The late afternoon sky spilled orange across the limousine window. An expensive, precious orange — yet to Reyn it still looked dim. That color, like wealth paraded down the street, only made him feel hollow. Inside the soundproof cabin he felt estranged, separated by a pane of glass from the fast-moving world outside. Every time he caught his reflection in the window, he saw a man who owned nothing except a growing hate.
He lifted the parking brake with a casual, practiced motion — a gesture he had perfected. His slim hands, used to gripping the wheel, performed their task with an elegance that contradicted his harsh life. The car glided to a stop on the forecourt of the grand Halcyon Tower. A glass spire that loomed above, seeming to sneer at people like him. Other chauffeurs stood in a line, their uniforms new and neat, gleaming under the lights. Only he wore an old coat, a small tear at the left cuff — a scar from a terrible night he had never told anyone about. That tear was a constant reminder that he was a shadow, not part of their world.
"Don't stare around, peasant," Axel Halcyon hissed, his voice full of familiar disgust. He stepped out of the back seat, flicking his bespoke blue jacket as if to brush away invisible dust. "Do you use deodorant?" The question wasn't asked for an answer; it was to assert their hierarchy.
Reyn didn't answer. There was no point. Any words from his mouth, especially defenses, would sound like useless muttering to them. Because any reply would be meaningless coming from someone they considered nobody. "Someone not worth listening to," Reyn thought, swallowing the anger burning in his chest.
"Clean this car. I don't want your traces on the steering wheel," Axel continued, then strode into the building like a rotten prince. His upright posture and confident steps showed he was the sole heir used to getting everything. Reyn only watched his back disappear through the automatic doors, feeling the tremor of hatred in his ribs.
From a distance, the city's elite arrived one by one. Faces he'd often seen in financial news: conglomerate heads whose names were etched on skyscrapers, officials whose fake smiles graced the papers, and third-generation heirs living under their parents' shadows. They had come for Miranda Halcyon's birthday party — the wife of Leonhart, the ruler of the Halcyon Group. A celebration of power held in one of their proud towers, an unshakable display of dominance.
The only ones uninvited? People like Reyn Arkana, who worked as shadows and lived beyond the orbit of their light.
In the lower waiting room he sat in silence among rows of expensive leather chairs. Music from the ballroom above sounded faint, like a distant dream. He awaited orders. He held back hunger and emotions. On the table, Axel's leftover cold coffee had not been thrown away, as if deliberately left to underline that people like Reyn only cleaned up their leftovers. Beside it, today's newspaper carried a headline with a photo that snagged his attention: Serena Halcyon. "Halcyon's Daughter Set to Be Proposed To by Daesung Group."
Reyn stared. Her cold face hadn't changed since the old photographs he'd seen. But it wasn't her blank stare or perfect hair that made his eyes stop; it was the pendant at Serena's throat. Round, with a worn pattern — he knew it well: the same symbol engraved on his mother's bracelet, before she was found dead six years ago. A case closed quickly, labeled a "suicide."
A lie. His mother wasn't weak. She was a fighter, someone who had taught him courage. And Reyn was not one to forget. He remembered every detail, every tear, every night he had spent looking for the truth. That symbol, now circling the Halcyon daughter's neck, was the first clue he had found.
Suddenly the door squealed open. Leonhart Halcyon entered, flanked by two burly guards and a scent of old money that could not be hidden. He was the man who controlled everything.
"You. The new driver, right?"
Reyn stood up straight, unflinching. "Yes, Sir."
Leonhart came closer, studying his face with a sharp look. He squinted as if something from his memory troubled him. Then he hissed, "Your face looks like someone. But I forgot the name. Must be no one important." The remark cut, dismissing Reyn's existence.
Reyn nodded slightly, restraining himself. "I really am nobody."
Leonhart let out a short laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "Smart. Stay that way. This world doesn't need drivers who dream." He waved his hand, dismissing him from sight.
And just like that, the Halcyon king passed on — leaving behind an aura of superiority Reyn vowed, one day, to burn down.
That night, the party began. Laughter and the clinking of crystal chimed from the upper floor. But beneath the ballroom's glitter and crystal sheen, Reyn slipped away. He didn't want champagne or praise from fake people. He wanted answers.
He climbed to the sixth floor, heading toward Miranda Halcyon's study — stealthy, like a presence that went unnoticed. His hands moved fast. Drawers were locked, but he knew how to open them. He wasn't merely a driver, not merely a lucky orphan brought in; he was a survivor, someone used to prying open secrets.
Inside one drawer he found a photo frame — a black-and-white portrait that felt heavy in his hands. A young woman stood next to Miranda. They looked close, smiling. But what stopped Reyn's breath and made it hard to breathe was one thing: it was his mother. Delilah Arkana. And she was smiling at someone outside the frame. Someone who might… be his father.
But before Reyn could think further—
"What are you doing here?"
The voice was sharp, cold, and piercing. Serena Halcyon stood in the doorway wearing a spellbinding red gown, but her eyes cut like a blade. Her gaze held not anger but a cold, frightening suspicion.
Reyn immediately bowed his head, hiding the photo beneath his coat. "Sorry, I… got lost."
Serena stepped in, closing the distance between them. "If you're a lost driver… why are you opening my drawer?"
Reyn was silent. No excuse could save him now. He'd been caught. Unless he dared to tell the truth.
"My name is Reyn."
"And I'm only looking for… someone," he continued, staring straight into Serena's eyes — a courage he never knew he possessed.
Serena studied him for a long moment. Then something strange happened. Her icy gaze softened for an instant, like ice beginning to melt. She stepped forward and took the photo frame Reyn produced.
"This woman… she used to come to our house. Mother always said she was just an 'old friend.' But… Father hated her," Serena whispered, her voice carrying secrets Reyn did not fully understand.
Reyn clenched his fist, restraining the urge to ask more.
"Do you know her?" Serena asked, her tone turning cold again, covering the earlier flicker of doubt.
Reyn shook his head slowly, knowing he must keep his distance. "I'm nobody."
Serena narrowed her eyes, as if reading a lie on his face. But before she could speak further, a voice from below called out, "Serena, where are you?"
She hurriedly returned the picture to Reyn's hands. She glanced at him one last time, then whispered, "Don't let anyone see you here. Not even me."
Then she left, slipping behind the door and leaving Reyn alone in a room full of secrets and one old photograph that would change everything.
Outside the building, someone called Axel: "He's nosing around again. His name… Reyn Arkana."
Axel answered quietly: "Erase him. This time, make sure he's really dead."