My face felt like it had been scorched open. Heat surged through my skin as my eyes scanned the letter in trembling disbelief. The paper crumpled between my unsteady fingers, fury making them useless. I couldn't even grip it right.
With a sharp, breathless growl, I shredded the page in half and snapped my gaze toward Calystron—the one who dared deliver it.
"What kind of arrogant bastard replies like that?" My voice broke out, shaking like my spine was lightning-struck.
Unbelievable. Utterly disgusting.
He didn't even have the spine to face me himself—just tossed me a message through his damn secretary?
"I wrote to him as the rightful Head of Dominara Luxovara Holdings!" My voice cracked with rage, my shoulders shaking as if the fury was alive inside my bones.
And now, my father—Zephyriandor Velmireaux, the empire's architect—is walking into the fire. Jail. Chains. All because of fraudulent claims spewed by clients and investors who used to worship our name.
Let's be honest. That's how this world works, doesn't it? They build you high just to enjoy the fall. And me? I've danced through storms and never once hit the ground.
And then this letter. This pathetic excuse of a response:
To Lady Velmireaux,
We regret to inform you that your message has been deemed non-essential by our Chairman and, as such, will not be acknowledged further. Only matters of significant relevance are permitted for his direct attention.
This response has been issued on his behalf.
Kind regards.
Kind regards?
He has no idea who he just slighted.
I pressed two fingers to my temple as my chair spun in a slow, creaking circle. Across from me stood Calystron and Vaelricon—my ever-silent, ever-watchful shadows in tailored black.
Not a word. Not even a breath. Their silence was a fortress, untouched by the chaos echoing from the lower floors of the building.
Annoyance prickled under my skin like heat trapped beneath velvet. I shot to my feet, heels clacking like gunshots across the marble. Three sharp steps forward. Halt. A pivot. Then three more in the opposite direction. My movement was clipped, purposeful, furious.
I was boiling. Rage shimmered under my skin like steam. I could rip apart anything—anyone—who crossed me right now. And at the top of that list? The imbecile behind that letter.
Calystron cleared his throat quietly—a calculated sound. His muscle-bound arms twitched as he shifted, the sleeves of his suit doing a poor job of hiding the mountain he called a bicep.
I shot him a glare.
"What?" I snapped. "Speak, or stay still. Choose wisely."
He tilted his head. Calm. Cocky.
"I'm just curious, ma'am—what part exactly set you off? The rejection... or the fact that he didn't even write it himself?"
I was seconds from breathing fire down his throat. Lucky for him, the phone rang—a shrill sound slicing through the tension like a blade.
How many times had I told Elorynthia not to patch through calls during tantrum hours? Probably another protester, another whiner, another nobody.
"What?!" I barked into the receiver, not caring if the voice on the other end turned to stone.
A nervous stammer: "M-Ma'am... apologies... It's Sir Xavrenith. He's... he's asking for you."
I shut my eyes, gripping the phone like a weapon I was barely keeping myself from launching straight at Calystron's perfectly symmetrical face. What now?
"Fine. Patch him through."
I crossed my arms tightly, the tension coiling like wires around my chest as I waited for Xavrenith to come on the line. My ever-timely cousin—like clockwork, he only ever called when disaster was already dancing on my shoulders.
His voice crackled through with a silk-laced taunt.
"Darling cousin... such a perfect time, isn't it?"
I had to fight the very real urge to flip off the speaker. Instead, I exhaled hard and let my shoulders fall with restraint.
"Still haven't reconsidered what I offered, hmm?" he added smoothly.
I snapped back without pause. "Which offer, Xavrenith? The one where I abandon my legacy just to play apprentice in your empire? Then no. That's not happening."
He laughed—low, infuriating, full of teeth.
If he were within reach, I swear I would've broken at least one of his perfect cheekbones by now.
"Then you've got two options, cousin," he said, voice sharpening. "One, surrender the company so you can start repaying your father's debt through mine. Or two, sell that overpriced island you flaunt like a crown. Pick your poison."
I narrowed my eyes at the wall, heat rising again.
