The car door slammed harder than necessary.
Lucas dropped into the back seat, jaw set, eyes sharp.
Rhea didn't flinch. She didn't even look up from her tablet.
Julius, who was halfway through updating a spreadsheet on player transfers, looked between them. "Okay. Who set fire to your soul this time?"
Lucas snapped, "You should've told me."
Rhea's tone didn't budge. "I didn't have confirmation. I wasn't going to give you half-truths while you were across from a prince."
"Confirmation wasn't your job," Lucas shot back. "I needed to know before he handed me a dynasty over a whiskey glass."
Julius blinked. "Wait—what dynasty? Are we talking real crowns or figurative?"
Rhea didn't answer. She reached into her folder, pulled out a heavy black envelope, and handed it straight to Julius.
"Sign this. It's a nondisclosure. A real one. The kind that gets you blacklisted in six countries if you leak even a whisper."
Julius looked at it. "That serious?"
"Yes," she said. "And no, I don't care if you're his best friend, PR god, or secret high school crush. Sign it."
He signed.
Rhea leaned back. "Samir Al-Fayeed is more than a royal. He's not just rich. He's connected to old sovereign oil, blockchain portfolios, black-budget tech alliances, and two religious orders that would crown him king if it didn't violate doctrine."
Lucas leaned his head back against the seat, eyes closed.
"And apparently," he said quietly, "I'm the contingency name—next in line if everyone else fails to maintain the illusion of stability."
Julius whistled low. "So… you're not the heir. You're the emergency exit."
Lucas opened his eyes. "Exactly. The pressure pick. The fallback plan they hope they never have to use. But one that scares them because it just might work too well."
Rhea nodded once, tapping a quick command into her tablet. "That gives us a window."
"How long?" Lucas asked without turning.
"Officially? Two years." Her fingers moved in fast patterns. "But based on Samir's moves, social signals, and internal consolidation strategies—he's hoping pressure you to something closer to three months."
Lucas gave a bitter laugh. "And here I thought basketball season was the pressure cooker."
"You've entered a blood game now," Rhea said. "Legacy politics isn't about survival. It's about eliminating anything that smells like uncertainty."
Julius raised a hand. "Okay, but if Lucas is the fallback, not the primary… can we use that? Fly under radar while we build his profile?"
Rhea's eyes sharpened. "That's exactly what we're doing. The more elite circles see him as not quite there yet, the more they underestimate him. That gives us operational room."
Lucas leaned forward now, engaged. "So the strategy isn't to chase the title. It's to make myself indispensable before the game even opens."
"Right," Rhea confirmed. "Outperform the visible heirs in influence, stability, and public sentiment—especially among next-gen wealth."
Julius nodded. "Control the narrative, dominate media, and don't say the word 'succession' out loud."
Lucas glanced between them.
"And if the throne never opens?"
Rhea didn't blink. "Then you've built a multi-sector empire with global pull and optional sovereignty. Hardly a loss."
Lucas smirked. "Strategic ambiguity. Build like you might inherit, act like you don't care if you do."
ATHENA chimed in, crisp as a steel briefcase."Updated directive acknowledged. Strategic mode: Low-visibility succession. Recommend soft power buildup and relationship vetting protocols."
Lucas looked out the tinted window as the city blurred past—glass and concrete stitched together by speed and headlights.
Beside him, Rhea shifted slightly in her seat, then spoke, low and even.
"Your father was always the outsider, you know."
Lucas didn't look away from the window. "Because of his business?"
Rhea shook her head. "Because of his blood."
She tapped a file open on her tablet. "Cyrus's mother was foreign. That made him 'questionable' in the family. They considered him a wildcard. Not… controllable."
Lucas snorted. "That tracks."
"He never played by their rules," she continued. "And he hated every one of them. Especially the male heirs. They saw him as different."
"How many of those guys are out there?"
"Over three hundred," she said. "And every single one more obsessed with birth order than merit."
Lucas finally turned toward her. "Did he meet them often?"
Rhea's mouth curved into something between a smile and a wince. "Yes. I went with him only once. Some private summit in Zurich. They were polite. Educated. Fluent in five languages. And absolutely useless in business."
She flipped the tablet so he could see. "The most conservative minds I've ever met. That's why Samir wants you. You're loud, but strategic. It's his version of a controlled rebellion."
Lucas looked back out the window. "So I'm not the prince they want. Just the one who might not rot the institution."
ATHENA's voice whispered in his earpiece."Executing lineage scan. Parameters: Male heirs, House of Al-Fayeed, bloodlines within two degrees of Cyrus Han."
There was a pause.
"Three potential matches located. All currently living civilian lives. Two are teachers. One is a travel writer in Copenhagen. None have received outreach."
