Richard Mansion – Countryside, Outskirts of Berlin, 10:14 PM
Where power sleeps behind iron gates and old ghosts walk in silence.
The sky above the Richard Mansion was ink-dark, broken only by the gleam of tall floodlights guarding the estate. The property stretched over acres—manicured gardens edged in black roses, a fountain carved with lions, and dozens of men in black suits, silently patrolling the grounds with military grace. They weren't guards. They were shadows. Trained to protect something far deeper than gold.Inside the towering mansion, glass chandeliers and warm oak interiors masked the cold that lived within the walls.In the drawing hall, Gregor Richard, the legendary tycoon whose name could stop business deals and change diplomatic routes, sat with two older men in high-end suits. Whiskey glasses in hand, the scent of expensive cigars curling through the air. Laughter punctuated their talk as stocks, oil trades, and Berlin's shifting underworld politics were discussed like board game pieces.Until the main hallway doors opened.
And in stepped the storm.Lukas Richard.
Still in his fitted shirt, coat slung over one shoulder, his face unreadable—stone and silence. He didn't nod. He didn't greet the others. He simply walked in like he belonged in every room, because he did.Gregor noticed the shift in air before he even turned his head. "Gentlemen," Gregor said smoothly to his guests, "If you'll excuse us—family matters."They understood. You didn't question Gregor when his son entered. They nodded, took their cigars, and moved out of the chamber as if on cue.Lukas walked to the center of the room. Gregor poured another glass of whiskey and gestured to the seat across him."How was your first day at Heinrich Von Falken University?"Lukas sat down slowly, unhurried, one leg crossing over the other. His fingers tapped the armrest once. "Noisy. Undisciplined. Arrogant students. Especially one."Gregor smirked behind his glass."Let me guess. Henry Vinson."Lukas didn't reply.
Gregor leaned forward now, voice quieter, rougher—more personal."Son… I've watched you grow from a broken-eyed boy into something this world now fears. But tell me honestly—did you meet him?"Lukas's jaw tightened, his eyes flickering for the first time.Gregor continued gently. "You adored him once, Lukas. You were boys. Eight. Running around in mud and dreams. You couldn't go a day without mentioning Henry Vinson. After your mother passed, he was the only thing that made you smile."Lukas looked away, his voice low but sharp. "Some pain can't be spoken, Father. And some betrayals… cut in ways that silence is the only language left."Gregor studied him closely, his face no longer the ruthless mogul—just a father tracing his son's wounds.
"So this is revenge now?" he asked. "You're going back there not as a friend… but as a blade."Lukas stood up."I'm not going back, Father. I'm already there."He walked to the fireplace, where an old photo sat—two little boys smiling, one with curly brown hair and one slightly taller with sunlight in his eyes. Henry and Lukas, second grade, arms around each other, unaware of the world to come.Lukas stared at the photo."He forgot me. But I never forgot him."Gregor rose too, slower. "Don't let the fire that drives you, burn you, Lukas."Lukas turned, eyes like cut obsidian "It already has."Without another word, he walked out of the room, long strides echoing off marble floors. Outside, the men in black snapped to attention as he passed. He didn't acknowledge them.Gregor remained inside, looking down at the photo.
"What did you do, Henry," he whispered to himself, "to turn my boy into a ghost?"
Next Morning – Vinson Mansion, 8:02 AM
Where wealth wakes early, but warmth comes late.
The soft hum of automatic blinds sliding open filled the air as sunlight spilled gently into the Vinson Mansion's dining hall—a space grand enough to host thirty, but quiet enough for only three.Henry Vinson descended the polished marble staircase, fully dressed in his usual rich-boy perfection—black slacks, crisp cream shirt half-unbuttoned at the neck, watch worth a semester of tuition gleaming on his wrist. His hair, damp from a fresh shower, fell carelessly over his forehead.In his hand, he held his latest toy—a Samsung Galaxy Z Fold, opened and glowing, his thumb sliding across the screen lazily as he read the latest college gossip, glanced at messages from his gang group chat, and briefly checked stock numbers on the Vinson legacy business account.As he stepped into the breakfast hall, the aroma of cinnamon toast, brewed coffee, and grilled sausages hung thick in the air.Alex Vinson, in a neat navy-blue suit and cufflinks, already sat at the head of the long mahogany table, sipping black coffee and reading the financial newspaper on his tablet. His sharp eyes looked up only once—directly at Henry.
"Phone down. Breakfast first."Henry didn't even look up at first.
But Alex's tone had command in it.Henry sighed lightly, clicked the screen off, and folded the phone with a soft snap, placing it next to his juice glass. "Morning, Dad."
Alex nodded once.Just then, Clara Vinson walked in—graceful as ever, in a satin peach robe and diamond-studded hair clip. She didn't say much, as usual. She carried a silver tray with fresh toast and avocado eggs, placing it delicately at the center. "Eat before it gets cold," she said simply, then took her seat beside Alex, sipping tea in her porcelain cup without meeting anyone's eyes.Henry picked up his fork, poking at the eggs. He wasn't really hungry—but years of being trained in "table manners" made sure he wouldn't skip it.Alex sipped his coffee again and broke the silence. "So. How are your classes going?"Henry swallowed a bite, shrugged. "Going. The usual. Code, coffee, chaos."Alex raised an eyebrow. "And by chaos, you mean skipping lectures, sleeping in the last bench, and spending hours on that roof terrace you illegally claimed as your second home?"Henry chuckled softly.
"You make it sound worse than it is. I'm still topping, aren't I?"Clara looked up briefly, her voice light and distant. "Topper or not, reputation spreads faster than marks, Henry."Henry leaned back slightly in his chair, sipping his juice."Reputation? Please. In that college, I am the reputation."Alex set his tablet down now, his eyes sharpening. "That attitude will earn you enemies. Arrogance may open doors, son—but respect keeps them from slamming shut."
Henry smirked. "They don't slam doors on people who own the building."There was a beat of silence. Then Alex spoke calmly.
"You're walking in a world where power changes hands overnight. One mistake… and you fall harder than anyone else ever could."Henry looked away for a second, tapping his finger on the edge of his folded phone."I'll be fine. No one in that place can touch me."Clara stood from the table, her chair gliding back quietly."Eat properly, both of you. I'm not wasting another breakfast over egos."She left the room as silently as she entered.Alex looked at Henry one last time, firm and quiet. "Just remember this, Henry. The moment you believe no one can challenge you—someone already has."
Henry didn't respond. He folded his napkin, grabbed his phone again, and stood.
"Gotta go. Late again."Alex didn't stop him.
But as Henry walked out, something in his father's eyes shifted—like a man watching a storm creep in from a sunny sky.