"Why do you even care what I choose?"
"Listen, Zaryn," his voice came through with that frustrating blend of sincerity and strategy. "I care about Luxovara too, you know. That's where my father started—where I started. Everything I built at Velthara Realty grew from what I learned at your father's table. I'm offering you a seat at mine now. Something permanent. Senior. You just have to—"
"Shut your mouth, Xavrenith!" I snapped, breath cutting like a blade. "I don't need your throne. I've got my own—and I built it from blood. This company is mine. I was born for it. And I'm not going to abandon it just because things got hard."
He didn't flinch, not even over the line.
"Zaryn... stop pretending you're bulletproof. You're not. Your dad—he lost his grip after your mom died. He let the cards and casinos devour him, and now you're paying the price. I know you're strong. But this? This shouldn't be your first battle. This is a war zone."
My chest caved. A tear threatened to fall—but it held, caught in the storm behind my eyes.
His voice was soaked in concern. Too soaked. And that made it worse. Because he wasn't entirely wrong.
Luxovara Estates wasn't just some shiny corporate name. It was the blueprint—the company that paved the first paths in real estate when nobody else dared to. Affordable housing for the unseen, the forgotten. Their mission was why I fell in love with buildings. Why I became an architect. Why I stayed.
And now...
"You think you know what I'm capable of?" I snarled. "You think I need you? I've seen how this game is played. I can play it better. Alone."
I slammed the phone back into its cradle, the sound ringing louder than his silence.
Regret slid down my spine like ice.
If he found out I hung up on him, he'd probably storm in here and throw me over his shoulder like some executive caveman and drag me straight to Velthara.
A hesitant voice broke the tension behind me.
"There... might be another way, Ma'am?" It was Calystron, voice quieter than usual—almost afraid.
I let out a sharp laugh and gave him a sidelong glance. He could tell I wasn't being serious this time—and I knew he hated that smirk on my face.
"Such as?"
"Well… the person who handed me that envelope said there's a second letter coming from Draxenthal Dominion. Some sort of... invitation." He hesitated. "It looked like it might be for an engagement celebration, Ma'am..."
My eyes widened like triggered floodlights. I stormed toward Calystron so fast he instinctively leaned back. Maybe he thought I was about to land a punch square on his chest.
I wasn't short—far from it—but he still loomed over me like a human skyscraper. Yet despite his sheer size, he shrank like a cornered kitten beneath my glare.
"Engagement? Whose engagement? His?" I practically spat the words, the disgust in my voice thick enough to shatter glass.
I studied architecture in London. Left the country with my head held high, halfway through my master's, only to be dragged back because this company—the legacy I was born into—started to crumble.
"Don't play dumb with me, Calystron!" I snapped, voice tightening with disbelief.
"I swear it's real, Ma'am. I was going to wait until the follow-up letter arrived, but when they said it was just an invite to a party... I figured you'd blow up anyway."
I bit my lower lip so hard it stung. Oh, how generous of him. Should I clap in slow motion to match the dramatic reveal?
"You've got to be kidding me. A man like him—he wouldn't—" My voice cracked mid-laugh, pure sarcasm. "Wait. Of course he would. He's got wealth, a title, and a boardroom with his name on it. Any housemaid with dreams would crawl to that altar blindfolded."
Damn it all. Is this really what I've been cornered into?
"What now, Ma'am?" Calystron's voice cut through the tension like a blunt knife.
I exhaled slowly, dropping into my chair as if gravity had finally won. My mind was chaos wrapped in silence. I needed clarity, even just a thread of it. I needed to think without shattering.
At this very moment, my father was likely riding in the back of a government van, his freedom ticking away by the minute. And me? I was left staring down a choice that felt more like a loaded gun. This plan—no, this desperate maneuver—was all I had left. There could be no failure. Not anymore. I wouldn't survive it.
"Vaelricon, return to their headquarters and retrieve the letter—the one that should've reached Calystron." My voice was ironed flat with command.
He nodded wordlessly. Vaelricon, all long limbs and coiled energy, didn't look like much next to Calystron—but I've seen him snap bones like twigs. He turned and left, silent and swift.
