18 Floors Above the Apocalypse novel Chapter 644

In the dead of night, everything was silent except for the occasional rustling of leaves in the cool breeze that slipped through the curtains. A soft light filtered through the fabric, casting shadows that danced to the rhythm of suppressed groans and flirtatious moans.

Like a ship riding the waves, the sounds rose and fell, drifting in a sea of sensuality.

Bran rolled off Vera and reached lazily for a cigarette on the nightstand. He took a few unhurried drags, exhaling a stream of white smoke into the dimly lit room.

Afterglow and a smoke—bliss beyond compare.

Middle-aged and somewhat jaded, Bran no longer found the same fiery passion in the bedroom antics, but he understood the duties and obligations of a husband.

Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he switched women more often than his shirts. If there was one thing he was good at, it was being born into the right family.

Once the son of the nation's wealthiest, the envy of all for his effortless playboy lifestyle, even if the Porras family didn't have the deepest of roots, old man Porras had laid a solid foundation. To put it bluntly, Bran could cause trouble and still live lavishly for generations.

But fortunes can crumble overnight. Not by man's doing, but by the capriciousness of fate.

A storm of exertion had passed, and as the last of the cigarette burned out, weariness took hold, pulling Bran into a hazy slumber.

The raucous jeers of his peers pierced the air, an offensive cacophony that filled his ears.

The soft, warm embrace of a woman in his arms, Bran's heavy eyelids fought against the light.

"Sweetheart, just down this bottle of white and we'll call it even."

In his floral shirt and shorts, the ringleader of the pack, young and brash, was making a sport of her plight.

The girl replied without expression, "Sorry, but I'm here to work, not to drink."

"Oh, so you know you're here to work? Then what's with the sneaky photos?"

With calm resolve, she explained, "I didn't take any photos of you, nor did I invade your privacy. Moreover, I had the manager's permission to photograph the cars."

She had waited for Bran to leave before taking the shots, never expecting these privileged brats to double back with their entourage of models for a party.

Caught in the act.

"The manager doesn't call the shots here. Do you know how much these cars are worth? Even selling you wouldn't cover the damages!"

Hunter, full of arrogance, sized her up in her simple clothes, his gaze dripping with disdain, "Girls like you, always scheming to get close to the likes of Bran. But your tricks are too crude."

The others joined in, "Bran, she actually looks alright. Strip her down for a show, and we'll let her off the hook."

As the words fell, the crowd erupted, "Bran's in a good mood today, who knows, tonight could be your lucky night!"

Bran's head buzzed, overwhelmed by the perfume of the models.

As his eyes adjusted to the light and he moved his hand from his face, the recognition of the girl hit him like an earthquake.

Damn, it was his sister!

Instinctively, he leaped to his feet.

The models clinging to him were caught off guard, tumbling to the floor.

Bran was utterly shocked, speechless in the urgency of the moment!

His friends misunderstood his excitement, thinking Bran was bored with the usual and craved a change of pace.

But who was Bran? The son of the nation's richest man, the prince of Griffith!

Hunter, eager to impress, reached out to grab the girl's clothes, "What are you waiting for? Women line up for a chance with Bran. Today, your lucky stars must be shining, or are you waiting for Bran to make the first move?"

The girl fought back, grabbing a bottle from the table and smashing it onto his head.

Blood spurted out.

Bran was too late to intervene.

Holding the broken bottle, she faced Bran defiantly, "If you want to play, let's go all the way. I've got nothing to lose!"

With those words, she drove the jagged glass towards his chest.

"Ahh!"

Bran woke up with a start, sitting up in bed, his forehead slick with sweat.

Griffith was still Griffith, but not the Griffith of his youth.

Only a dream.

A very real dream.

Vera, worn out, continued to sleep soundly by his side.

Bran took a deep breath, puzzled by such an absurd dream.

Even though his sister was prickly and rarely showed him a kind face, she had a heart of tofu behind her sharp tongue.

The son of the richest man, the prince of Griffith...

He had lived that life, but the Porras family's rise and fall had turned wealth and power into fleeting memories.

After all, as a Porras, he knew how to let go.

For years, he couldn't understand his sister's hot and cold treatment, but he had to admit, he'd chosen the right side to stand on.

Mr. Daniel was still around, content with doting on his grandchildren, while many important decisions had gradually been handed over to his brother-in-law.

When his brother-in-law took the reins, Bran would be his right-hand man.

Everything was going as expected, and Bran was quite pleased.

Turn off the lights, time to sleep.

Just as he closed his eyes, he bolted upright again.

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