The night bled through the city skyline scarlet lights glimmering against the rain-soaked windows of Dorsetti Tower.
A black car purred to a stop before the entrance, and out stepped a young man whose presence made the guards straighten instinctively.
His hair was a striking blend of red and black dreadlocks, glistening faintly under the streetlight like threads of ember and shadow.
His golden eyes gleamed with calm confidence, a predator's composure hidden behind a black tailored suit and a spotless white tie.
He ascended the marble steps without a word, the rhythmic click of his shoes echoing in the vast silence.
Inside, the elevator doors slid open to reveal a grand room, a minimalist expanse of glass and steel.
Seated at a long table was a man with neatly cropped blue hair and deep black eyes that seemed to pierce through any pretense. His suit was immaculate, his tone colder than the air conditioning.
"Lucien Ardent," the blue-haired man greeted, lips curling faintly. "You made good time."
Lucien gave a small nod, his gaze flicking briefly to the six armed guards posted strategically around the room. "You said it was urgent, Varro. I assume it's about the construction plans."
Varro smiled, motioning for him to sit. "Indeed. The foundation of our new empire, The Iron Haven. We'll control every shipment, every dock, every street corner in the East. But before we proceed…"
He slid a black briefcase across the table.
Lucien reached for it. The latch clicked. Inside, stacks of crisp bills and a sleek silver drive gleamed under the chandelier.
But Lucien didn't miss the flicker in Varro's eyes, a brief tightening of his grip beneath the table.
Lucien's body moved before thought.
A flash. The click of a safety released. A shot fired, missed by inches. Lucien twisted sideways, the bullet grazing his sleeve.
His knee drove sharply into Varro's ribs as he rolled forward, disarming the gunman with a brutal elbow strike.
Two more guards rushed in. Lucien grabbed the fallen pistol, spun low, and fired twice.
Two bodies dropped.
The remaining four opened fire, gunfire ripping through the silence like thunder. Lucien dove behind the table, splinters flying as bullets tore into the mahogany.
He slid across the floor, grabbed an UMP from one of the fallen guards, and emerged with lethal precision.
One by one, the guards fell. The smell of gunpowder and blood filled the air.
Varro stumbled backward, clutching his wounded arm as he fumbled for his phone. "He's here—Lucien,Get Lucien Arde—"
Lucien fired once. The bullet pierced the phone and then his skull.
The call ended before it began.
For a long moment, silence returned to the room, broken only by the soft hum of the city below. Lucien exhaled, lowered the UMP, and straightened his white tie now marred by a splash of red.
He looked down at Varro's corpse, golden eyes glinting like coins in the dark.
"Should've known better," he murmured.
Then he picked up the briefcase, wiped the blood from the handle, and walked out into the night, his legend beginning with every step.
Lucien stepped out of the tower, the cool night air brushing against his face. The black car waited at the curb, its engine idling softly. He slipped inside, resting the briefcase beside him.
The driver, a tall man in a dark coat glanced through the mirror. "How did it go, sir?"
Lucien loosened his tie, the white silk now stained faintly with blood. He exhaled through his nose, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips.
"I cleaned up some dirt," he said evenly, pulling out his phone.
He scrolled for a moment, then pressed a contact labeled 'Father's Line'.
"It's done," he said into the receiver. "I have the flash. Prepare for my arrival."
The driver nodded silently and shifted gears. The city lights streaked across the windows as they sped through the wet streets.
The night sky faded into dawn. Neon blue melted into soft amber as morning rays slipped through glass walls and skyscrapers.
Inside Eden Royale Hotel, the air smelled faintly of polished marble and imported perfume.
Behind the reception desk stood a young woman with long, wavy hair a rare mix of white and blue that shimmered with the movement of light.
Her violet eyes held warmth as she bowed and smiled at each guest who approached.
She adjusted her uniform, bowing slightly again when the lobby doors hissed open.
The sound of heavy footsteps followed.
A tall figure entered broad-shouldered, composed, and wearing a black T-shirt with red trousers.
A matching red suit jacket draped over his shoulders like royalty. His golden eyes scanned the lobby, unreadable.
Lucien Ardent.
Ten men in black suits followed close behind, forming a silent wall of presence. The air in the lobby shifted, the kind of silence that comes from awe and fear mingling.
"Isn't that him?" a young maid whispered to another.
"That's Lucien Ardent—the son of the hotel owner. They say he's cold… and dangerous."
"But look at him," another sighed. "He's too handsome for his own good. I'd still risk it. Imagine having his child…"
Lucien walked past without acknowledging any of them, his footsteps steady, echoing. He entered the elevator, the doors closing on the sea of whispers and adoration below.
