The boardroom air was thick. Not just thick, but almost tangible, like inhaling syrup—dense with polished leather, the faint tang of coffee, and the unspoken hostility that always clung to power. Every surface gleamed, but the opulence couldn't hide the tension.
Adrian Raiden didn't sit. He walked. Slowly. Methodically. Each step a silent claim, each hand brushing over the icy-smooth black glass of the table, a predator testing territory. This wasn't casual. It was ownership. Every inch of this room belonged to him.
Cassian was already there. Sitting like a king, or at least someone who believed himself one, in the high-backed chair at the head of the table. His smirk was deliberate, infuriating, like a knife pressed just against the skin. His fingers, adorned with a heavy signet ring, drummed a slow, maddening rhythm against the wood.
"You look rattled, Adrian," Cassian said, his voice low, intimate enough to make the board members glance nervously at one another, yet sharp enough to pierce straight through the tension. "Did you really think you were the only chosen one? The sole heir to the System's… affections?"
Adrian paused at the head of the table. Tilted his head. His silver-gray eyes—cold, precise, unreadable—scanned the room like a scalpel.
"No," Adrian said, his voice smooth, controlled, but slicing through the silence like a blade. "But I did think the System wouldn't waste its considerable resources on someone so painfully… insipidly unoriginal. A pale imitation of an old blueprint."
A subtle rustle ran through the board members. Some shifted their ties nervously. Others tried to cough, but it came out as a stifled whimper. The tension wasn't just felt—it hummed, vibrating through the polished glass table.
Cassian's smirk faltered—just for a heartbeat. Adrian noticed. A tiny, delicious victory curled in his gut. You're not as untouchable as you pretend, he thought.
Cassian laughed. Smooth. Rich. Calculated. Mocking.
"Careful, Adrian," he warned, leaning slightly forward. The signet ring caught the light as he moved. "Arrogance is fatal. It's how empires fall. Your father… learned that lesson the hard way."
Adrian's jaw tightened. A subtle, almost imperceptible clench beneath the skin. Every instinct screamed at him: strike back. Not here. Not yet. Control was everything.
Then, at the corner of his vision, the familiar digital shimmer appeared—detached, cold, unblinking: the System.
[Quest Active: Survive Hostile Takeover.][Sub-Mission: Identify Traitors.]
Three names flashed, faint and digital, yet terrifyingly clear. Men he had trusted, smiled with, praised. Now bathed in red—the System's cold, unforgiving verdict. Wolves. Traitors. Exposed.
A faint, predatory smile brushed Adrian's lips. Feral, controlled, dangerous beneath the guise of a suited CEO.
"You're correct, Cassian," Adrian said softly, deliberately. His voice cut through the quiet like steel on ice. "Power is about taking. But…" he let the pause stretch, taut, deliberate, "it's also about keeping. The true test of a predator is maintaining the territory."
His silver-gray eyes swept over the three men marked in red. Just long enough for the subtle shift in their posture, the tightening of throats, the pallor stealing across their faces. They know I see them. They know the price of treachery.
"And I," he finished, voice low, unnerving, "am very, very good at keeping."
Silence. The boardroom held its breath. Cassian's smirk faltered, just barely. For a fraction of a second, his confidence wavered.
Adrian's presence filled the room, magnetic, dangerous, lethal. He didn't need to shout. The message was clear. This was his space. His territory. His game.
Adrian's silver-gray eyes swept the boardroom again, slow, deliberate. Every twitch, every shift in posture, every flicker of doubt in the directors' faces was a piece of the puzzle. The predators were circling—but he was the apex.
He let his presence expand, subtle but overwhelming, a silent pressure that didn't shout but made every breath in the room catch. Cassian's smug composure was starting to crack—tiny, almost imperceptible fissures in the armor of arrogance. Adrian could see them. And he would exploit them.
"You're quite theatrical," Cassian said, voice low but strained, teeth pressed lightly together. "All this… power posturing. Does it make you feel safer?"
Adrian tilted his head, letting the faintest smirk tug at his lips. He leaned just slightly forward, close enough for Cassian to feel the shift in space—a subtle claim, a gentle encroachment. "Theatrics?" he murmured. "No. This is presence. Awareness. Knowing every piece on the board and every move before it's even made."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop a fraction. The directors shifted nervously, unsure whether to admire Adrian's control or fear it.
Cassian's fingers drummed faster now, the rhythm losing its casual mockery. His jaw tightened. He leaned forward, eyes glittering, trying to reclaim some dominance—but the balance had already shifted.
Adrian's gaze flicked to the three men in red. Wolves in the guise of allies. They've made a mistake, he thought. They'll learn the cost of misjudging me. Every betrayal has a price.
"Everything you've built, Cassian… you may try to take," Adrian said softly, voice low, intimate, but carrying across the table like a blade. "But you underestimate one thing: I do not fold. I do not falter. And I do not lose."
Cassian froze, a flicker of real uncertainty passing through his usually controlled eyes. Adrian leaned back, silver-gray eyes gleaming like molten steel, calm, deliberate, radiating unshakable dominance. The boardroom felt smaller, tighter, suffocating under his calculated presence.
"Then let's see whose control is illusion, Adrian," Cassian finally hissed, voice sharper, more dangerous, exposing the ambition lurking beneath his polished veneer. "Let's see who bleeds first."
Adrian's chest rose slowly, deliberately, each inhale a grounding rhythm. His hand brushed the cold glass of the table, the touch subtle, almost casual—but it anchored him, reinforced his calm. This wasn't fear. It was anticipation. A thrill that came only from being pushed to the edge.
[New Rivalry Event Triggered: Corporate War Arc Begins.]
He let the words linger in his mind, feeling the pulse of the room, the collective tension tighten around him. The city outside carried on, oblivious, lights glittering like indifferent stars. Inside, a war had begun.
Adrian's jaw flexed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. First blood is drawn, Cassian… and it will not be the last. He allowed himself a small, deliberate breath, tasting the cold metallic tang of power, strategy, and anticipation on his tongue.
For the first time that morning, he truly felt the fire, the thrill, the absolute certainty that no matter what came—no matter the wolves circling, no matter the board's shifting loyalties—he would endure. He would rise. And he would make them all pay for daring to think otherwise.