Glass clinked.
The delicate chime rippled through the ballroom, overlapping with the laughter of the wealthy and the low hum of a string orchestra. Crystal chandeliers spilled golden light across polished marble floors, and the air was heavy with perfume—expensive, exotic, intoxicating. The mingled aroma of delicacies drifted from silver trays carried by servers in crisp uniforms: smoked salmon, glazed duck, truffle-topped bites. It was a feast, but more than that—it was a statement.
This was no ordinary gathering.
It was a celebration.
The founder of The Freder Empire, Mr. Williams Edward, had thrown open the gilded doors of his mansion to celebrate his heir's birthday. Guests in gowns and tuxedos glided across the floor like figures painted into a masterpiece. Every smile was polished, every laugh rehearsed, every glance calculated. To be invited here was an honor. To belong here was power.
And then he appeared.
No announcement. No introduction. Simply… there.
A man unlike the rest, stepping out from nowhere into the glowing circle of light.
His suit was blood-red, shimmering with designs of diamonds and precious stones stitched into its fabric. Each step he took seemed to draw the very room toward him. He looked more expensive than the millionaires and kings already present, yet there was nothing gaudy about him. His presence was not bought—it was born.
An aura wrapped around him, invisible yet undeniable, a pressure that made conversations falter mid-sentence. Voices lowered into hushed murmurs. Faces tightened in suspicion. Some frowned, others stared outright.
"Who is he?" someone whispered.
"Where did he come from?" murmured another.
The questions lingered in the air, unanswered, like smoke curling toward the high ceilings.
Sandra Dow's eyes followed him instantly.
She tugged lightly at her mother's sleeve, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Who is he, Mom?"
Agatha's gaze flicked toward the man. Her lips tightened before she answered, voice edged with caution. "Hmm. That is George. I've heard… he came from the slums. No one knows his true origin except Mr. Edward and perhaps a handful of others."
Sandra's lips curved into a mischievous smile. "He's… kinda cute. Mhm."
Agatha turned sharply, brows knitting. "Sandra, focus. We don't have time for your games here."
"Oh, Mom, I know, I know." Sandra swayed a little, the jewels at her ears catching light. "But I'm allowed to have fun too, aren't I?" Her tone was teasing, light, yet there was a daring glint in her eyes.
Agatha sighed, lowering her glass. "You know what's at stake—"
"Yes, yes, I know." Sandra interrupted before her mother could finish, grinning like a child who had caught an adult repeating a lesson too often. "But remember… all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." She giggled softly, mischievous to her core.
And before Agatha could stop her, Sandra's heels clicked against the floor—sharp, confident strides—as she slipped into the crowd, leaving her mother mid-sentence.
"Huhhh!" Agatha let out a low, frustrated exhale. Her voice dropped to a whisper, meant only for herself. "Sandra… falling in love with someone you don't even know? Hmm." She shook her head slowly, though her eyes still lingered on George, as if she too sensed something strange—something dangerous—about him.
Across the room, George stood as though the whispers meant nothing, as though the weight of every stare rolled off him like rain. His expression was unreadable, his posture calm, but there was something in his eyes—something sharp and unreachable, like a man who had walked through storms others could not imagine.
The orchestra shifted into a higher swell, violins trembling in harmony. A passing waiter offered him champagne, but George declined with a flicker of his hand, gaze unmoving.
If anyone looked closely, they might have seen the faintest trace of a smile ghost across his lips.
Not of joy. Not of arrogance. Something else—something private.
Sandra, halfway across the ballroom, glanced back at him. Her pulse skipped. The music, the laughter, the perfume, the glittering gowns—all faded into the background. For a fleeting moment, there was only him. The man who didn't belong, yet somehow owned the room more than anyone else.
Strange.
Yes.
But strange had never looked so… irresistible.