Now, it was just Calystron and me in the office—two wolves in a crumbling den.
"Land the heli near the back green. And secure me an untraceable ride. Black market preferred." My tone was cool now. Focused. Deadly.
Calystron inclined his head. He understood. We both did. This wasn't about pride anymore—it was survival. My last card. My final play.
"Warn anyone who might get caught in the crossfire," I added, raising a brow. "What agency provides his security?"
He blinked once, slowly.
"None, Ma'am. He doesn't use guards."
It might've been the first time Calystron delivered news that didn't make me want to flip a desk. I cracked a rare grin. He caught it, beamed like a child offered candy, clearly proud of himself.
"I don't buy it..." I narrowed my eyes, letting suspicion seep into every syllable.
I wasn't gullible. That wiped the smugness right off his face.
"It's true, Ma'am," he insisted, a bit defensive now. "Sir Zephyriandor and I—we've seen it ourselves. Every corporate launch, every private summit… the man walks in like a king with no guards."
"A man that high on the power ladder just… walks alone?" I scoffed. "That's either pure arrogance or a trap. What's stopping an angry investor or an overworked employee from jumping him?"
Calystron chuckled and shook his head slightly, amused. "Maybe no one has a reason to. Things seem… orderly in his empire."
He trailed off as my expression soured.
Fine. If it's true, all the better. If not, then it's chaos I'm used to. Either way, we plan for both.
"I'm going to that party," I declared, slicing through the moment with firm resolve.
"Ma'am? Are you serious? That complicates things—"
"It'll be more complicated if I don't go," I cut him off. "My absence would be louder than my presence. Stick to the plan while I work the crowd. We'll keep in contact. Once I'm done there, I'll head straight to the rendezvous point near the golf course and we move."
"You're really not going to test the waters at the event, Ma'am?" Calystron asked, cautiously hopeful.
I rolled my eyes, sharp as a dagger.
"Test what, exactly?" I shot back. "If this is truly an engagement soirée, what miracle do you expect me to pull off in under an hour? Thirty minutes, even? No. We go full strike the moment I walk out of this house. This isn't a rehearsal—it's war."
I held the ivory invitation between my fingers like it was tainted. The gold-embossed letters gleamed arrogantly in the light—an elegant slap to the face. There was no need for doubt. Birthday parties don't come with cursive declarations of love.
"Guests are requested to arrive in gowns of gold and silver," the card whispered like a spell.
How fitting. My two favorite shades—now smeared in betrayal.
Gold and silver were my symbols. I was raised in a world gilded by the heights of Luxovara Estates, where opulence was oxygen and desire was law. The shimmer of extravagance didn't just follow me—it defined me.
I learned to value things by price tags. Diamonds. Foreign cars. Silk that never wrinkles. But some things—like our empire—hold weight far beyond numbers.
And now here I stand, watching it all crumble beneath me.
I never traveled without couture. I never slept without five stars above my head. I never drove anything that didn't whisper Western engineering through its engine. But none of those matter now. Not when the legacy is on the edge of extinction.
My father was a titan—a brilliant force. And he was played. Deceived. That's the only reason we're standing on this cliff.
But I won't fall. I refuse.
I will save him. I will reclaim everything. Alone, if I must. And I will do it in heels, head held high.
I made sure my father was entrusted to those I handpicked myself—loyal to the bone, trained for situations grimmer than this—before I finally stepped beyond the iron gates of our estate.
Adjusting the diamond pins that clung to my ears like royalty, I let my gaze sweep once more over the gown I wore: a molten gold silhouette stitched in silence and power. The sharp cut of my dress hugged my form like a blade sheathed in silk. My heels, twin towers of gold, echoed as I walked with the weight of generations on my shoulders. Clutch in hand. Intent loaded.
I slid into the leather seat of my midnight-gold Virelli Roadmaster—modified, Western-built, more myth than machine—and gunned the engine like it owed me something. The night peeled open.
