London, Britain. 6:39 P. M
Britain had always been cloaked in a certain kind of grey. Not sadness, not silence, just a poised stillness that stretched through the misty streets and timeless architecture. The sky was overcast, as if unsure whether to rain or rest. Raindrops clung lazily to windowpanes, and the city hummed with the muted elegance of wealth and legacy. Among the endless rows of buildings that bore history on their bricks, one tower stood different, modern, glass-paneled, and unapologetically loud about its success.
MoonTech Global.
A multinational empire born from the biotech legacy of his late father and reshaped through bold mergers into a powerhouse of artificial intelligence and defence systems. The company's name alone sparked debates in economic forums and dominated headlines in newsrooms across the world. Its headquarters loomed like a modern fortress, the silver-steel logo etched across its entrance.
Inside, beyond the pristine white marble and scent of leather and fresh lavender polish, footsteps echoed.
Fast. Unyielding. Angry.
"Ma'am... ma'am please!" a suited worker panted, half-jogging behind the woman storming past the security desk.
The woman didn't answer. She didn't need to. Her heels struck the floors like a metronome of fury, her black coat trailing behind her like a cloak. She had the poise of royalty and the rage of betrayal. Her face was striking aged with grace, but stern in every line.
"Ma'am, you can't go in there! There's a board meeting!" the assistant pleaded once more as she neared the double oak doors of the top-floor conference room.
She didn't pause.
With a dramatic push, the doors flung open startling every executive seated within. Papers rustled. A water bottle tipped over. Silence fell like a guillotine.
A man sat at the head of the table. Legs crossed, posture perfect. Not surprised. Not impressed. Just... observing.
The worker broke the silence. "S-sir, I tried stopping her, but she wouldn't"
"It's fine. You may leave," the man said calmly, his British accent crisp and aristocratic. "This meeting is over. We'll reconvene later."
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. Everyone obeyed instantly.
One by one, the board members exited in silent confusion. The worker bowed slightly and backed out, unsure of what or whom he had just witnessed.
And then there were two.
Lucien Moon.
A 24-year-old enigma draped in a jet-black suit, silver tie, and quiet dominance. His hair deep black, kissed by platinum, looked too deliberate to be natural, and too natural to be dyed. His skin was flawless, jawline sharp, and eyes an icy blue that could slice through bone. If beauty had a wrathful brother, it would be him.
He had inherited MoonTech Global at the tender age of 18, after the sudden death of his father, Everhart Moon. Since then, he had turned the company into a juggernaut that governments whispered about and competitors feared.
And now, in front of him stood a ghost from a past he refused to acknowledge.
"Elena Langston…" Lucien's voice was smooth, laced with venomous politeness. "To what do I owe this… unexpected delight?"
Elena straightened. "I heard you're going to the US tomorrow."
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "How is that your business… and more importantly, how did you find out?" he asked, sinking back into his chair like a lion lounging on his throne.
"I have my ways," she said, lips tight.
He smirked, almost amused. "Of course you do."
Her expression faltered. Worry crept through her voice. "Lucien…"
"If I recall," Lucien said, slowly adjusting his cufflinks, "you stopped having any concern about what I do with my life the day you gave me up."
"I did not give you up," she snapped. "I am your mother."
"You were," Lucien corrected coolly. "You lost those rights seven years ago. Now kindly leave before I have you escorted out."
"I want to see my daughter again."
He paused. His eyes didn't blink, but the temperature in the room dropped.
"Ma'am," he said coldly, "last I checked, your children... plural are with you and your darling husband. I fail to see how that's my concern."
"You know who I'm talking about," Elena whispered. "Celeste. I want to see Celeste."
A heavy silence settled between them.
Lucien stood up slowly, walked to the glass wall overlooking the skyline. His reflection stared back at him like a ghost.
"I'm afraid," he said quietly, "that won't be possible."
Elena took a step closer. "Lucien, please. She's my daughter."
He turned. "And what would you like me to say to that? Congratulations?"
"I just… I want to know if she's okay."
"You don't get to want anymore," Lucien hissed, anger flickering in his eyes. "You had your chance. You made your choices."
She stepped forward, voice breaking. "You're my son."
"And you're trespassing," he snapped, striding toward the exit. "I have more important things to do than entertain ghosts."
As he moved to open the door, she grabbed his arm.
"Don't do this to me," she said desperately. "You can't keep her away from me forever, Lucien."
He froze.
Then slowly, with precision, he turned back to her eyes now sharp as glass.
"Let go of me," he said.
She didn't.
His jaw clenched, his voice dropped to a deadly low. "Look at me."
Elena met his gaze, and for the first time in years, she saw something terrifying behind those eyes.
"This better be the last time you barge into my company, walk into my conference room, and spew this emotional rot," Lucien said, his voice like cold fire. "The next time you do… you won't just be looking for your daughter. I'll make sure you'll be searching for your entire family."
He yanked his arm away, pushing her backward. She stumbled and fell, shocked, heart pounding.
He opened the door, then glanced over his shoulder one last time.
"And tell your spy or should I say, your little messenger that the next time I see her…"
His voice was quieter now, almost a whisper.
"…will be the last time she breathes."
Then he walked out, leaving the doors swinging and the woman trembling on the floor alone, breathless, and afraid.