It had been three days since the board announced the meeting with the rising company from the Holy Land. Now, the evening had finally arrived.
At 6:00 p.m., Draven was already dressed and ready, his suit sharp, his presence calm but alert. He stood in his hotel's top-floor conference room, one of his establishments in Greystone City, awaiting the delegation.
Cisco entered the room, straightening his tie.
"Boss, it's almost time. The representatives from the Holy Land have already arrived."
Draven's eyes narrowed.
"Good. The rest of the board?"
Cisco nodded.
"They're in place. Everything is set."
The long mahogany table gleamed under crystal lights as the board members settled into their seats, the room filled with a low hum of anticipation.
At 7:00 sharp, the double doors opened. The delegation entered, poised and professional. The leading secretary introduced the guests with an easy smile.
But even before she finished speaking, Draven's instincts roared.
The warrior's senses that had been carved into his bones during years of blood and fire awakened. His heart pounded, not in fear, but in warning. Something dangerous had walked into the room.
He felt the presence first—heavy, suffocating, sharp like a predator's gaze. His bloodlust stirred in response, an echo of countless battles past.
And then, he saw him.
A familiar face. A face he thought he would never see again.
The secretary's voice cut through the silence:
"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce our CEO—Orion Sterling."
The man stepped forward in his crisp suit, his smile as disarming as it was calculated. He carried himself with the easy grace of a man who had nothing to prove—yet everything about him radiated power.
He looked Draven straight in the eye, his smile widening as though mocking the silence between them.
"Hi."
The name they gave him here was Orion Sterling.
But to Draven—who had fought him, bled against him, measured himself against this man in the fire of war—he was no Orion.
He was Scepter.
The rival he thought was gone forever.
Draven's fingers twitched at his side. His jaw tightened. He forced himself to sit back down, the weight of his composure holding him still, but his mind was already aflame.
Cisco glanced sideways at Draven, catching the tension that thickened the air. He leaned forward discreetly and whispered:
"Boss… you're staring."
Draven exhaled slowly, breaking the moment by shifting his eyes back to the documents in front of him.
"I know."
For the rest of the presentation, he barely heard a word. Cisco handled most of the speaking, making their side look polished, professional, attentive. But Draven's mind was elsewhere—fixed on the man across from him.
Scepter.
What game was he playing, parading himself here as some rising CEO from the Holy Land?
When the presentations wound down, Orion leaned back in his chair, his calm smile never faltering. He scanned the room, then let his gaze fall directly on Draven.
"If it's alright with the board," he said smoothly, "I'd like to have a private word with your CEO."
The room stirred. Cisco frowned but looked to Draven for confirmation.
Draven's chair creaked as he stood, his expression unreadable. He gave a short nod.
"Clear the room."
One by one, the board members and staff filed out, leaving only the two men in the wide chamber.
The door clicked shut.
For the first time in years, rivals stood across from each other again—His white hair glinted under the boardroom lights, his tailored suit cut sharp enough to slice the air itself. For a heartbeat, time froze—the past slamming into the present.
Draven's eyes narrowed.
"Orion? What the hell are you doing here?"
Orion's lips curved into that familiar, maddening smirk.
"What, is it such a bad thing to visit my rival after so long?"
Draven's voice was low, sharp.
"This isn't a joke."
Orion spread his hands with mock innocence.
"I know it isn't. But as you can see, I'm not joking either. I'm the CEO of the Sanctum Alliance Corporation. A role passed down to me—my master left it as his second identity, just in case. I simply inherited it."
Draven's jaw clenched.
"So you thought it best to walk into my boardroom and strike a cooperation with me?"
Orion's grin widened.
"Why not? After I heard you left the battlefield, vanished into corporate shadows, I had to find a way to see you again. And besides—don't forget—I challenged you to a duel, and you refused me. So if you wouldn't come to me… I had no choice but to come to you."
The weight of old battles and countless scars hung between them.
Draven's reply was steady, unyielding.
"That life is behind me now. I can't—and won't—go back to it."
For a moment, Orion's smirk faded. His eyes sharpened.
"So the reports I've been hearing are lies? That the Raven revealed himself again just last week? Are you telling me that's someone else using your name? You and I both know—that would be a taboo in war. No one survives long stealing the mantle of another."
Silence.
The two rivals locked eyes. No words spoken—yet everything said.
Then, suddenly, Orion burst out laughing, his voice echoing across the chamber.
"Damn, you haven't changed at all! Always so serious, so cold. Lighten up, Draven! Tell you what—after this meeting, how about we hit the after-party? No war, no titles. Just talk like old times."
Draven exhaled slowly, his composure unbroken. He knew Orion well—better than most—and in matters of banter, Orion always left him cornered. The only way out was to close the conversation.
"Just make sure you stay out of trouble."
The smirk on Orion's face faltered, irritation flashing in his eyes.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Before Draven could answer, the other board members filed back in, the conversation shifting back to business. The agreements were finalized, terms signed. At last, the meeting adjourned.
