Victor Dray arrived like a reflection of sunlight copied by mirrors, bright, confident, gilded, intentionally overflowing in ways Dorian always rationed.
If Dorian was the Ice King, Victor was Fire Champagne: fizzy, gold, loud, overly romantic, nicely tailored, expensive hobbies involving both luxury and narrative dominance.
Victor approached Lila at the Summit reveal banquet—surprisingly again held under light autumn rain that corporate events in London scheduled like tragic confessions appointments.
He leaned slightly under his champagne-gold umbrella and smiled:
"You're the genius who spilled the ocean onto the iceberg prince, yet he claimed possession instead of suing gravity."
Lila tried not to laugh. "Gravity isn't romance. It's clumsiness with narrative perks."
"And yet it landed you in the richest man's blueprint lounge."
"I was aiming for distributors, not dynasties."
Victor smiled deeper. "Dorian Hale builds calculations. I build chemistry. Chemistry often wins."
Lila replied: "Except when chemistry refuses contracts."
"Oh, it accepts," Victor said, "just not paperwork."
She gave no comment. Victor smelled like narrative temptation, and temptation in her life had always worn elegant fonts too.
The banquet ended when Hale security quietly blocked Victor's car approach "for optics conflict prevention."
Victor tipped his umbrella toward the glass doors.Dorian stared back from behind glass like lounging sovereignty.
A rivalry had begun.