticing.

What a weird man, Alex thought.

Alexander sighed, sipping his wine. He had no doubt this had something to do with Claire. It always did. But he couldn't exactly ask her about it. That would only give her another reason to despise him.

A few days later, things had seemingly returned to normal or as normal as they could get when you had Eligos lurking in the shadows. Claire, ever vigilant, kept her eyes and ears open, ready for any sudden moves from him. But so far, nothing. Not a peep.

"Too quiet," Claire muttered to herself as she sipped her morning coffee. She didn't trust the calm; it felt like the eerie silence before a storm. But for now, she focused on her work.

Her current project was something she was genuinely excited about: Alexander's hotel in Vegas was about to have its grand opening in just a few weeks. Claire had been working on a robotic concierge prototype, and this was going to be its big debut. If the feedback was positive, she planned to produce the robot on a larger scale under Metacortex.

The thought of it brought a rare smile to her face. It felt good to work on something innovative instead of constantly strategizing and scheming. She could almost see it now-guests being wowed by the sleek design and efficiency of her creation. The image made her giddy, a nice change from the usual stress. Her phone rang, jolting her out of her daydream. Setting down her coffee, she picked it up. "Claire Peterson," she answered briskly.

"Ms. Peterson," came a somber voice on the other end. "This is Officer Daniels from the London Metropolitan Police."

Claire straightened in her chair, her heart sinking. "Yes? What's this about?"

"I'm calling to inform you that Matthew Finnegan has been involved in a car accident."noveldrama

Claire's breath hitched. "What? Is he " She couldn't bring herself to finish the question, her mind

spinning with every possible worst-case scenario.

"It's better if you come to the hospital," Officer Daniels replied, his tone grim but measured. "I believe you'll want to see his condition for yourself."

Claire felt her heart drop into her stomach. Something wasn't right-she could feel it. "I'm on my way," she said quickly, grabbing her bag and practically sprinting out of her office. She didn't even bother to tell Sandra to cancel the meeting she had scheduled in an hour. Nothing mattered right now except getting to Matthew.

Her driver barely had time to open the car door before Claire hopped in. "Take me to St. George's

Hospital. And step on it," she ordered, her voice trembling but firm.

"Yes, ma'am," the driver replied, his own sense of urgency kicking in.

Claire sat back, her fingers tapping anxiously on her bag. "He's strong," she muttered to herself, trying to shake off the knot in her stomach "Nothing's going to happen to him.

He's tougher than this." But no e?

matter how much she tried to reassure herself, the officer's voice and the weight of his words lingered in her mind.

As the car pulled up to the hospital, Claire barely waited for the driver to stop completely before jumping out. She hurried to the front desk, her heels clicking loudly on the tiled floor.

"Matthew Finnegan," she said breathlessly to the nurse at the desk. "Where is he?"

The nurse looked up from her computer. "He's in the ICU. Take the elevator to the third floor and follow the signs."

Claire nodded quickly and rushed toward the elevator. The ride up felt like an eternity, the sterile hum of the hospital making her stomach churn.

When the doors opened, she spotted two police officers standing outside a room at the end of the hall. She marched straight toward them. One of them, a tall man with kind eyes, stepped forward.

"Ms. Peterson?"

"Yes," she said, barely sparing him a glance as her eyes darted to the door. "What happened? What's the chronology? How did this-"

"Ms. Peterson," the officer interrupted gently. "Let's take it one step at a time. Matthew's condition is stable, but-"

Before he could finish, the door to the room opened, and a doctor stepped out. Claire immediately turned her attention to him, her voice urgent. "Doctor, how is he? Is he... is he okay?"

The doctor's expression was a mix of somber professionalism and a hint of relief. "Matthew is alive," he began carefully, "and his pulse is steady now, though it was weak when he arrived. However.

Claire's chest tightened. "However?"

"He's in a coma,"