Kai was still in the house. Alina could hear faint voices echoing as she came outside. She stepped into the driveway area, and she saw him standing near the parking lot, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone to his ear. His expression was serious, focused, and his voice low as he spoke to someone on the call.
He didn't notice her at first. Alina moved quickly, almost running toward the gate where a cab had just arrived. She opened the door and slid inside, still slightly out of breath.
Kai's eyes lifted instinctively at the movement. For a brief second, his gaze followed her. He saw her closing the cab door, saw the vehicle beginning to pull away, saw the faint urgency in her movements. His brows drew together slightly.
Why is she rushing? He wondered. But the voice on the other end of his call pulled his attention back.
He dismissed the thought, turning away and continuing the conversation, his expression returning to its usual calm indifference. A moment later, he ended the call and walked toward his own car, pushing the fleeting question out of his mind.
Alina reached Maya's apartment faster than she expected. She barely waited for the door to be fully opened before stepping inside.
"What?" she exclaimed the moment she entered, breathless. "Was it true?"
Maya was standing in the middle of the living room, holding her phone, her eyes shining with excitement.
"Yes!" Maya said, almost laughing. "Look!"
Alina leaned closer, her eyes scanning it. Her eyes widened.
"This… this is real?" she asked again, her voice softer now, filled with disbelief.
Maya nodded eagerly. "Do you want me to pinch you?"
Alina sank slowly onto the couch, still staring at it, trying to process what she was seeing. Maya sat beside her, unable to contain her excitement.
"We are definitely going to bloom," Maya said, her voice full of conviction. "Do you realize what this means?"
Alina looked at her, still absorbing everything. Her heart was beating fast—not from fear, not from anxiety… but from that strange, rising sense of possibility.
For the first time in days, the heaviness inside her chest felt lighter. And somewhere, deep down, a quiet thought crossed her mind— Tonight… something was changing.
The notification had gone live even before Kai arrived. Within minutes, the event location had transformed into chaos—controlled chaos, but chaos nonetheless. Barricades were lined with fans pressed shoulder to shoulder, their voices rising in waves, their phones already raised, ready, waiting. Media vans stood in long rows. Cameramen adjusted tripods, wiped lenses, checked focus, checked angles, checked everything again and again, unwilling to risk missing even a single second.
Reporters rehearsed their lines under their breath, smoothing their hair, adjusting microphones, eyes constantly flicking toward the entrance road. All cameras were fixed in one direction. The place where the man of the night would arrive.
The air itself felt tense, like the moment before a storm breaks—the kind of silence that hums, heavy and electric, just before thunder. Fans waited in that silence. A quiet storm… ready to erupt. Then, at last, the first car appeared at the far end of the road. A murmur spread instantly.
"It's here."
"Is that him?"
"No… wait…"
The car approached slowly, security personnel stepping forward, clearing the way. Cameras flashed wildly, photographers leaning forward, fingers poised on shutter buttons. The car door opened. A guard stepped out. A collective sigh of disappointment moved through the crowd. Then another car came. Then another. And another.
Soon, a long line of identical black cars rolled in one after another, each the same model, the same tinted windows, the same polished surface reflecting the harsh lights. It became impossible to tell which one carried Kai Arden.
Every time a door opened, cameras flashed in desperate hope—only to reveal more security personnel stepping out, scanning the area, speaking into concealed microphones, moving with quiet, efficient coordination.
After several failed attempts, the photographers began to grow restless. Some lowered their cameras, shaking their heads.
"He's not here yet," one muttered.
"He's playing with us," another said.
And then— The last car arrived. It moved more slowly than the rest. The door opened. And he stepped out. For a fraction of a second, there was silence. Then the storm broke.
The roar of the crowd rose so suddenly and so loudly that it felt physical, like a force pressing against the air itself. Fans screamed his name at the top of their lungs, voices breaking, hands waving wildly, some nearly crying with excitement.
"Kai! Kai! Kai!"
