The guards cracked their knuckles, grinning, ready for blood.
Liliane tugged at Elior's sleeve, whispering desperately, "Babe, please, let's just walk away. Don't give them the damn satisfaction."
But Elior straightened, his voice booming enough to hush the whispers around them.
"Yes! I accept the deal, or whatever the hell you wanna call it." His jaw locked, his grip tightening around Liliane's hand. "C'mon, babe. Let's go shopping."
The crowd buzzed in disbelief as he marched her through the boutique doors. The guards trailed them, snickering like hyenas, waiting for blood.
Inside, chandeliers blazed overhead, casting glitter across racks of designer suits, gowns, and jewelry worth small fortunes. Elior leaned close, his tone softer now, just for Liliane.
"Trust me. Pick whatever the hell you want. Go big, go extravagant. We haven't shopped in years, and tonight's the night."
Liliane's throat tightened. She wanted to believe him, wanted to melt into his certainty—but the sting of every eye watching pressed against her back. Still, she forced a brave smile.
"Thanks, love."
Her gaze drifted, trembling hands brushing over silks and cashmeres until she stopped at a pair of unique outfits—an elegant emerald gown that shimmered like liquid fire and a hand-tailored charcoal suit with diamond-thread cufflinks. Her eyes lit with a fragile spark.
"These… these are perfect, Elior."
"Hah!" One of the giant guards barked a laugh, nearly doubling over. "Perfect suicidal! Those two pieces alone are worth five freaking million dollars. Even the presidents don't wear that. You really trying to sign your death certificates tonight?"
Another guard cracked his knuckles. "Looks like they got a death wish. Can't say I'll feel bad beating it out of 'em."
But Elior didn't even flinch. He grabbed the garments off the rack with cool precision and strode toward Frank, who leaned majestically against the marble counter like a king watching fools grovel.
"Hey, Frank!" Elior snapped, fire flashing in his eyes. "Quit wasting our time. Where's your damn payment machine? Let's settle this now."
The crowd gasped at his audacity.
Frank smirked, lighting a cigarette with practiced arrogance. He exhaled smoke in a perfect ring before dropping it to the marble floor and grinding it out under his polished shoe.
"You heard the man," he drawled to one of his servants. "Bring the pad. Let's watch this clown choke."
A sleek black payment pad was brought forward, gleaming under the lights. One of Frank's assistants tapped in the five-million-dollar total, her lips curling in amusement as she held it out.
"Here you go, sir," she said, mocking.
Elior snatched it, pressed his palm against the screen, and stared down the guards with a cocky smirk.
"That's it."
The pad beeped. For a second, silence. Then—
PAYMENT FAILED.
The words blinked in bright red across the screen.
The boutique erupted. Guards howled with laughter, guests clutched their sides, even Frank threw his head back in amusement.
"I fucking knew it!" one guard roared. "Big talk, empty pockets. You're a fraud, man!"
"Look at him," another spat. "Ragged bum trying to play billionaire. Pathetic."
Frank flicked an imaginary speck of ash off his suit sleeve, his voice venomously smooth.
"You're done, Elior. You embarrassed yourself, humiliated your wife, and dared to challenge me in my own empire. Now you'll pay the price."
The guards took a step forward, cracking their fists, ready to pounce.
Elior's nostrils flared, his face hard as granite. He shouted, voice slicing through the jeers.
"Nonsense! This damn machine is faulty. Try it again!"
Frank scoffed, smoke still curling from his lips.
"Issues? Don't fuckin' kid me. Do you know the standard of this boutique? This is grade one in the damn city—royalty shops here. And you think your broke ass can just waltz in, fail a payment, and blame it on the machine? You should've surrendered a while ago. Now it's too damn late for excuses."
Elior's brows knitted tight, his tone sharp enough to cut steel.
"Excuses? Who the hell do you think I am? You think I'd walk in here without money—just to clown around and create a damn scene? Keep talking trash, Frank. You'll eat those words real soon."
"Bullshit!" one of the violent guards roared, swinging a heavy chain at Elior's head.
But Elior moved like lightning. He caught the chain mid-air, twisted, and in one swift motion coiled it around the guard's thick neck. The man choked, eyes bulging as Elior yanked it tight, his knuckles white with rage. The boutique fell into stunned silence.
The guard clawed at the chain, gurgling for breath. The other guards froze, instinctively stepping back. None dared to move.
Liliane's eyes widened, her voice trembling. "Elior… don't… please."
Frank smirked coldly, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. He took a slow step closer, voice dropping into a venomous growl.
"You think you can fight your way out of here? You might make it… but Liliane won't. Believe me, she'll never see daylight again."
Liliane clutched Elior's arm, her grip desperate. "Elior, please, don't kill him. He's not worth it."
Elior's gaze never left Frank as he hissed to the choking guard, "Remember this next time you raise a hand against me." Then, with a violent shove, he released the chain. The guard collapsed to the marble floor, gasping and coughing like a fish out of water.
The room held its breath.
Elior turned, pointing a steady finger at the trembling assistant girl.
"Bring another payment pad. Now." His tone was ice-cold, commanding.
She practically sprinted to the reception table, trembling hands snatching a fresh device. Within moments, she returned, eyes flicking nervously between Elior and Frank.
"Input five million," Frank barked, his voice sharp, but his composure cracking. "If he wants to prove he's got money, let's see it. Otherwise, he's paying in blood tonight."