Beneath the hotel's foundation, the basement swallowed me whole. My arrival was quiet, but never unnoticed. I tapped a discreet message to my field agent: Falcon's landed.
As I ascended to the ground floor, mirrors lined the halls like sentinels. I didn't look, but my reflection greeted me from the corner of my eye—poised, collected, lethal. My hair was swept into a precise French twist, not a strand out of place. A sculpted shadow kissed the angles of my cheekbones. The contour was deliberate—like war paint. My eyes, steeled and unblinking. My lips, curved like a lie waiting to happen.
I passed the press like a queen passing pawns.
Their eyes widened, and the air thickened with flashing lights. I didn't slow down. I didn't need to. But if desperation painted their pursuit in sweat and stumbles, I might just turn around and toss them a soundbite wrapped in silk.
"Miss Velmireaux! You made it!" someone breathlessly shouted, a badge of a major publication swinging from their neck.
I allowed myself a smile—gracious and sharp.
Cameras clicked like gunfire. My grin deepened.
Of course, I was invited. The audacity of him to summon me here like a twisted finale to our unfinished battle.
"I just returned from London. Thought I'd enjoy a bit of sunlight."
Let them interpret that how they will.
"So, Miss Velmireaux, where exactly is this little getaway of yours? You're not settling back here for good, are you?" one of the press asked, voice too eager, smile too wide.
I nearly scoffed. Has the art of inference completely vanished? A vacation implies it ends. Naturally, I'm not anchoring myself permanently in the Philippines.
"No," I said coolly, brushing an invisible thread from my gown. "I'm flying back soon for my postgrad work—"
:But what about your firm? Rumor says your father's facing litigation—"
"That would be my cousin Xavrenith's arena now," I cut in, voice sharp and wrapped in frost. "But are we truly here to dissect family affairs or were you going to ask about this masterpiece I'm wearing?"
The reporters chuckled—nervously. I arched a brow, resetting the tone. The press loves confidence. They fear command.
"Well! You've always been a style icon," gushed a woman beside me, more articulate and better dressed than the others. "I follow your socials religiously. It's all couture and class!"
I granted her a more genuine smile.
She inquired about the ensemble. I gave her the rundown—the gold silk sourced from a designer in Prague, the custom cut requested last minute due to the delayed invitation, the shoes shipped in three days flat. I knew how to talk fashion like a strategist.
"How long has it been since you last set foot here, Miss Velmireaux? We thought you'd vanished for good."
"I've returned here and there. Quietly. I don't parade myself around these kinds of events unless absolutely necessary."
"Ahh, that makes sense," she nodded, satisfied.
They didn't need to know the real reason I was back. Not yet.
The questions never stopped raining down. Like a storm with no eye, the press wouldn't let up. One editor-in-chief from a prestige fashion magazine even dared to ask if I'd grace their next issue's cover. I handed her my contact card—more out of habit than interest—and made my way into the hall.
Social obligations like this feel like fossils of another life. I no longer have the luxury of time to dance in the spotlight.
As I stepped inside, the venue bled shades of soft lavender and deep violet. Ferns crept from corners and tables shimmered with polished gold. My jaw tightened. I wanted to laugh, to sneer at the decor... but damn it, the entire setup was stunning.
"Miss Velmireaux!" a chipper voice called out.
A girl I vaguely recognized waved like we were old friends. I raised my hand in a hollow greeting. A cluster of women surrounded me, asking where my entourage was, why I came alone.
Of course I came alone. This battlefield doesn't need witnesses.
I snatched a champagne flute from a silver tray and took a generous sip. My eyes scanned the sea of power players, influencers, and social elites. Some faces pulled from the archives of my past—former classmates now weighed down by time and married life. The sparkle in their eyes had dimmed.
A stir echoed through the crowd as an elderly couple entered, flanked by a younger woman. The gold gown wrapped around her like destiny. My breath hitched. No introductions needed—she was the bride-to-be.
I rolled my eyes and abandoned my glass for another. Brilliant deduction, Zaryn. Sherlock would applaud you.
I downed the second glass in one go.
