Alex Krasnov sat back against the soft, hand-finished leather of his Rolls-Royce, watching the city slide past in long ribbons of light. From behind tinted glass, skyscrapers looked like polished trophies. Neon signs flickered like applause. Every block seemed to celebrate ambition, speed, and winning.
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In many ways, Alex had become exactly what the world calls successful. At thirty-five, he was a self-made tech billionaire, the kind of man profiled in glossy magazines and quoted in business journals. He moved through airports without waiting, ate meals prepared by other people’s hands, and signed papers that shifted markets.
Yet that night, none of it soothed him.
A rare Scotch sat in his palm, untouched, as if even the finest things had lost their flavor. The quiet inside the car felt heavier than usual, pressing in on him with a weight he could not explain away.
One name returned, uninvited and persistent.
Sofia.
She was not a headline. Not a status symbol. Not a business win. She was someone who had known him before the money, before the interviews, before his life became a constant pursuit of more. She belonged to a time when his dreams were still raw and unpolished, when he laughed more easily, and when love felt like something worth protecting.
Five years had passed since he walked away from her. Five years since he told himself that sacrifice was necessary, that relationships were distractions, and that building an empire demanded hard choices.
But time has a way of circling back to unfinished truths.
And that night, for the first time in a long time, Alex could not ignore the emptiness he had built his fortune around.
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