The girl tapped in the numbers, the screen flashing: $5,000,000.00. She extended it toward Elior like it was a loaded weapon.
Elior smirked, placed his palm on the scanner, and leaned in.
"Watch closely, Frank. This is how real men pay their debts."
The boutique seemed to freeze in time. Then—
PAYMENT SUCCESSFUL.
The green text lit up the pad. A crisp chime echoed through the boutique.
Gasps exploded. Guards exchanged wide-eyed looks. Guests whispered frantically.
Liliane's lips parted, her heart hammering in her chest, tears of relief pricking her eyes. She smiled, radiant and fierce.
"He did it…" she whispered, pride burning through her.
"What the—?" one guard blurted. "He just paid five million dollars like it was pocket change!"
"Damn… we haven't seen a sale like that in weeks!" another muttered, stunned.
Frank's cigarette nearly slipped from his fingers. His smug smirk vanished, replaced by disbelief. He took a stumbling step forward, eyes narrowing in fury and confusion.
"Wh… what the hell did you just pull? Some kind of trick? Huh? Tell me—what kind of magic is this? Don't you dare tell me someone gave you that money while you were crawling the streets like a lunatic beggar!"
But Elior only stood taller, his arm locking protectively around Liliane's waist. His smile was sharp, lethal—like a blade glinting in sunlight.
"No tricks, Frank. Just the truth. And tonight? You just got a taste of it."
Before Frank could spit another word, Elior shoved his palm across his mouth, pressing hard against his lips.
"That doesn't concern you," Elior hissed, eyes burning into him. "I owe you no damn explanation. Not now, not ever."
He snapped his gaze toward the trembling attendant.
"Pack my fucking goods. Now."
"Yes, sir!" The woman's hands shook as she hurried to gather the high-end clothes into a gleaming suitcase, rolling it to him with both hands.
"Here it is, sir."
Elior grabbed the handle in one hand, Liliane's delicate fingers in the other, and turned for the exit. The crowd parted instinctively, eyes wide with awe, whispers spilling like wildfire.
But just before the door, Liliane stopped. Her hand slipped free of Elior's grip.
"Liliane?" he asked, brow furrowed.
"Give me one second," she whispered, her eyes blazing.
Before he could stop her, she strode back to Frank. The smug grin hadn't yet returned to his face when—
CRACK!
Her fist slammed against his chest, the thud echoing across the boutique like thunder. Gasps erupted everywhere.
Her voice shook with fury.
"Even if my family is full of damned scumbags, it is NEVER your place to humiliate me… or threaten to hurt me. You wanna marry Louisa? Fine. But you WILL respect me as your sister-in-law, you arrogant son of a bitch!"
Frank staggered back, clutching his chest, red-faced in shock.
Elior grinned proudly, his voice booming across the hall.
"Hell yeah, babe! That's how you say it!" Then he leveled his gaze back at Frank, cold as ice. "And listen real close. The next time you even THINK about treating my wife with contempt… I'll make sure you regret being born. That's a promise."
Liliane marched back to Elior, and he cupped her shoulder gently, pride gleaming in his eyes. With his other hand dragging the suitcase, the two of them strode out—leaving behind a stunned silence thick as smoke.
"Boss, why'd you let them walk out?" one of the fat-bellied guards muttered beside Frank.
The words had barely left his lips when—
SLAP!
Frank's hand cracked across his face, sending him sprawling to the marble floor.
"You idiots! They just dishonored me—humiliated me in my own boutique—and you all stood there like statues?!" His roar shook the glass walls. "They will pay for this. Both of them!"
Just then—
SCREEECH!
A luxurious black car tore into the curb outside, the engine purring like a beast. Chrome rims gleamed under the city lights.
Frank smirked bitterly from the doorway. "Finally. A real customer. Watch and learn, Elior—this is the level you'll never touch."
But his smirk died instantly.
Because two men in jet-black suits, wearing gold-embroidered insignias on their jackets, hopped out of the car. Both dropped to one knee on the pavement right in front of Elior.
"Commander!" one of them barked, his voice full of iron and respect. "Forgive us for failing to locate you all these years. Lord Marcus sent us ahead."
The other added quickly, bowing his head lower. "We've prepared your mansion in the city, sir. Everything is ready for your command."
The crowd outside gasped, their whispers turning into a frenzy. Guards, onlookers, even Frank's own men froze, eyes darting between Elior and the kneeling warriors.
Elior motioned calmly with his hand.
"Rise. What's there to apologize for? I gave the order myself. Nobody was to approach me… unless I called them first."
The two men stood, their posture rigid, their presence radiating authority.
Liliane's eyes widened, confusion swirling with awe. She gripped Elior's arm, her voice trembling.
"Elior… what is going on? Why are they calling you Commander? What mansion? What money? I'm so lost right now. Please… tell me the truth."
Elior looked at her, his expression softening just enough for her alone. He brushed her cheek with his knuckle, his voice dropping low.
"I'm sorry, Liliane. I kept you in the dark because the truth is heavier than most can carry. But now… you deserve to know."
He straightened, his tone rising like a thunderclap for all to hear.
"I am not just some banished heir. I am the one they all whispered about on the battlefield. The name that shook nations. The blade that burned the Eastern Alliance to its knees."
He locked eyes with Frank, who had gone pale as death.
"I am the Supreme Commander… the Dragon-Flame."