Author: [writers hub]
The realization hit Zara with the force of a physical blow: Mae-Yeon hadn't just disgraced Ragnar; she was planning his capture, perhaps even his demise, here, in front of everyone. The deepfake was the smoke, the distraction. The true fire was the human blockade forming near the exits, the rising tide of fury in the hall. Ragnar, usually surrounded by his formidable Shadow Wolves, seemed strangely exposed, besieged by the very allies he had relied upon.
There was no time for hesitation, no room for fear. Her breath hitched, but a cold, desperate resolve hardened her features. Hana's safety, Ragnar's empire, even her own life – it all hinged on her reaching him.
She plunged into the surging crowd, a small figure swallowed by a sea of angry, shouting faces. The opulent hall, moments ago a place of polite power, had erupted into a chaotic mosh pit of shouting, gesturing men and women. Security personnel, Ragnar's Shadow Wolves included, were desperately trying to restore order, their efforts hampered by the sheer volume of people and the deeply unsettling nature of the deepfake playing on the screens.
Zara ducked and wove, her slight frame an advantage. She moved with an animalistic instinct, recalling a survival lesson Ragnar had once barked at her: "When chaos reigns, blend, then move with purpose. The loudest screams mask the quietest threats." She pushed past burly bodyguards and startled socialites, their confused anger creating openings she exploited. Whispers of "traitor," "deceiver," and "usurper" followed the deepfake, fueling the rage.
Her path was fraught with obstacles. A group of men, clearly not aligned with Ragnar, stood shoulder-to-shoulder, blocking a direct route to the stage. Their faces were grim, resolute. Mae-Yeon's loyalists, perhaps, or those who simply saw an opportunity in Ragnar's fall.
Zara didn't hesitate. She remembered Lady So-Yeon's strategy of using subtle, unexpected actions to disarm. A glance caught a rolling service cart laden with empty champagne flutes. With a desperate shove, she sent it careening towards the blocking men, creating a momentary jolt of panic and a narrow gap. She slipped through, ignoring the startled curses behind her.
On stage, Ragnar was fighting a losing battle against the digital onslaught. Director Ahn and his team were frantically working at the control panels, trying to cut the broadcast, but it seemed to have a life of its own, replicated across every screen, every personal device. Ragnar's voice, booming into the mic, was drowned out by the shouts of betrayal from the crowd. He pointed at the screens, his face a mask of furious denial, but his words were lost in the cacophony. His Shadow Wolves were now forming a tight cordon around the stage, bracing for an inevitable rush.
Zara pushed harder, her hanbok snagging on a chair, her hair coming loose from its elegant pin. Her lungs burned, her muscles screamed. She could see Ragnar now, his eyes scanning the crowd, looking for a way out, looking for a break. He hadn't seen her yet. He was isolated.
As she got closer, she saw a new, terrifying development. From a side entrance near the stage, a contingent of armed men, not in formal wear, but in dark, utilitarian suits, began to move purposefully towards the stage. These were not family security. These were professional enforcers, mercenaries perhaps, brought in to ensure Ragnar's capture or elimination. Their movements were swift, synchronized, cutting through the chaos like a knife.
Zara realized the true depth of Mae-Yeon's treachery. The deepfake was the signal. The blockade was the net. And these men were the final, deadly blow. She had to reach him. Now.
She burst through a final cluster of bewildered guests, stumbling towards the last stretch of floor leading to the stage steps. Director Ahn, seeing her, tried to shout a warning, but his voice was swallowed by the roar.
"Ragnar!" Zara screamed, her voice raw, but it was lost in the din.
He turned, his eyes locking onto hers, surprise flashing across his face before being replaced by a stark understanding. He saw the urgent warning in her eyes, the desperation. He saw the men closing in.
Just as Zara lunged for the steps, a powerful hand clamped down on her arm, yanking her back. "Going somewhere, Mrs. Botermet?" a chillingly familiar voice purred in her ear. Zara was spun around, finding herself face-to-face with Madam Yoon-Hee, Ragnar's mother, her elegant composure finally shattered, her eyes burning with a cold, fierce anger, and behind her, a grim-faced contingent of Botermet traditional guards, poised to ensure Zara went no further, trapping her just feet from the stage, leaving Ragnar utterly exposed to the converging forces of betrayal, with his own mother now acting as the final, impenetrable barrier to his desperate escape.