Just 24 hours earlier, he had ordered the long perimeter wall surrounding his mansion—situated in one of the most elite neighborhoods in the city—to be repainted. Not just painted… perfected. He wanted a pure, flawless white, without a single imperfection. Adrian was a man who demanded order in everything.
At 45, he had built a financial empire through precision and cold logic, and he expected his environment to reflect that same untouchable perfection. Disorder irritated him. Noise annoyed him. And above all, he despised the homeless kids who sometimes lingered near his property.
“Filthy little pests…” Adrian muttered under his breath, sipping his coffee as he stared through the massive window of his second-floor office.
Right at noon, something disturbed the silence.
A rough, grating sound.
Scratch… scratch… scratch…
Adrian frowned and stepped closer to the glass. As his vision focused, his blood instantly boiled.