Deep crimson leather sofas curved in a perfect circle around a low, obsidian-glass table, their surfaces catching reflections from the chandelier above like liquid fire. The chandelier itself descended in a precise geometric line, layers of warm golden light mirrored endlessly by black glass walls that stretched into infinity. Emerald-toned panels framed the room, sharp and elegant, giving the space a cold, calculated luxury—nothing here was meant for comfort; everything was meant to intimidate. This was not a room people entered by mistake, as it is a VIP lounge.
Lucien Vale sat at the centre of it all. He occupied the largest sofa like a throne, his back straight, posture unyielding. One arm rested on the sofa while the other lay still on his knee. His mask, black and gold, ornate yet severe, hid his face completely.
Two bodyguards stood near the entrance like carved statues, immovable and silent. Between them stood a man in his late twenties, his hands clasped nervously in front of Vale.
Lucien Vale is the editor-in-chief of the most powerful newspaper conglomerate in the country, a man whose words shaped narratives, whose silence buried truths. The man people whispered about but never spoke of directly.
The man in his late twenties swallowed. He had never met Lucien Vale before. Never even seen him in person. He wasn't an employee, wasn't a journalist, wasn't anyone important on paper. Just a shadow, an ear where ears weren't meant to exist, an eye where eyes were not welcome.
An informer. And yet… here he was. Because of one name. Kai Arden. The man straightened slightly, pride mixing with fear in his chest.
This is it, he thought. It only took one piece of information and a carefully leaked truth. And now, here I am standing in the most exclusive room in the city.
Maybe he would be rewarded, maybe promoted or even trusted. The guards stepped back silently, leaving him alone in the vastness of the lounge. Lucien Vale did not move. The silence stretched. Finally, unable to bear it, the informant cleared his throat.
"Sir," he began, forcing confidence into his voice, "I think we can work together." No response. Encouraged by the lack of interruption, he continued.
"I can give you more information about Kai Arden. A lot more. In exchange—" he paused, choosing his words carefully, "—you give me a team of people I can direct with resources, I can do what no one else can."
Lucien Vale remained motionless. The informant mistook the silence for a sign of consideration.
"It's a great deal," he pressed, stepping half a pace forward. "You know how impossible it is to track Kai Arden. He's untouchable. No paper has ever truly gotten close to him. But I did."
His chest lifted with pride. "I got you the script news, didn't I? The romance project. No one knew about it. Not even his inner circle." He let out a small laugh. "That was me. I did it alone."
Still, Lucien Vale said nothing. The informant smiled nervously, adrenaline rushing. "Imagine what I could do with support."
The air in the room shifted. Not dramatically. Not violently. Just enough. Then—
"Really?" The voice did not come from the man sitting on the sofa; it came from behind Lucien. The informant froze. His smile collapsed as his blood turned cold. Slowly, painfully, he tried to see who was behind Lucien Vale as it was so dark that he couldn't be able to see who was the man behind the voice. The private lounge was designed that way. Light obeyed rules here. Shadows ruled.
From behind Vale, a figure stepped forward. Tall and Broad-shouldered, dressed in black so precise it looked sculpted, not worn like the darkness itself had learned how to stand.
The man's breath caught. It was him. That voice could belong to no one else. "K—Mr Arden…" he tried to say, but no sound came out.
Kai Arden moved slowly, deliberately, as if time itself had agreed to wait for him. His presence bent the air. Every step carried weight, not loud, not hurried, just inevitable.
"What," Kai said calmly, "do you think I couldn't see who was sitting behind me?"
He paused, letting the words sink in. "There was only a wooden panel separating our seats," he continued, speaking in fragments, each sentence spaced just enough to force memory. "Close enough to hear every breath."
That day, they had been sitting that close. Kai removed his gloves, one finger at a time, eyes never leaving the man's face.
"What was the line you said?" Kai asked quietly. "That day."
The man's throat tightened. Kai tilted his head, pretending to recall. "Oh yes," he said. "He didn't notice me. No one notices someone sitting quietly behind them."
A slow smile curved Kai's lips. "That's what you said. Remember?"
The man's face drained of colour. "And then—" Kai went on casually, as if discussing the weather, "—Kai Arden was too distracted."
He looked up sharply. "Right?"
There was no reply from his side, only silence. Kai exhaled a soft laugh. "What an idiot you are."
The man's expression shattered. How does he know? That was a private call. Of course, he knew. Kai Arden didn't guess. He owned. The realisation hit like a physical blow. Regret flooded the man's veins instantaneously, brutal.
"So," Kai asked, stepping closer, voice almost curious, "what should I do with you?"
That question alone weakened the man's knees. Kai wasn't the kind of man who asked. He was the kind who decided. But the informant didn't truly understand Kai Arden. Desperation made him reckless.
"You can't do anything," he blurted out. "We're not alone. Mr Vale is right in front of me. He heard everything you said."
Kai blinked, then he laughed. "Are you kidding me?" he asked softly. "Who are you talking about?"
Before the man could react, Kai reached out, just a slight movement and pushed Vale's head to the side. Vale's body slumped against the sofa. The mask slipped off. He was asleep. The informant stared, frozen in horror.
"This stupid man," Kai said calmly, "has been sleeping for half an hour."
The informant collapsed to his knees. "But—" he stammered, "the news I leaked… it didn't even get published. It failed, didn't it?"
"That's because," Kai said, moving toward the main sofa, "I didn't allow it."
He sat down like a king, claiming his throne, one leg crossing over the other, posture effortless, untouchable. The man knelt before him, trembling.
"I'm sorry," he cried. "Forgive me. Please."
Kai said nothing. Then...The room was filled with sound. A voice echoed from the speakers. The informant's own voice.
"Run the headline quietly first—but keep my name out of it." His blood turned to ice. Another clip played.
"No. He must never find out. Kai Arden hates leaks more than bad scripts. If he knows I heard it… I'm done." The man shook violently. The audio continued, merciless.
"It's a great deal. You know how impossible it is to track Kai Arden. He's untouchable. No paper has ever truly gotten close to him—but I did."
"I got the script news, didn't I? The romance project. No one knows about it. Not even his inner circle. That was me. I did it."
The room felt like it was closing in. Kai leaned back slightly. "Now tell me," he said calmly, "what happens if I give this recording to the police and tell them you violated my privacy?"
The informant broke. He cried openly now, bowing his head to the floor, begging forgiveness, knowing exactly what that meant. If Kai involved the police, this wouldn't be punishment. It would be erasure, and the informant knew one terrifying truth as he knelt there, shattered: Kai Arden didn't need violence. His power was far more dangerous.