The air in the grand ballroom of the Celestial Hotel shimmered with camera flashes and the cold glint of diamonds.
It was the annual Zenith Film Awards Gala, a night when the industry's brightest stars gathered to celebrate themselves.
For Leila Vance, CEO of the tech behemoth Nexus Innovations, it was just another Tuesday night of mandatory networking.
Dressed in a sapphire gown that clung to her like a second skin, she moved through the crowd with practiced grace, a polite, impenetrable smile fixed on her lips.
She exchanged pleasantries with directors, deflected advances from producers, and assessed the room with the cool, analytical gaze that had made her a legend in the boardroom before she had turned twenty-eight.
Then she saw him.
Xavier Thorne.
He stood near a marble pillar, a champagne flute held loosely in his hand, looking profoundly uncomfortable. To the rest of the world, he was the Cold Emperor , an A-list actor whose reserved demeanor was as famous as his critically acclaimed performances.
His public persona was one of aloof, almost glacial indifference.
But Leila knew better.
She remembered a boy with scraped knees and a shy smile from a shared, long forgotten childhood on the set of a low budget sci-fi show called Starlight Adventurers. He had been her first crush, a secret she had locked away and polished like a rare gem over the years.
He was thirty now, and time had sharpened that boyish charm into something devastating. His jaw was stronger, his eyes held a deeper, more world weary intelligence, but the core of that quiet boy was still there.
She could see it in the way he avoided eye contact, in the subtle tension in his shoulders as he endured the sea of superficiality.
Where other women saw a challenge in his coldness, Leila saw vulnerability and felt an overwhelming urge to protect it.
As she watched, a portly, balding man clapped Xavier on the shoulder with undue familiarity.
Damian Blackwood.
A rival producer known for brutish tactics and questionable successes. Leila's smile tightened. She angled herself closer, senses sharpening, positioning herself behind a large floral arrangement to listen.
Blackwood spoke in a low, boastful tone, clearly savoring Xavier's captive discomfort.
"Thorne, my boy," Blackwood slurred, his breath thick with expensive whiskey. "Heard your little passion project, Aethelgard's Echo, is hitting some… financial turbulence. A real shame. A real, real shame."
He chuckled and spoke with an unpleasant sound: "It's tough when the money dries up. Especially when your primary investor suddenly remembers he has… other priorities."
Xavier's expression remained impassive, a mask of stone.
"The project will find its footing, Damian."
"Oh, I'm sure it will," Blackwood replied, false sympathy dripping from every word.
"But sci-fi is expensive. All those shiny ships and alien landscapes… budgets have a way of spiraling. And when the main pipeline gets… sabotaged…" He winked, a fake gesture. "Well, things fall apart."
He leaned in slightly.
"Just some friendly industry advice. Maybe stick to rom-coms. They're safer."
A cold fury settled in Leila's chest.
Sabotaged.
Blackwood wasn't commenting on industry gossip rather he was confessing. He had deliberately targeted Xavier's passion project.
Aethelgard's Echo was the film Xavier had been fighting to make for years: a complex, character-driven sci-fi story he had co-written himself. It was his heart project, a departure from the blockbuster roles that paid the bills but starved his soul.
Blackwood eventually lumbered away, leaving Xavier alone.
His knuckles were white around the stem of his champagne flute.
For just a second, the mask of the Cold Emperor cracked, revealing a flicker of raw despair before it locked back into place.
That flicker was all Leila needed.
The decision formed instantly a cold, precise, unavoidable.
It felt less like a business calculation and more like instinct. For years, she had built an empire on logic and foresight. Tonight, for the first time, she would allow her heart to dictate the terms of engagement.
She turned away, her mind already racing.
Sabotage was a game she understood better than anyone.
Damian Blackwood thought he was a shark in a swimming pool. He was about to discover he had wandered into the open ocean.
Leila pulled out her sleek, Nexus-designed smartphone, its screen glowing softly in the dim light. With a few swift taps, she sent a message to her secretary .
Prepare to incorporate a new holding company.
Name: Aperture Holdings.
Priority: Top.
I will be in the office in one hour.
She glanced back at Xavier one last time. He still stood by the pillar, a solitary island in a sea of noise.
A silent promise formed in her mind.
'You focus on your art, Xavier Thorne. I'll take care of the monsters'.
The hunt had begun.
And Leila Vance never ever lost.