Ace POV
The Laurent estate was a monument to power, a world of glass, steel, and sharp angles that seemed to pierce the sky. Where the Harringtons preserved tradition in timeless stone, the Laurents flaunted modern wealth—skyscrapers bearing their name, sprawling penthouses that overlooked the city like watchtowers. Outsiders called it progress. Vision. Legacy.
To Ace Laurent, it was a cage with golden bars.
He stood on the balcony of his penthouse suite, the wind tugging at his hair as he leaned against the railing. The city stretched beneath him, a sea of glittering lights and restless movement. People might have envied him—young, powerful, heir to one of the greatest empires in the country. But standing there, Ace only felt the weight pressing down.
The phone on the glass table buzzed again, its glow demanding attention. His father, no doubt. Another reminder, another demand. He ignored it, staring at the city as if it held an answer to questions he no longer asked.
It had started when he was seven years old.
The night he found his mother wrapped in the arms of another man, a stranger whose face burned itself into his memory. He hadn't understood at first—only the broken sound of his father's voice in the other room, the harsh words that followed, the slam of doors that never opened again.
And then, the divorce. Public, messy, humiliating. The Laurent empire was dragged through tabloids, their "perfect" family name splintering under scandal. His mother left without hesitation, her absence louder than any words.
Ace had learned something that day: love was fragile. Trust was foolish. Women were dangerous.
Those lessons had carved themselves into his heart like iron, and he had never forgotten them.
"Ace!"
The familiar voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder as James Carter, his best friend since prep school, strode through the penthouse doors like he owned the place. James had that kind of presence—casual, bold, utterly unbothered by the sharp edges of Ace's world.
"You're brooding again," James said, dropping his jacket on the sofa. "You know, that's not healthy. You'll age ten years before thirty."
Ace smirked faintly, though his eyes were still shadowed. "Better than aging from stupidity. What do you want?"
James flopped onto the leather chair, swinging one leg over the arm. "To save you from yourself. You're twenty-two, heir to billions, and the only thing you do with your life is glare at the city like it owes you something."
"Maybe it does," Ace said flatly.
James laughed, though there was an edge of concern in his tone. "Or maybe you're just terrified of feeling anything. You put yourself in this glass tower and convinced yourself it's freedom when it's just another kind of prison."
Ace didn't answer. He poured himself a drink instead, amber liquid swirling like fire in the crystal glass. The silence stretched, heavy with things unspoken.
James leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You know what your problem is? You don't trust anyone. You don't let anyone in. One day, someone's going to break through those walls, and I'll be there with popcorn."
Ace's mouth curved in a cold half-smile. "That day will never come."
He meant it. His trust was locked away, his heart hardened against betrayal. His mother had ensured that when she chose desire over family. His father had ensured it when he replaced affection with expectation.
The phone buzzed again, this time more insistent. With a sigh, Ace set his glass down and picked it up. The message was from his father, predictable as ever.
Meeting at eight tomorrow. Tokyo investors. Don't be late. The empire is yours to inherit, but only if you prove you're worthy.
Worthy. Always that word. Never son. Never loved. Only worthy.
His jaw tightened, thumb hovering over the screen before he set the phone down harder than necessary.
"Bad news?" James asked.
"Same as always."
James studied him for a moment, the teasing fading from his expression. "He doesn't see you, does he? Not really. You're just… a replacement. Another version of him."
Ace's lips thinned. "That's all he wants. Another version of himself."
And Ace had learned long ago not to want more.
The air between them grew heavy until James shifted gears, as he always did when things threatened to get too dark. "Speaking of wanting more—did I mention I have a new girlfriend?"
Ace arched an eyebrow, grateful for the change. "Again? What's this one's name?"
"Lila," James said, a grin spreading across his face. It wasn't his usual careless grin, though. There was something softer in it. "She's… different. Sharp. Funny. I actually like her."
Ace raised a skeptical brow. "You say that every time."
"Not like this," James insisted, leaning back in his chair. "Trust me. She's got this energy, you know? The kind that pulls you in. You'll see when you meet her."
Ace didn't bother arguing, though he filed the name away. He trusted James's loyalty, but not his judgment in women. Still, the way his friend said her name carried a sincerity Ace wasn't used to hearing.
"Good for you," Ace said finally, sipping his drink. "Try not to get your heart broken."
James chuckled. "Some of us still believe love's worth the risk."
Ace looked out at the city again, his reflection fractured in the glass. "Then some of us are fools."
But even as he said it, a flicker of unease stirred in him. He hated when James pushed against the walls he had built, when he suggested there might be cracks in the armor. Because sometimes, late at night, Ace wondered what it would feel like to lower those walls. To feel something real. Something lasting.
Not lust. Not shallow attraction. Not the hollow affection of women drawn to his fortune. But something that didn't crumble.
He dismissed the thought almost immediately. That kind of thing didn't exist—not for him, not for someone who had seen love rot from the inside out.
Still, as James went on about Lila, Ace found himself listening with more interest than he wanted to admit. There was a warmth in his friend's voice that was rare, a hope Ace had never dared allow himself.
Maybe Lila was different. Maybe she wasn't. It didn't matter.
Because no matter how much James believed in love, Ace never would.
He had built his life on walls, and no woman—not clever, not radiant, not even the one fate was already weaving into his path—would ever tear them down.
At least, that was what he thought.
Somewhere, not far from his world of steel and glass, another heir stared at her own gilded prison. A girl with gray eyes full of storms and scars, who believed letting people close only led to pain.
Two heirs. Two empires. Two broken hearts carved from stone.
Neither ready to fall. Neither knowing that soon, they would.