The elevator chimed open at the top floor. A long corridor stretched out, ending at a pair of ornate double doors. Lucien pushed them open.
Inside sat an older man with fiery red hair streaked with white a thick beard framing his sharp jawline. His presence filled the room without needing words.
Lucien tossed the briefcase onto the polished table and sank into a chair beside it, stretching slightly as he loosened his tie further.
"I got it," he said. "The flash drive's inside. It has every design and schematic for our next empire; a hotel, resort, and beach hybrid. The perfect triad. It's going to flood this city with money."
The older man leaned forward, a proud smile tugging at his mouth. "And Varro?"
Lucien chuckled, his gaze turning cold. "He thought he could deceive us. Tried to pull a gun mid-meeting. I saw it coming. I gave him a chance, Father… he wasted it."
The elder Ardent nodded solemnly. "He made his choice when he broke our agreement. You only did what was necessary."
Lucien stood, straightening his cuffs. "All I want is to see you happy and to make sure this organization never crumbles. Anyone who threatens that will be erased, no matter who they are."
His father's deep laugh filled the room. "That's my son."
Lucien turned and walked out, the ten bodyguards aligning behind him like shadows.
Downstairs, the young receptionist was alone at her post. The morning rush had quieted, leaving her free to tend to her rumbling stomach.
She hurried toward the restroom, clutching her midsection then she collided.
The impact sent her stumbling back and to the floor. Papers scattered.
She looked up and froze.
Lucien stood before her, towering, his gaze like molten gold through shards of glass. His expression didn't change, but his eyes flicked briefly to her name tag.
"Evelyn," he said flatly, his tone low.
She couldn't speak. The silence was suffocating. Then, unexpectedly, he gave a soft chuckle a smirk curving his lips before he turned and walked away, his guards trailing behind.
A male staff member ran over, helping her up. "Are you alright? Did he… scare you?"
But Evelyn just smiled faintly, brushing off her uniform. "No," she whispered, her eyes following Lucien's retreating figure. "He didn't scare me at all."
The air outside the hotel was crisp and heavy with the scent of rain. Lucien stepped through the golden-lit doors, his reflection stretching across the polished hood of the waiting convoy.
Ten bodyguards stood at attention. Six cars lined the driveway, engines idling softly like leashed beasts ready to run.
Lucien's phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered without breaking stride. The voice on the other end was deep, commanding, his father's.
The conversation was brief, the tone sharp but familiar. When it ended, Lucien slid the phone back into his pocket, a smile tugging at his lips.
"Why couldn't you just tell me you had something this interesting for me when we met face-to-face?" he murmured, chuckling to himself. "Father… so unpredictable."
One of the guards turned his head slightly. "Master Lucien, what seems to be the problem?"
Lucien's golden eyes glimmered faintly beneath the car lights. "Problem?" He laughed quietly, stepping toward his vehicle.
"No problem at all. We're going to pay an old friend a visit. Seems someone's forgotten their debt to my father is long overdue."
The guards exchanged glances, no one spoke further. Within seconds, the convoy came to life.
Engines roared.
Each pair of bodyguards entered their assigned cars two per vehicle. Lucien slid into the last car alone, the briefcase resting beside him, fingers drumming calmly against the leather seat as they sped off into the fading night.
Back inside Eden Royale Hotel, the lobby had quieted. Evelyn returned to her post, the morning rush now nothing more than distant chatter echoing through the hallways.
She was reviewing the guest log when the click of high heels made her look up.
A young woman with shimmering yellow hair and piercing red eyes stood before the desk. Her expression carried both beauty and venom.
"So you're the little clerk who bumped into Lucien Ardent," she said coldly, folding her arms. "Let me make something clear—he's mine. The future father of my child. So stay out of his way."
Evelyn blinked, startled, then slowly straightened her back. She didn't answer. Her silence was calm, deliberate a quiet refusal to entertain madness.
The woman's face twisted with rage. "Hey! Don't ignore me!" she shouted, drawing glances from guests across the lobby. "You think you can act innocent after touching my Lucien?"
Before she could advance another step, three hotel security officers intercepted her, two men and a woman.
"Ma'am, that's enough," one said firmly. "You're disturbing our guests."
"Get your hands off me!" she hissed, struggling as the officers held her arms. "She touched him, she touched Lucien Ardent!"
Evelyn said nothing. She quietly turned her gaze away, her composure untouched, though her heart beat faster beneath the surface.
The woman's screams faded as she was escorted toward the exit, her heels scraping against the marble.
