Morning light spilt across the wide desk in Cass's study. Sheets of heavy black card lay in a neat stack, each edged in gold leaf and embossed with the crest he had designed—a crown sharp enough to cut.
Cass picked up his pen and wrote the first name carefully. Harrington would expect formality, not carelessness.
'An invitation isn't paper. It's a weapon with a polite edge.'
One card became two, then five. By the time he sealed the seventh envelope, the door opened, and Rowena stepped in. She moved with her usual self-possession, but her eyes widened slightly when she saw the precision of the desk.
"You're writing them by hand," she said.
"Handwriting is harder to ignore," Cass replied. "Every stroke is a reminder that I remembered them."
Rowena smiled faintly and placed a slim portfolio on the desk. "I've lined up the music. A quartet, a singer, and a pianist."
Cass didn't look up from his envelope. "I'll play the piano myself."
Her brows lifted. "Will you now?"
He sealed the card with the crest. "It'll be memorable."
"You really do want to own every inch of this, don't you?"
"Not want," Cass said. "Need."
Rowena studied him a moment longer before nodding. "Then I'll make sure the piano's tuned."
The door closed softly behind her. Cass returned to the task, every name an intention etched into card and wax.
By noon, he was in the city, the Aston Martin drawing glances as it slid through streets lined with glass and ambition.
His first stop was Lydia Cole, the banker whose rejection letters were legend. She studied him across a wide desk, sharp eyes weighing his age against the authority in his tone.
"You're hosting a gala," she said flatly.
"I am," Cass said. "And you'll be there."
Cole tilted her head, testing him. "Convince me."
"If you miss it, you'll miss the conversations that decide which projects live through winter," Cass said. "You'd spend months clawing them back. Why bother?"
Cole's lips twitched, almost a smile. "You're either reckless or extremely precise."
"Well, if you don't have control over everything...," Cass said. "Something almost always goes wrong."
He slid the invitation across the desk. Her hand lingered on it longer than she intended.
From there, he visited a gallery, white walls glowing with light. The art dealer fluttered, talking of collectors and scarcity. Cass only stopped at two canvases, paid without blinking, and turned to leave. The dealer scrambled to keep pace.
"Mr Vale, such decisiveness—it's refreshing. I don't suppose—"
Cass offered him the black envelope. The man held it like a relic.
Back in the car, Cass sent a photo of the crest to the editor of a society magazine. The reply came almost instantly: Noted. Cass smirked. That would take care of the column inches.
By the time he drove back toward the countryside, the city was humming with questions.
The mansion was alive when he returned. Florists unloaded crates of white roses, the estate manager walked the ballroom with floor plans, and caterers lined the conservatory with tasting plates. Cass moved through the house like a conductor, adjusting details with a glance.
"Too much cream," he told the chef, tasting a dish. "Balance it with citrus. Service in smaller portions. No one waits for their glass."
"Yes, sir," the chef said, scribbling furiously.
Elaine appeared at the conservatory doors, eyes wide at the bustle. "Cass… what is all this?"
"Tasting session," Cass said, guiding her to a chair. "Try this."
She hesitated, then picked up a fork. The lamb melted on her tongue, and her eyes widened.
"Oh, Cass…"
Thomas wandered in next, boots dusty from the garden. He took in the table, the staff, and the polished silver.
"Army rations?" he asked dryly.
"A city's," Cass said.
Thomas shook his head but picked up a fork anyway. The approving grunt that followed needed no translation.
Elaine set her cutlery down gently. "Why go to such lengths? Why invite strangers here?"
"Not strangers," Cass said. "Witnesses. And allies."
His father's gaze sharpened. "And enemies?"
"They'll come too," Cass said, voice calm. "I'll welcome them properly."
Neither parent spoke, but the silence was different now—less fear, more awe.
Later, tailors arrived with garment bags. Elaine let them coax her into silk, colour deep as twilight. The mirror revealed not a weary mother but a woman regal and radiant. Her breath caught.
"I look…" she whispered, unable to finish.
Cass's voice was soft. "Like someone who deserves this."
Her eyes filled, though she laughed to cover it. "You're too much, Cass."
"This is only the start," he said.
Thomas lingered by the fireplace, watching them both. He shook his head slowly. "I don't understand half of this, son. But I think I like it."
"You don't need to understand," Cass said. "Just stand tall with me."
For once, Thomas didn't argue.
As night fell, the last of the invitations were sealed and sent with couriers. Two remained on the desk, set aside with deliberate care: Sienna Reed and Trent Beaumont.
Rowena joined him as he looked at them. "You're sure about this?" she asked.
"Yes," Cass said. "Let them come. Let them try to shine. The room will decide who they really are."
Her smile was sharp. "You really are quite cruel."
"I'm fair," Cass corrected. "Cruelty is what they gave me before. This is balance."
He slipped both cards into the stack.
[Hidden Ledger Update: Sienna Reed and Trent Beaumont flagged for event exposure]
[Debt Effects: Public Slip Risk increased for both targets]
In the quiet after the staff had gone, Cass stood alone in the ballroom. The chandeliers were already hung, crystals catching the moonlight. He traced the path guests would take, from the entrance through the hall, up the stairs where he would appear.
'Every step is theatre. Every glance is a currency. They'll come thinking this is a party. They'll leave knowing it was a coronation.'
The system pulsed, the words clean and certain.
[Quest Complete: Hosting Gala — Preparations Finalised]
[Reward: +£20,000]
[Charisma +2]
[Reputation (High Society) Established]
Cass closed his eyes, breathing in the silence of a house waiting to explode into life.
'The board is set. Now let the players gather.'