Porcelain skin. Raven-black hair cascading like silk. Every step she took radiated poise. And yet, all I wanted to do was scream profanities into my palm.
"Well, aren't you just the picture of perfection," I muttered under my breath, more to myself than anyone. I shrugged it off with a smirk, letting the sarcasm coat my tone.
I studied her again—smaller than me by several inches, maybe five foot flat. She carried herself like a porcelain figurine come to life, smiling sweetly at the big-name guests who bent their pride just to be seen near her. Pure sugar and silk.
A sharp vibration in my purse broke my thoughts. Thank God.
Calystron:
Everything is set, Ma'am.
I drained what remained of my champagne, letting it burn down my throat before slipping effortlessly into another pocket of guests. I smiled, shook hands, let them fawn over me. It was all about optics now—every second of my presence here needed to be remembered. Burned into their minds so if something goes down, no one could say I wasn't here.
Another vibration. I didn't need to read it. I already knew—he'd arrived.
The host was now onstage, all charm and rehearsed warmth, greeting the room like it was his kingdom. I picked up another glass, the chilled stem kissing my fingers as I took a sip. The anticipation in the room began to sour—where was the star of the show?
Slowly, I turned my gaze toward her.
There she was—beside her parents, clutching her phone like it held the secrets of the universe. She tapped, swiped, then pressed it to her ear. No answer. Her mother whispered something, and the girl gave a helpless shake of her head.
I wet my bottom lip and leaned back, watching the unraveling in slow motion. Then my phone buzzed again.
I didn't need to see the message.
I smiled.
I glanced at the message, a slow grin forming on my lips.
Calystron:
Package secured, Ma'am.
Perfect timing.
When I looked up again, my eyes landed right on her—just as a security officer approached her. He shook his head. She turned quickly to the emcee, her brows subtly furrowed. The man on stage met her gaze, gave a theatrical nod, and addressed the restless crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we'll be beginning shortly—but a little fashionably late," he said with a showman's smile.
Excellent. Clean operation. If the security team had no clue, then Calystron and Vaelricon executed it flawlessly. I'd make sure they were rewarded—discreetly and handsomely.
"Excuse me, where might I find the ladies' lounge?" I asked a guest nearby, even though I could find it blindfolded.
"Just ahead and to your left, Miss," he replied politely.
"Thank you!" I offered with a soft smile and a graceful nod.
I followed the direction until I was near the powder room, then veered sharply—right through an exit door that spilled into a quieter corridor. With steady steps, I glided toward the elevator and pressed the button. Down I went—silent, efficient.
In the underground parking, I approached the valet.
"I need a space cleared for a rapid departure. Personal emergency," I said calmly.
He gave me a quick nod, no questions asked. I stepped into the night.
I couldn't hold back the smirk tugging at my lips as I exited the grand hotel. Another message buzzed its way into my consciousness.
Calystron:
Extraction successful.
My heel met the pedal, sending the BMW surging forward like a whispered rebellion. At one hundred and twenty, I veered into a hidden enclave where the ancestral estate of my grandfather brooded behind iron-gated silence.
As the city blurred behind me, my eyes caught the outline of the mansion — once a place of childhood wonder, now merely a ghost I no longer had time for. I wasn't here for nostalgia. I had a mission to finish.
Not far off, nestled between old marble statues and cypress trees, our private obsidian-black chopper purred awake like a beast roused from slumber. I brought the car to a halt, grabbed my clutch, and without hesitation, tossed the keys to one of my guards, striding directly toward the aircraft.
With a flick of my fingers, I pulled the ornate pin from my hair, letting the soft waves cascade freely as if shedding the last of my hesitations. Calystron met me halfway, his arm extended like a silent vow, helping me into the copilot seat before strapping himself in beside me.
Behind us sat the rest of my entourage — vigilant, silent, and ready. Among them, bound and blindfolded, was our esteemed guest.
Poor Knox.
A man too powerful to be stopped by words…
Too proud to believe he'd be kidnapped from his own engagement.
Now airborne, our chopper sliced through the clouds, iron-winged and unstoppable.
Let the storm begin.