Cameras exploded in flashes, one after another, relentless, blinding, turning the night into bursts of white light. Security closed in around him immediately—an elite formation, moving like a living shield. Nearly eighty guards surrounded him, positioned in front, behind, and at his sides, their movements synchronized, their eyes scanning constantly.
From a distance, it looked less like protection and more like a king moving with his royal guard. Or a mafia lord walking through a city that belonged to him. Kai Arden stood at the center of it all. One hand slipped casually into his pocket. The other lifted in a calm, effortless wave toward the crowd.
There was no hurry in his movements. No tension. No sign of being overwhelmed by the noise, the flashes, the thousands of eyes fixed on him. He walked as if he owned the ground beneath his feet.
His presence carried an aura that was difficult to describe but impossible to ignore—a quiet dominance, the kind that didn't need to be announced. It radiated from him naturally, in the way he held his shoulders, in the calm steadiness of his gaze, in the measured pace of his steps.
His hair moved slightly in the evening breeze, thick dark strands catching the light, perfectly imperfect, as if styled by the wind itself. A few loose locks shifted near his forehead, softening the sharp angles of his face without diminishing the intensity of his expression.
Under the harsh flashes of cameras, his features seemed sculpted—straight nose, defined jawline, eyes dark and steady, carrying a depth that made people look twice without understanding why.
There was something dangerously attractive about him. Not the polished, artificial charm of celebrities who tried too hard. But something raw. Effortless. Magnetic. The kind of presence that made rooms fall silent when he entered. The kind of man people remembered long after he had left.
Women in the crowd shouted his name, some laughing, some crying, some simply staring in stunned silence as if seeing him in person felt unreal. He moved forward, security parting the path for him. And as he walked, the guards moved with him in perfect coordination, as if bound by invisible threads, maintaining formation without ever obstructing him.
Flashlights continued to burst endlessly, so bright and constant that at times his face seemed almost blurred beneath the glare.
Inside the event hall, a massive black banner stretched across the stage, the brand name glowing under sharp white lights. The scale of the setup alone spoke of the magnitude of the announcement.
Kai stepped inside, the noise fading slightly as doors closed behind him, though the echo of the crowd still vibrated faintly through the walls. Ryan was already beside him, walking in step. Ryan glanced at him once, then again, his brows knitting slightly.
"That's not the suit I gave you," Ryan said quietly.
Kai didn't look at him. "I know."
Ryan exhaled slowly. "That was the branded one."
"And this one isn't?" Kai replied calmly.
Ryan pressed his lips together. "It is… but not the one chosen for today. You were supposed to wear Hyroich's suit."
Kai said nothing, and Ryan's irritation grew, though he kept his voice low. "Do you realize how many fittings, how many adjustments, how many arrangements were made for that suit?"
Kai adjusted his cuff, unconcerned. Ryan stared at the dark red shirt, the black trousers, the black blazer, and the tie slightly looser than usual. The colour combination wasn't what had been planned. Not at all.
If Ryan had known earlier, he would have sent Kai back upstairs the moment he stepped out of the house dressed like this. He had even tried several times.
"After makeup," Kai had said.
"After this."
"Later."
Each time changing the topic, each time slipping away from the discussion until it was too late. Ryan looked at him now and realized something. This wasn't negligence. This was deliberate. Kai had chosen this. And Ryan had no idea why. What Ryan didn't know— What no one knew— Was that Kai had stood in front of his wardrobe for a long time before leaving the house And his hand had gone, without hesitation, to that suit. The same one Alina used to wear quietly sometimes, thinking he didn't notice. But he had noticed. Every time. He had never said anything.
And tonight, without fully admitting it even to himself, he had chosen it. Not the new suit. Not the one tailored for the cameras. But this one. Because somewhere, without understanding why, it felt right.
Kai walked toward the stage entrance now, lights reflecting off the polished floor, the low murmur of staff and organizers filling the air. Ryan sighed quietly, rubbing his temple. There was no changing it now. And Kai, as always, had already made his decision. Ahead, the stage lights flared brighter. The moment had come.
And as Kai stepped forward into the light, the crowd outside erupted again, their voices carrying even through the walls— A storm that had been waiting… Now unleashed.