Elena Langston stormed out of the building, her heels clicking furiously against the concrete. She kicked a stone across the parking lot, grinding her teeth. Her fingers trembled as she yanked open the door to her black Mercedes, throwing herself into the driver's seat and slamming the door with all the rage she carried. The engine roared to life, and without a second glance back, she sped off.
Meanwhile, high above the city night, Lucien Moon stood in the shadows of his penthouse office. The vast, floor-to-ceiling window painted his silhouette against the flickering city lights London, glittering like broken promises. His expression was unreadable, his hands in his pockets as he watched the world from his quiet fortress.
The door behind him creaked open with the elegance of someone who knew they were always welcome. In walked a woman who looked like she'd just stepped out of a fashion editorial impeccably dressed in a sleek designer two-piece, her dark skin glowing against the soft amber lights, and her short, blunt bob sculpted her sharp cheekbones like art. Her heels didn't click, they whispered. She smelled like rich perfume and scandal.
"Aaliyah Windsor," Lucien said without turning. "What are you doing here?"
She smiled, gliding across the room with practiced grace. "Do I need a reason to visit my boyfriend?" she asked, her voice velvety and calculated. She placed a hand gently on his shoulder, trailing her fingers down his arm.
He stepped back, adjusting the collar of his shirt with controlled indifference. "I'm not in the mood, Aaliyah. I have a flight to catch in the morning."
Her brows arched, feigning surprise. "Well, darling, we'll both be traveling then."
Lucien narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean? You're not coming with me."
She chuckled, playful and dangerous all at once. "Oh come on, you can't possibly leave me all alone here. That's cruel."
He scoffed, grabbing his suit jacket from the back of his chair. "You don't need to act. No one's here to impress. Stop pretending to care."
Aaliyah's smile faltered, but only for a second. "And what if I've fallen for you, Lucien?"
He paused, turning his back to her. "Then that would be your first mistake."
His words hung in the air like smoke cold, sharp, and impossible to catch.
They walked out of the office, tension between them thick enough to slice. Without another word, they got into their respective cars. Aaliyah blew him a kiss from behind the wheel of her sleek silver Aston Martin before speeding off into the dark.
Lucien sank into the back seat of his black car, loosening his tie. The chauffeur didn't speak, only nodded and drove.
The car pulled up to a heavily secured estate just outside the city. Armed guards dressed in black lined the gate like statues of war, their expressions carved from stone. They looked like they would rather die than let anything past them and maybe they had.
The mansion loomed, sprawling and magnificent, its architecture a mix of modern wealth and ancient secrecy. As the car came to a halt, a tall man approached.
He looked like he'd been sculpted for violence sharp jaw, a deep scar slashing through his lip, dark eyes that didn't blink, and a body that moved like a panther in a tailored suit. His name was Kade.
"Welcome back, sir," Kade said, stepping aside.
Lucien nodded and stepped out, walking through the grand hallway where staff bowed in silence. The air smelled like expensive cologne and tension.
"Has my flight been confirmed?" Lucien asked as Kade followed him.
"Yes, sir. 6:00 AM, private jet."
"Make it 12:00 PM"
"Yes sir."
Lucien paused at the stairs. "Mrs. Langston came to my office today."
Kade froze.
Lucien said coolly. "Keep an eye on her. Discreetly. If she gets too close…"
"I'll take care of it."
Lucien entered his master suite a space too grand to feel alive. It was elegant, but void of warmth. Cold greys and blacks dressed the room. The fireplace hadn't been lit in months.
He peeled off his clothes and stepped into the bathroom. The mirror fogged as he washed away the day. When he returned, towel wrapped around his waist, he stood by the window for a moment watching the darkness outside, but his mind was elsewhere.
He laid on the bed, muscles tense. The silence in the room was loud.
The world twisted into shadows.
At first, it was just the faint sound of muffled voices, the way a conversation underwater might sound dull, warped, and far away. Faces flickered in and out of view, melting into darkness before reappearing in jagged flashes.
A boy stood there about sixteen his lean frame caught between childhood and the hard lines of manhood. His eyes were pale blue, though in this place they looked almost hollow. Beside him, a girl barely twelve clutched his arm so tightly her fingernails dug into his skin.
They were watching. They shouldn't have been watching.
Across the room, two figures were locked in a war. Their voices weren't just loud they cut through the air like blades, each word spat with venom. The father's voice roared first, sharp and accusing.
"I asked you why is he here?!"
The mother's voice rose to meet his, not with fear, but with a cold and bitter edge.
"Because I don't love you anymore!"
The boy's breath caught. His little sister's trembling fingers squeezed harder.
Their father's face twisted, confusion folding into rage. "You're lying. You"
"I'm not lying!" she snapped, stepping forward, her eyes glistening not with tears, but with something darker. "I don't want you. I haven't wanted you for a long time. I don't desire you. You disgust me now."