Lucas rubbed his temple.
"So Samir's sitting on three candidates and still wants me."
"He's not sitting," Rhea said. "He's choosing. Those men don't have your discipline, or your teeth. Samir's betting on someone who can survive public scrutiny and internal war."
Lucas sat back, jaw tight.
"I get it," he muttered finally. "I understand why I'm the pick."
He looked down at the tablet in Rhea's hand. His name already hovered in half-filled outlines—potential, not promise.
He signed.
"But I still don't like it."
ATHENA chimed, dry as steel:"Personal discomfort registered. Strategic momentum: unaffected."
Lucas stared out the window. Then he spoke, not to the room but to the air.
"Athena… why me? Why not one of the others?"His voice was low. Not insecure. Just… searching.
ATHENA responded instantly, clinical but thoughtful."Subject: Lucas Pan. Profile includes high adaptability under pressure, media literacy, multilateral cultural fluency, and demonstrated capacity for reinvention. Also… you are, as you say, a good man."
Lucas's brow furrowed.
ATHENA continued:"Of the other three potential heirs, two possess stable moral alignment but low ambition. The third demonstrates anti-authoritarian tendencies that conflict with sovereign modeling. You are the only one who recalibrates without losing ethical integrity."
Julius gave a low whistle from the front. "Translation: you bend, but you don't break. And when you rise, you bring people with you."
Lucas didn't say anything, but his hands were no longer clenched.
Rhea closed her tablet, buckling her seatbelt as the car slowed. "You're not wrong to feel conflicted. This isn't a prize—it's a throne. Which means it'll burn if you sit too early or too proud."
Lucas glanced at her. "That supposed to comfort me?"
"No," she said. "But I've arranged something that might."
He arched a brow.
"You need to meet a princess."
Lucas blinked. "That's subtle."
"She's not being presented as a suitor," Rhea clarified. "She's being presented as a benchmark. Someone who knows what this world looks like from the inside. Someone who's lived in gold-plated cages and learned how to decorate them."
Lucas looked skeptical. "And what—if we hit it off, there's a wedding invite in the mail?"
Rhea smiled, just barely. "If you don't, at least you'll know what kind of queen not to fall for."
ATHENA chimed softly:"Royal encounter scheduled. Recommend cognitive rehearsal and emotional neutrality. Location: Vensica Hotel, diplomatic lounge. Arrival in twenty-three minutes."
Lucas rolled his shoulders back and exhaled through his nose.
"Fine," he muttered. "Let's meet the benchmark."
Rhea tapped twice on her tablet, already locking it into his schedule.
"Dinner. Three nights from now. Private, but not discreet. You'll make an entrance, shake hands, speak in soundbites—and listen more than you charm."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "What, no fireworks?"
"Lucas," Rhea said without looking up, "this isn't a rom-com. It's state-aligned dating. If she smiles in public, you win. If she invites you for coffee, you might need a new suit."
She paused. "But for now, let's focus on what matters. Your persona. Your press. Your grip on the narrative."
She looked up at him. "You can't control the future, but you can control how they talk about it."
Lucas nodded once, serious again.
And then—
Julius glanced at his phone and groaned. "Speaking of talking—"
He turned the screen toward them, already glowing with the bright red headline.
HAN HEIR MEETS SECRET PRINCE – LEGACY TIES TO OIL THRONE?
Below it was a photo. Blurry, but real. Lucas exiting the elevator at Samir's hotel. The building watermark in the background was clear enough for anyone who wanted to trace it.
Lucas stared at it. "That was less than two hours ago."
"They move fast when the stakes are royal," Julius muttered.
ATHENA buzzed with cool efficiency."Paparazzi breach occurred during timestamp 15:43. Surveillance team B failed to intercept drone angle. Mitigation protocol initiated. Story will spread to 9 international outlets within 7 hours."
Rhea's jaw locked. "So much for quiet diplomacy."
Lucas didn't flinch.
"Then we flip it," he said. "We're not leaking—we're confirming."
Rhea blinked. "You want to acknowledge the meeting?"
Lucas's tone sharpened. "I want to control the way it's seen. I'm not going to chase lies—I'll write the truth louder."
Julius looked between them. "You want a counter headline?"
Lucas smirked, calm and dangerous now.
"Something like: 'Han Legacy Expands—Lucas Pan Courts Stability Over Succession.'"
ATHENA chimed in approval."Excellent framing. Repositioning narrative toward public diplomacy and measured leadership. Julius: initiate influencer circuit."
Julius was already typing. "On it."
Rhea looked up. "This could work. We'll show strength without arrogance. Mystery without chaos."
Lucas leaned back as the car turned the corner toward the hotel and let his team work for him.