Draven stood, his hand firm as it clasped Orion's.
"Business is business."
Orion's smirk returned, colder this time.
"And rivalry is eternal."
The after-party was held in The Sovereign Hall, a grand ballroom nestled inside the luxury hotel Draven owned. The chandeliers sparkled like captured stars, and the scent of polished oak and fine wine hung in the air. Velvet curtains framed tall windows overlooking Greystone City's skyline, its lights glittering in the night like scattered jewels.
Draven stood near the edge of the hall, a glass of red wine in his hand, watching the board members mingle with invited guests. Every detail of the gathering — the classical quartet, the gourmet spread, the champagne towers — had been arranged under his company's name. This was his domain, his territory.
The double doors swung open, and in walked Nora and Isabelle. Nora's presence, radiant and playful as always, pulled attention instantly. She crossed the floor and hugged her brother tightly.
"How was the meeting?" she asked with a sparkle in her eyes.
"It went fine," Draven replied with a small, knowing smile.
But before they could say more, Orion strolled up — confident, smooth, a glass of champagne in each hand. He extended one toward Draven. "A toast," he said casually.
The moment Nora's eyes fell on him, she froze. Isabelle too stiffened, her smile faltering. Draven, sharp as ever, didn't miss the pause. He shifted his gaze between them, reading the tension like words on a page.
"You know him?" he asked, voice low but edged with command.
Nora hesitated, almost denying. But then she caught her brother's look — the kind that stripped lies bare before they could form. Shoulders slumping slightly, she confessed, "One night, some men tried to harass us. He was the one who defended us."
Draven's eyes darkened. His jaw clenched as he turned to Orion. "So," he said evenly, "you're the one she's been sneaking out with every weekend?"
Nora's breath hitched. "H-how do you—" she started, but her slip was enough. Draven's stare cut sharper.
He faced Orion fully. "You've been here all week, haven't you? Instead of business, you've been keeping company with my sister."
Orion chuckled, raising a hand in mock defense. "It's not what it looks like. I didn't know she was your sister. Yes, the surname gave me pause, but come on—there are plenty of people with that name. I didn't connect the dots."
Draven's grip tightened on the glass. The room itself seemed to tilt colder. Isabelle, sensing the storm about to break, gently slipped her hand into Draven's arm.
"Draven," she said softly, "would you like to dance?"
He paused, his gaze lingering on Orion a moment longer. Then, with a quiet sigh, he set the glass aside. "Fine."
He guided Isabelle to the center of the hall, where other guests were already engaged in formal dancing. Under the soft glow of chandeliers, they began to move with smooth precision, their steps measured, graceful — but Draven's eyes still tracked Orion like a hawk.
Orion, meanwhile, leaned closer to Nora. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she said, biting her lip. "He just… needs to cool down."
Orion smirked knowingly. "Trust me. I know. Better than most."
That piqued Nora's curiosity. "What do you mean? How do you know him?"
Orion's grin twitched, the truth balancing on the tip of his tongue. But then he felt it — Draven's gaze, a blade from across the room. That silent warning: Say a word, and you'll regret it.
Orion swallowed the truth smoothly and replaced it with charm. "Nothing dramatic. We've crossed paths, shared drinks, and… became friends of sorts."
Nora frowned, clearly unconvinced, but she didn't press. Instead, Orion extended his hand. "Shall we?"
She hesitated, then accepted, and the two moved onto the floor, where laughter and polite conversation cloaked the tension that pulsed like a hidden current.
As the night thinned and the celebration wound down, Orion caught up with Draven at the grand entrance.
"Well," Orion said with a smooth grin, "I'll be going now. But don't worry—I'll still be in the city. You know how to find me if you want to. Not hard for someone like you."
He shifted his gaze to Nora, a knowing smile brushing his lips.
Nora's cheeks flushed; a small giggle escaped before she could stop it. She turned her face away, embarrassed.
Draven's eyes didn't move to her. Instead, his attention locked fully on Orion. Cold. Piercing. A stare sharpened by years of war, the kind that carried the faint whisper of bloodlust.
For an instant, the air seemed to tighten, heavy and suffocating. Orion's smirk faltered. He felt it—the predator's gaze, the unspoken warning that said everything without a single word:
Play with my sister, and I will end you.
Orion chuckled faintly to cover the chill that ran down his spine. He shook his head as if brushing off the weight of it, though inside he knew that look was no bluff.
"See you soon, old friend," he muttered, before turning away, his steps quickening as he left the hall.
Outside, Gideon stood ready, the car door open with precise timing. Isabelle and Nora slipped inside first, silent. Draven followed, his expression unreadable, his bloodlust sheathed once more.
The doors closed, the car pulled away, and the long day drew to an end. But the echo of that stare lingered in Orion's mind, gnawing at him like a shadow he could not shake.