The boy wanted to cover his sister's ears, to drag her away, but he couldn't move. His legs felt like lead, nailed to the floor.
The father's voice broke just for a second as though her words had reached something deep and fragile inside him. "After everything… after everything I've done for you"
"You've done nothing for me!" she interrupted, her voice sharp enough to draw blood. "And as for your precious children… do you even know if they're yours?"
The silence that followed wasn't silence at all it was a pressure, a suffocating weight pressing against every rib, every breath.
The man's eyes went wild. His hands shot forward, gripping her shoulders so hard she gasped.
"You dare "
She only smiled, cruelly, like she wanted him to hate her more. "Go on. Do it. Show them what kind of father you are."
The boy felt his stomach twist violently. His sister was shaking now, silent sobs trapped in her throat.
The man's hand rose, trembling not with hesitation, but with too much rage to control.
And then...
Bang.
The sound cracked through the air like a lightning strike.
The boy flinched. His sister's scream pierced his skull.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Four times.
Four echoes.
Four stains that would never wash away.
The air smelled of gunpowder and something heavier, metallic. The boy's hands were wet, though he didn't remember touching anything.
His mother fell. His father staggered back. The room began to fade not in the way dreams fade but in the way memories get buried alive, screaming under the dirt.
The boy tried to close his eyes, but he couldn't.
The darkness swallowed him whole.
The gunshots still echoed in his skull when Lucien's eyes snapped open. For a moment, he lay in the dark, his breath steady but shallow, the weight of the dream pressing against his chest. He stared at the ceiling until his heartbeat returned to its cold, disciplined rhythm.
It was early afternoon. Another day. Another battlefield.
United States 2:30 PM
The private jet door lowered with a smooth hiss of hydraulics, and the man who stepped out looked like he belonged to another world entirely.
Lucien Moon moved with unhurried precision, his black three-piece suit tailored to perfection, the faint sheen of his silver-white hair catching the pale morning.
His polished shoes hit the tarmac in quiet, deliberate strides, every step radiating the authority of someone who never asked for permission to exist.
A black Rolls-Royce Phantom waited near the runway, its driver a tall, stone-faced man in a black suit already holding the rear door open. Lucien slid inside without a word, the interior smelling faintly of leather and expensive cologne.
The phone in his breast pocket vibrated. He checked the screen. Aaliyah Windsor.
He considered ignoring it. He didn't.
"Lucien," her voice poured through the line, honeyed and playful. "Hey, darling."
"What do you want, Aaliyah?" His tone was clipped, the faintest trace of impatience curling at the edges.
She laughed softly, as if his coldness was part of some private game only she understood. "Why can't you call me something romantic for once?"
"Get to the point, Aaliyah."
"Fine," she sighed, feigning defeat. "I just spoke to my father this morning. He mentioned the merger deal with Sterling Automotive is moving faster than expected. He's eager to finalise terms before the end of the quarter and, naturally, he wants your signature to seal it."
Lucien rested his elbow on the door frame, watching the unfamiliar city blur past the tinted windows. "And what does your father stand to gain?"
"Control of the luxury electric sector. And you" her tone sharpened into something businesslike "you'd get access to his European distribution network. It's what we've both been working toward, remember?"
"I remember you pushing for it," Lucien corrected smoothly.
"Well, isn't it convenient that our relationship makes this partnership seem like fate?" she teased. "Public perception, Lucien. It's all about optics."
He didn't respond immediately. The driver glanced at him in the rear-view mirror, then looked away.
"Just make sure," she added, her voice dropping to a softer lilt, "not to look at any girl while you're in the US, cutie."
The line went dead before she could finish laughing.
Lucien slipped the phone back into his pocket, his expression unreadable. Outside, the Rolls glided through the city streets toward a destination only he knew.
The sleek black car rolled to a slow halt in front of a stately townhouse in the heart of Washington, D.C. The driver's voice broke the comfortable silence.
"Sir, we've arrived at the house," he announced.
From the front seat, Kade Lucien's personal bodyguard and highest-ranked security officer leaned forward, scanning the street with the precision of a soldier. He stepped out first, the brisk autumn air brushing against his jaw, and opened the door for Lucien.
Outside, several men in black suits stood in crisp formation, hands clasped neatly in front of them, eyes forward in a textbook display of formality.
Lucien stepped out, his polished shoes hitting the pavement with quiet finality. The house loomed ahead elegant but understated a perfect reflection of someone who preferred influence over spectacle. He strode toward the door, Kade falling in beside him.
Inside, Lucien expected stillness. Instead, the low crackle of a fireplace and the faint scent of aged whiskey greeted him. And then, a voice he knew all too well.
"Well, well… look who finally decided to cross the Atlantic."