Riven was already halfway toward the door, his strides sharp and restless, when Trevor's voice cut in, casual yet needling.
"Where are you going?"
Trevor asked, tossing the words over his shoulder as he bickered with Edwin. Riven turned slightly, ready to snap back, but something or rather, someone caught his eye. Across the dining hall, seated alone at a long polished table, was a woman in her fifties.
She carried herself with the kind of poise that couldn't be bought, only bred an aura of elegance, wealth, and authority. The soft glint of her jewelry caught the warm lighting as she dined unhurriedly, every motion precise. Riven's expression hardened instantly, all traces of impatience vanishing.
His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing into a glare sharp enough to silence Trevor mid-smirk. Edwin, quick to sense the shift in the air, raised his hands in mock surrender.
"Yeah, I'm out. Don't look at me!! it was his idea," he muttered,
pushing his chair back. Ignoring both of them, Riven stepped inside. The atmosphere seemed to still with his arrival. Without hesitation, he joined her at the table.
"Good evening, Mother," he said evenly, his voice dipped in restraint.
She did not look at him right away. Instead, she continued to eat with the same measured grace, as though he was merely another guest at her table. Only after a pause did she incline her head ever so slightly, acknowledging his presence. Then, without lifting her eyes, her tone cutting through the silence. She asked,
"Why didn't you come?"
Riven's gaze held steady, his voice matching hers in coldness.
"I was occupied."
The air between them thickened, the conversation unfolding with an edge both sharp and familiar two blades clashing in muted restrant.
----
That day night
10:43 PM — Upper East Side, New York
Night settled over the city, the lights from distant buildings casting a faint glow through the windows. Her office, set in a quiet corner of the house, was lit by the warm glow of a desk lamp. Papers were stacked in order, her laptop still open, casting a pale light across her face. Maria, her assistant, stood by with a tablet in hand, reading through notes in her brisk, efficient manner.
"Tomorrow morning, you have the board meeting at nine. Afternoon's clear until three, then there's the investor briefing. And…"
Maria glanced up from her screen. "The Gala. Next Friday night. Invitations confirmed. They're expecting you."
Kayla leaned back slightly, her expression unreadable. "Confirm it."
Maria tapped it in and closed the tablet. "That's all for tonight."
Kayla gave a small nod. "You can go."
Maria left quietly, the sound of her footsteps fading until the office fell silent again. Later, Kayla stepped into her room, where Annie and two of the house staff were finishing their work in the adjoining closet. Rows of shelves and glass cases displayed everything in meticulous order.
Suits, accessories, and jewelry arranged with a precision that spoke of both comfort and restraint. Annie turned with a folded nightdress in her hands, but Kayla's calm voice stopped her.
"Leave it. I'll manage."
Annie hesitated only a second, then smiled warmly and guided the others out, leaving Kayla alone. She moved to the couch, her gaze falling to the velvet box set on the side table. For a moment she only looked at it, her hand lingering in the air before finally lifting the lid.
Inside rested a miniature silver frame delicately made. Within it was an old photograph of her and Kyle, taken one summer in L.A., when the years had not yet hardened either of them. A small smile flickered across her lips, gone almost as soon as it came. She closed the box carefully and placed it into one of the drawers in the closet.
As she reached for her nightdress, her eyes caught something out of place: a coat, heavier in fabric, unfamiliar among her things. She held it for a moment, brows drawing together. She remembered that night, this coat … who was he? Just then Annie re-entered with a tray. Her gaze fell to the coat.
"I thought it might have been yours, ma'am," she explained quietly.
"I wasn't certain, so I left it until I could ask."
Kayla gave a faint nod, set it back, and shut the door of the closet. Moments later she changed and slipped beneath the covers. Despite everything, her heart felt achingly hollow. Her world was full, yet her life remained empty.
----
Few weeks later
2:16 PM — Manhattan Courthouse, Courtroom 4B
The chamber was heavy with silence, broken only by the shuffle of papers and the restless coughs of those waiting. The ceiling lights cast a pale glow over rows of benches, where families sat with quiet dread.
Catherine sat beside Kayla, her face tight, brows furrowed as the trial edged toward its verdict. Kayla remained still, her expression unreadable, eyes fixed on the judge. At the defense table stood Matthew Lee, early forties, weary but dignified. A working man, not wealthy, but respected the kind whose honesty could never shield him from the weight of power.
His wife clutched their daughter in the gallery, their fear visible in every glance. Across from him sat Richard Graves, late fifties, silver-haired, composed, almost smug. His lawyer leaned back with confidence, as if the outcome was already written. The judge's gavel fell.
"After reviewing the evidence presented, and in light of the arguments made, the court finds Matthew Lee guilty on all counts."
Gasps tore through the gallery. Matthew's wife broke into quiet sobs, pulling their daughter close. Matthew himself stood frozen, disbelief hollowing his face. Catherine's jaw tightened, fury sharpening her features. Kayla exhaled slowly, rising from her seat. Catherine muttered, low and bitter:
"How can he walk free, while Lee takes the fall?"
Kayla's voice was flat.
"Didn't you hear? Richard had proof."
"Bullshit," Catherine snapped.
"Just because he has power, he gets to erase everything?"
Kayla turned her head. Across the room, their chief officer, Marcus Lane, was laughing softly with Richard, their exchange light, familiar. Richard chuckled as though he hadn't just walked away from ruin. Kayla's lips curved faintly.
"There. As you can see."
Catherine followed her gaze, fury darkening her face.
Marcus leaned closer to Richard.
"I'm sorry you had to go through all this. The system can be rough."
