The boardroom froze the instant his name was spoken.
"You're Riven Virellian?" one director blurted, disbelief cracking through his polished mask. "The S-Class Alpha? Grandson of Lucien Virellian—founder of Paragon?"
The words hit like a blade. The air went taut.
Even the young man Riven had glimpsed outside was here, staring at him wide-eyed, lips parted. The look wasn't just shock—it was recognition. As if a ghost had walked into the room and stolen a chair at the table.
For years, that seat had remained empty. No one expected the Chairman to fill it with a Virellian.
"Thayer," another director said, voice clipped, edged with unease. "I don't doubt the Emperor's judgment, but… a Virellian? As CEO? Are we truly prepared for what that means?"
Riven didn't flinch. He let their words wash over him. He'd already been branded defective by his own blood—why expect strangers to treat him differently?
Then another voice, sharper, cut in like a scalpel. "Mr. Virellian. Isn't it a contradiction to join Nexus when your family has been trying to gut us alive?"
The question landed heavy.
The director leaned forward, eyes glinting like a predator testing prey. "Three years ago, Rowen Virellian launched Veltrix Dynamics. Their entire mission was to dismantle Nexus from the inside out. They stole our engineers, our scientists, our research. You've been… off the grid. Maybe you missed it. But Veltrix is our greatest threat. And yet here you are, wearing the Virellian name like a badge. Convenient."
Silence.
Riven knew about Veltrix. When he left, it had been a whisper of an idea—he hadn't realized Rowen had turned it into war. The sabotage. The defections. The bloodless battles fought in boardrooms and labs. He'd read the reports. But explaining to them that he'd severed every tie to his family? That he was no one's pawn? Saying it out loud would cost him more than silence.
The next director's voice dropped cold. "No answer? Or are you here as a spy?"
The accusation cracked across the room. Every gaze sharpened. The walls felt closer. The air thinner. A trap disguised as a welcome.
Riven narrowed his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he spoke.
"I'll say this once. My decision to be here—" his voice low, steady, cutting through the tension "—is not yours to question."
The words landed like a challenge.
The director froze. The room held its breath.
"I was hired by your Chairman. He trusts me. And if you're questioning that—maybe you should be asking yourselves why."
The air shifted. No raised voice, no grandstanding. Just a presence, coiled and unyielding, that pressed down on the room like gravity. The kind of force that didn't need to shout to be heard.
S-Class Alpha.
You don't question. You obey.
The desk phone rang. Loud. Jarring. Like a blade striking steel.
Every director stiffened. Thayer stepped forward and answered, movements deliberate, almost reverent.
"You heard him," said the voice on the other end—distorted, synthetic, threaded with static. "I don't think it's appropriate to question my decision."
The Chairman. The Emperor. Listening all along. Watching, maybe.
"But, Emperor—" one director began, throat tight.
"Mr. Virellian is Nexus's new CEO," the voice cut through, final and cold. "He has the capability. That is the end of it."
Click. Call ended.
The silence after was suffocating. No one moved. No one dared.
Finally, one director tried to recover, voice brittle. "Tell us, Mr. Virellian… do you even know the Emperor? Because it seems—"
"I don't," Riven said flatly, cutting him off. His gaze swept the table, steady, unflinching.
"But if you doubt me, I'll prove myself. That's all that matters."
Across the polished wall, a vertical sheet of black glass reflected the boardroom—a perfect mirror to everyone but Riven. Behind it, unseen, the Emperor watched. The Mirror Gate.
The meeting dissolved soon after, objections swallowed whole. The Chairman had spoken. And no one here was willing to test the cost of defiance.
But Riven knew silence didn't mean acceptance. He'd lived this ritual before. Another house. Another patriarch. The same judgment disguised as obedience.
They wanted him to fail.
And somewhere, behind the glass, someone was waiting to watch.
When the boardroom emptied and the door clicked shut, only Thayer remained. He smoothed his tie, composed as ever, and turned to Riven.
"Your appointment is confirmed," he said, voice crisp. "You'll begin tomorrow."
Riven inclined his head. "Understood."
Thayer studied him for a moment longer than necessary, then offered, "A car is ready. It can take you to the residence the Emperor secured for you."
Riven's chest tightened. He forced a polite smile. "No need. I have… prior obligations. I can manage on my own."
For the first time that day, Thayer hesitated—just briefly—before nodding. "As you wish."
Silence settled. Too neat. Too watchful.
Riven's palms itched as he slipped past the secretary and out of the room, his face calm, his body language measured. But inside, his thoughts burned.
He had to get back to the hotel. His son was waiting.
If he accepted the ride, if he walked into that Nexus-owned house under their escort, they'd see the boy. And once they saw him… questions would follow. Questions he couldn't afford to answer.
His family didn't know he had returned. They didn't know about the child. They definitely didn't know what he had done—how he had clawed his son back from death itself.
Five years he had kept it buried. Five years of silence, distance, erasure. Nexus was different, but no safer. If anything, their gaze was sharper, their reach longer.
He could not let them glimpse the truth. Not yet.
He needed time. He needed walls. He needed to protect his son—like he always had.
And the deeper he stepped into Nexus, the more he feared that walls alone would never be enough.
He needed time. He needed walls. He needed to protect his son—like he always had.
But as the elevator doors slid shut, he caught his reflection in the mirrored glass. And there, just above his shoulder, a second reflection flickered—faint, impossible.
A child's face.
His son's.
Gone in a blink.
Riven's pulse spiked. Because if Nexus already knew about him, then this wasn't protection anymore. This was containment.