Chapter 25
I sat in the backseat of a sleek, black car, the leather interior whispering beneath my weight, the subtle scent of polished cedar and expensive upholstery lingering in the air.
Outside, the city passed in streaks of gold and steel, streetlights reflecting like broken stars across the windows.
The suit I wore was tailored precisely to my frame—matte black, sharp-collared, clean enough to kill.
The kind of suit that didn't beg for attention, but demanded it in silence.
Olivia had stayed behind—dutiful as always, with a mountain of matters to handle.
My destination: a party hosted by a Count.
But the Count wasn't my objective.
No. I was going there for someone else—someone wrapped in whispers and shadows.
Someone who owed me a favor, the kind you never ask for lightly and never forget.
Someone with roots deep in the underworld, and branches that extended into the darker parts of the city.
With the right push, she'd give me exactly what I needed: a way in.
No paperwork.
No signatures.
No witnesses.
The car moved like a phantom across the night-washed roads, smooth and silent
I leaned back, fingers laced, eyes half-closed. In that moment of stillness, my mind drifted.
Reaching Tier 3 had been… enlightening.
My mana's quality now matched the purer tones of Tier 4 and even Tier 5 mages.
It hummed within me like a song partially remembered—powerful, but unfinished.
Yet the true limitation wasn't quality—it was quantity.
There was still a chasm there.
One I intended to bridge.
But progress was slow, and the Mana Stone Project consumed nearly every waking hour.
I'd pushed deadlines, rerouted resources, stretched schedules like strained wire.
But the clock ticked.
Always ticking.
The Head Professors were growing impatient.
Investors wanted returns, not theories.
Building a front-facing, legitimate business would take years.
If that.
Hence, the underworld.
But it was also efficient.
And I knew how to play that game—carefully, from the shadows, pulling strings instead of walking the stage.
If I did this right, no one would even realize I'd been involved.
Eventually, we arrived.
The manor stood in the distance like a castle forgotten by time, tall and brooding, surrounded by a sea of endless, moon-drenched fields.
Its silhouette cut through the sky with aristocratic arrogance—cold, imposing, silent.
This noble family didn't crave attention.
They operated beneath it.
Their title of Count hadn't been earned through battlefield valor or political charm.
No—it was bought with secrets, silence, and blood.
But that's a tale for another time.
Tonight, the focus was the party.
Inside, chandeliers floated like stars, casting warm golden light across the marbled halls.
Music played—soft, calculated, the kind meant to lull rather than entertain.
I moved through the crowd like smoke in a bottle, a glass of red wine cradled in my hand.
My eyes scanned the room, sharp and precise.
I was looking for her.
Layla.
But she was like a ghost—appearing only when she wished to be seen, and never a moment sooner.
As I mulled over the thought, my mind drifted—ghosts and spirits, phantoms and echoes.
Something about them intrigued me lately.
I made a mental note to dive into the occult texts when time allowed.
But for now, the living were already enough of a nuisance.
"Ah, if it isn't Lucas Von Maximilian," came a voice that grated like sandpaper on silk.
I turned slightly.
A nobleman stood nearby—young, overdressed, and utterly full of himself.
His grin was the kind that invited a slap more than a handshake.
"It's a pleasure to meet you here of all places," he continued with mock sincerity. "The famed Tier 3 Mage, in person. I was hoping to run into you."
I offered a cursory glance, then looked away, disinterested.
But he didn't take the hint.
"So what, you think I'm beneath you?" he scoffed, voice rising just enough to draw nearby attention.
"Maybe I should remind you—my family holds the Viscount title. Your family's land is under our domain. Show some respect. I don't care how powerful you think you are."
Pathetic.
And that's when I saw her.
Layla.
She moved like a ripple through a still lake—graceful, unhurried, absolutely magnetic.
Her crimson hair caught the chandelier's glow like liquid fire.
Her dress was black, high-slit, sleeveless, every stitch tailored for lethal elegance.
She stood at the far edge of the balcony, half-turned, as if waiting for the moon itself to acknowledge her.
I turned to the nobleman, eyes like frost.
"Ants who borrow power from their fathers," I said, voice calm and lethal, "should know when to step aside."
His posture stiffened.
The blood drained from his face. I walked past him without another glance.
Up the marble steps.
Across the balcony.
The night air greeted me like a whisper—cool and dry, laced with lavender from the garden below.
She didn't turn.
She didn't need to.
"It's been a while," I said, stepping beside her.
"Has it?" she murmured, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "A few months, Professor Lucas."
"Feels longer when you miss someone."
Her red eyes shimmered like polished rubies in the moonlight. "You missed me?" she teased, placing a hand gently against her chest. "How sweet."
"Not you. Just the favor you owe me."
"Ahh… so our night together meant nothing to you?" she pouted, almost convincingly. "I thought you loved me."
"Love? From someone as broken as you? That's a stretch."
She chuckled, deep and sultry. "Who doesn't believe in love, Lucas?"
I didn't answer.
My silence was louder than any reply.
She exhaled, eyes flicking toward the stars. "Anyway… are you here to kill me for not doing what you asked?"
"No. If anything, I'm relieved. It means you still have a conscience buried somewhere in there."
She scoffed. "I wouldn't go that far."
"I need you to accept someone into your group," I said, my tone shifting—quiet, serious.
"He'll contact you soon. Make him part of your underworld network. Or let him challenge for leadership, if that's how it works."
She tilted her head, considering. "You know the rules. If he wants the title, he'll have to defeat the other three lieutenants. Same day. No delays."
"He can handle it."
Her smile widened. "You're confident. I like that. What's his name?"
"You'll know when he calls. I just need you to teach him the ropes. Let him earn his place. He won't get in your way."
Layla's expression shifted—thoughtful, then amused. "Done," she said. "But before you go…"
She stepped closer, her scent brushing against me—rose, sandalwood, danger. "Want to spend some time with me again?"
"I have a wife at home."
Her brow arched. "Have you two… done it yet?"
"No."
"Then what's the harm in having a little fun?" Her hand slid slowly across my arm.
"You've gotten harder. Tense. I can help you loosen up."
I gently caught her wrist and pulled it away.
"The Lucas you knew is gone," I said softly. "I'm not your toy. I belong to my wife."
I turned toward the balcony doors, footsteps slow but firm.
At the threshold, I paused.
"He'll reach out to you soon."
Layla licked her lips, watching me like a lioness tracking prey. "I'll be waiting," she purred. "Just hope he's more fun than you…"
Her voice softened to a purr.
"Though, Lucas… your rejection only makes me want you more."
She laughed quietly, eyes drifting down to the guests below.