Richard smirked, his words laced with mock courtesy.
"Please. At least I had good hospitality from your team."
His eyes flicked toward Kayla and Catherine, lingering, taunting. Marcus guided him out. Passing by, Richard smirked at them again before stepping into the corridor. His phone rang almost immediately.
"Yes. Thank you. Thank you for clearing this. A weight lifted," he said quickly.
Outside, a black sedan slid to the curb. The driver opened the door, Richard slipped inside, and the car rolled away into the New York night. Back inside, Matthew Lee sat with his grieving family, the weight of injustice heavy in the air. Catherine's fists trembled with rage. Kayla's gaze remained cold, but her silence carried more than words.
---
That same night
12:01 AM — Marquee, New York
The bass shook the floor, neon lights slicing through the haze as bodies moved in sync with the pounding beat. Crystal glasses clinked at the bar, laughter and shouts mixing with the music.
On the crowded dance floor, Tessa swayed with effortless rhythm, her body flowing to the music, hips loose, movements bold yet graceful. A few feet away, a man stood out from the chaos. Tall, sharp-jawed, breathtakingly elegant. The kind of presence that pulled eyes without effort.
He didn't dance wildly; instead, he moved with a controlled, sensual precision, every step deliberate, commanding. Girls around him leaned in, swaying their hips closer, hoping for his gaze. A girl in a glittering dress slid up to him, draping her arm across his shoulder, lips close to his ear.
"Come on, Daemin… dance with me."
He didn't hesitate, he went with her. Pulling her onto the floor, he moved with controlled dominance, every motion making it clear she was there for his rhythm, not hers. But then his eyes shifted. Her movement was different.
She didn't dance for anyone, least of all him. He pushed the girl aside without a glance and moved through the music and crowd toward Tessa. The girl rolled her eyes in annoyance before turning away.
"Nice moves," he said, his voice low, his body falling in rhythm with hers.
Tessa arched a brow, still moving, lips curving.
"You're not bad either."
Daemin scoffed, leaning closer, his words edged with arrogance.
"I love making others move for me."
He closed the distance, the air between them tightening. Tessa didn't flinch. She tilted her head, eyes sharp.
"Pity them."
Daemin's smile thinned, his gaze darkening.
"You don't know about me," he murmured, voice dropping into something menacing.
Tessa turned away, dismissive.
"Guess that's for the best."
Without waiting for a reply, she slipped through the crowd, heading for the bar. She ordered a drink, the glass cool in her hand, her body still swaying lightly to the beat.
Behind her, Daemin's jaw tightened. Fury flickered in his eyes. He grabbed one of the girls who had been dancing for his attention, yanking her closer with sudden intensity, and kissed her hard.
His eyes, though, never left Tessa. At the bar, Tessa caught the display from the corner of her eye. She rolled her eyes, lifted her glass, and took a slow sip utterly unbothered.
---
Also that night
1:24 AM — East Side, off the grid
The hall reeked of showy excess. Marble floors scuffed by heavy boots, gold-painted columns trying too hard to impress, and a chandelier that sparkled above but couldn't hide the smoke-stained ceiling.
Richard Graves, a man whose hands were in every shadowed trade the city tried to deny, leaned back. A tiger-print robe clung to his frame, thick chains glinting under the dim light. He swirled a glass of whiskey, ice clinking softly. Power clung to him not absolute, but loud, the kind that boasted to hide its limits. Around him, rough men lingered in silence.
Restless bodies that stank of smoke and powder. Crates stacked against the walls promised fortunes in whatever lay inside. No one laughed. No one moved. The quiet wasn't loyalty, it was fear. At Richard's feet, Matthew Lee lay slumped and unconscious, his breath shallow. Beside him, his wife knelt, her face streaked with tears, begging.
"Please… let him go."
Richard threw his head back and laughed, the sound booming off the marble.
"They thought they'd win the case. Thought they'd put me behind bars."
He sneered, raising his glass to the room. "I am the power."
The laughter broke when his phone buzzed on the table. The same number as earlier that day. His face stiffened. He put it on speaker, forcing his voice steady.
"Yeah."
The voice on the other end was calm and sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade.
"I won't be cleaning up after you forever, Graves. If you keep becoming a problem, I'll erase you myself. Don't forget who put you where you are."
The line went dead. Richard's jaw clenched. He bit down so hard his teeth ground audibly, then hurled the glass across the hall.
"That bastard thinks he owns me?" he roared. "ME?"
One of the men shifted nervously. That was enough. Richard pulled a pistol from beneath his robe and shot him point-blank. The others stiffened, heads down, afraid to even breathe. Matthew's wife let out a stifled cry. Richard turned on her, fury still burning, and yanked her up by the hair.
"Your turn," he hissed.
Before he could act, the lights snapped off. Darkness swallowed the hall.
"What the hell—?!" Richard barked, twisting. "Find out what's going on!"
The heavy doors exploded open with a crash. The rattle of gunfire filled the air, deafening, relentless. Richard ducked, screaming,
"What's happening?!" but got no answer. The silence returned thick, chilling.
The lights flickered back on, dim and unstable. The marble floor was smeared with blood. Bodies sprawled everywhere, lifeless in heaps. Figures in black combat gear filled the hall, faces hidden behind coverings, weapons heavy in their hands.
They formed two silent ranks, parting with precision to clear a path. Footsteps echoed, measured, unhurried. The black-clads split, leaving space for the one who approached. The message was clear, no one moved until she arrived ...
And out the shadows, Kayla stepped forward..
Richard's eyes widened, his face etched with shock and confusion.
His voice broke the silence, raw and disbelieving
"You...?"