Evelyn released a slow breath, returning to her desk. The lobby light shimmered faintly against the glass, and for a fleeting moment, she caught her reflection, a hint of curiosity flickering in her violet eyes.
How much do I even know of Lucien Ardent,to make her so spiked up just because of a simple minor collision?
In the residence, Lucien listened to the man's laughter as if it were nothing more than the chirp of a distant insect.
The sound crawled across the room and settled in the back of his throat like cold iron.
The fat man sweat-darkened collar, gold chain doing a lazy swim across his chest leaned in, voice thick with bravado.
"You want to be the one to kill me, boy? I wouldn't mind sending your head back to your old man in a box. Same as—"
He did not finish the name.
Silence tightened. The bald ceiling light hummed. Lucien's fingers flexed at his sides; one of the ten men closer to him than the rest, stilled like a statue. The rest watched, a line of shadows.
Lucien's face remained composed, impassive. Golden eyes, for a breath, grew colder.
The memory the man invoked did not bloom into a theatrical fury; it became something narrower, more terrible an animal patience honed on a single track.
"Don't speak of her," Lucien said, voice low and even as a metronome. "You don't get to drag the dead into your mouth for sport."
The man laughed again, louder, emboldened. He shoved Lucien with the flat of his hand an insult meant to humiliate. The touch was sloppy, triumphant.
The room smelled of old perfume and cheap whiskey; the man's breath was warm with it.
Lucien did not stumble. He didn't draw his gun; he didn't need to. He moved like the tide.
He stepped forward just enough that the man could feel the presence behind those words. Up close, Lucien became small and sharp an arrow notched.
He offered the fat man one last polite, almost tender look, as if pitying an animal for being so predictable.
"Last warning."
The man barked another laugh, and for a wild second he thought the boy meant nothing until Lucien's hand snapped out and his knuckles found the man's throat with a violent, clinical precision.
It was quick, efficient fingers like clamps. The fat man's eyes bulged, then fluttered. He clawed, gasped, the gold chain rattling.
Ten strong men watched, powerless to intervene until Lucien's hand tightened and the room lost the sound of the man's breathing.
It did not look like murder; it looked like taking a single, inescapable truth from someone who'd been denying it his whole life.
When Lucien let him drop, the man went limp, a heap of surprised silence on the expensive carpet.
No blood blossomed. No theatrics. Just a body and the echo of a heartbeat gone wrong.
Lucien stepped back, smoothed his cuff as if dusting off a coat. His voice was almost conversational when he addressed the dead man's body accompanied by his fellow dead men bodies in the room.
"Your debts are what they are. My father collects in installments you may have not learnt to respect...."
"... But even to your grave I want you to know that you were killed not for sport but because you refused to pay your respect to my father ."
He threaded past stunned faces, past the fallen man, and half-turned before the ten men who had accompanied him.
One of them had been at his side in the tower, and now he spoke, deferential, "Master Lucien—shall we—?"
Lucien slipped his hand into his pocket and produced his phone, thumbed a number with an effortless calm. He said only, "It's done. Prepare the cars. We leave now."
He replaced the phone and gave the room a single smile, small, polished, deadly as a blade."
They left without anyone offering a prayer. The convoy of six cars swallowed the city at dusk, glass and chrome moving like a swarm.
Inside the last car, Lucien sat alone save for the hum of the engine and the briefcase at his feet. He still smelled faintly of gunpowder and hotel perfume, a human perfume of violence and something like regret.
He glanced at the flashy watch on his wrist ,it was as if time was running; then he placed it back on his lap, Just then his phone buzzed in his pocket.
He let it ring twice and then answered. "I told you I'd handle it," he said when his father's voice came on the line calm, expectant.
There was a pause on the other end, the kind a king has before he asks a knight to swear. "You did well," his father said simply. "We'll set the deadline earlier. Clean up the remains."
Lucien's smile tipped into something colder, almost affectionate. "Consider it swept."
He slid the phone back into his pocket and watched the city unspool neon, glass, the occasional rooftop that would one day hold a sign with the Ardent name.
In his mind the hotel lobby repeated once more: Evelyn's violet eyes, the jostle by the desk, the faint, ridiculous wish of a woman with yellow hair and red eyes. They were small, bright details like pins on a map.
Outside, the streets thickened with evening traffic. Lucien's reflection in the window looked like a man who had already made peace with what he must become.
He adjusted his tie one last time white, now kept deliberately pristine and let the car take him toward the next appointment, toward the slow construction of an empire built on ledgers and broken promises.
The past had been called, prodded reminded into the present by a fat man's careless cruelty. Lucien's reply was always the same: methodical, inevitable, and merciless in its efficiency.
He was coming; everything that didn't bend would break.