Lucious (Pov)
Lucious stood near the outer rim of the ballroom's first floor, a half-filled glass of red wine in hand and a carefully chosen silence on his face. The polished shoes, tailored navy suit, and upright posture didn't scream wealth—but they whispered promise. Promise was enough.
Music rolled gently from the orchestra. Servers moved in seamless rhythm. Laughter rang sharp in clustered pockets across the floor, most of it artificial. The true power in the room wasn't measured by who spoke the loudest, but by who others paused to notice.
Lucious didn't draw attention yet. Not tonight.
But he noticed everyone.
His eyes drifted to the second-floor terrace—visible from almost every angle, raised just enough to create a hierarchy without saying it aloud. That level was reserved for the old names. The families with seats carved into stone decades ago. The untouchables. The predators.
And among them… her.
She stood out without trying to. Dressed in an elegant emerald gown that glimmered under the chandelier's firelight, she leaned slightly over the railing, speaking to a man Lucious assumed was her uncle. Her beauty hadn't dulled since the day they met. Even then—drunk, staggering, oblivious—he'd registered her. Her grace. Her sharp features. Her cold eyes.
Fan Yulan.
Lucious sipped his wine slowly, masking the cold flicker behind his gaze.
I'd recognize you in a crowd of thousands, he thought.
It had been a little over a year. Not a long time—but long enough to lose everything.
He remembered that night clearly now, though he used to pretend he didn't. He had been drunk—loud, stupid, swaying. She had walked into that club like a goddess, and he'd approached her like an entitled prince.
He thought he was charming. Said something arrogant. Tried to joke. Bragged about his father's business. When she shut him down, he upped the ante—tried to grab her wrist.
Her bodyguards didn't hesitate.
They broke his jaw and two ribs.
The next day, the Fan family began the real destruction. Licenses revoked. Suppliers ghosted. Their supermarket chain collapsed like wet paper. His father stopped talking. His mother started crying at night.
Three weeks later, the engine in the garage never shut off.
Lucious blinked, steadying his grip on the wineglass.
Now he stood under a different name, a glass in hand, quietly observing from below. To the world, he was no one. Just another newcomer in a suit. But he knew who he was. And he hadn't forgotten.
His eyes stayed fixed on Fan Yulan's silhouette above, framed in emerald and gold like royalty.
Enjoy your spotlight, Lucious thought. Because I'm coming for the foundation, not the crown.
"It won't be long before I'm standing above your family's ruins—and you'll know exactly who pulled the thread."
Lucious sat across from Mr. Weng in a room filled with old books, slow-turning fans, and the quiet authority of a man who'd built empires behind curtains.
The old man dropped a file on the desk between them.
"Your name rang a bell," he said, gesturing. "So I looked into it."
Lucious opened the folder. It was all there.
His high school records. His parents' deaths. The club incident. News clippings about the chain's collapse. Internal memos. Licensing disputes.
"Lucious Grey," Mr. Weng said. "Not just ruined. Marked."
Lucious kept his eyes on the folder, jaw tight.
Weng tapped another envelope onto the desk.
"Open it."
Inside was a passport, ID, birth certificate, social account registration—all forged. All flawless. A different name stared back at him: Ren Lei.
Lucious blinked. "What is this?"
Mr. Weng leaned in slightly. "Protection. And potential."
"I don't need a fake name."
"You need time," Weng said. "If you stick to Lucious Grey, the Fan family will snuff you out before you get your first real deal signed."
Lucious looked away.
"If you want revenge," Weng continued, "you stay hidden. You grow quietly. And one day, when you're powerful enough to tear out the roots—they won't even know it's you holding the knife."
Lucious said nothing.
But he folded the envelope and took it.
Back to the Present
"Excuse me," a woman said, brushing past him on the dance floor.
Lucious nodded, stepping aside.
He exhaled softly and placed his wineglass on the edge of a passing tray.
He'd introduced himself tonight as Ren Lei to a half-dozen people. Some asked where he was from—he gave a vague answer. Some asked who he worked for—he said he was in transition between projects. He kept it clean, consistent, forgettable.
But he watched everyone. Mapped their movements. Noted who laughed too loudly, who carried tension in their shoulders, who waited to speak until someone else took a sip.
A cluster of twenty-somethings passed, laughing—sons and daughters of officials and business sharks. One bumped shoulders with him and offered a half-hearted "Sorry." Lucious smiled back like it didn't matter.
They'd remember him eventually.
Just not tonight.
"Ren Lei?"
He turned.
A tall man in a crimson brocade suit approached with a measured smile. Early thirties. Lucious recognized him as a second-tier investor—the kind who hovered just below the big players.
"I'm Tang Bowen," the man said. "We met briefly last quarter at a function in Westbridge, I believe?"
Lucious bowed politely. "Possibly, sir. I was working in logistics last season. Westbridge had several meetings."
Bowen chuckled. "Of course. If you're in transition, I may have something. Come by my table before you leave tonight."
"I'd be honored."
Bowen nodded and vanished into the crowd.
Lucious smiled faintly.
Another seed planted.
Then the air shifted.
Music slowed. Conversation dimmed just enough for the change to be felt.
He turned his head as the grand double doors opened wide.
flanked by uniformed staff and her grandfather.
She wore a fur coat, the kind that concealed more than it revealed—but the way she walked, every step was timed to silence.
Her presence cut through the room like a calm in the eye of a storm, impossible to ignore.
He lifted his gaze toward the second floor, where a figure stood at the railing, eyes fixed on her like a tempest waiting to break.
Lucious barely registered the stranger—his attention was on the woman below.
A slow, almost reluctant smile touched Lucious's lips as he raised his glass slightly in silent admiration.