The sun hung high over the city, its light glinting off the rooftops as Clyde Permetone, a nine‑year‑old boy with deep blue eyes and a restless heart, leaned against the window of his car. After two long years at Royal Mist Academy, he was finally going home.
"Young Master Clyde, the weather is perfect for the journey back home," Albert said, his lean frame straightened in a crisp suit. His tone carried the professionalism expected of someone serving the heir to one of the city's most powerful business families.
Clyde, barely nine, sat by the tinted car window, his eyes following the skyline as the sun spilled golden light across the glass towers. "I agree. It feels good to be returning. I can't wait to be back," he replied, his voice filled with innocent excitement.
Albert gave a polite nod. "Indeed, young master. There is no place more comforting than home."
Clyde smiled warmly. "Albert, inform the driver to make haste. I want us home before sundown."
"As you wish," Albert said, bowing slightly before taking out his walkie talkie to inform the driver. Clyde returned to his book, the pages fluttering as the breeze from the half-open window brushed against them.
The car sped through the streets, the wind brushing against Clyde's pale face. He imagined his mother's embrace, his father's proud smile, and the laughter of his younger siblings echoing through the grand halls of the mansion.
Meanwhile, at the Permetone Estate, preparations were in full swing. The mansion glittered with chandeliers and ribbons, servants hurried about, and the scent of fresh roses filled the air. Clyde's parents had spared no expense—a grand party was planned to celebrate their son's return. Guests would arrive at 5:30 p.m., and Clyde was expected by 6:00.
"Shift the balloons to the left aisle. More ribbons on the walls. Raise the banner higher. Less green, more blue!" Diana's voice rang sharp across the hall, her eyes scanning every detail with the precision of a CEO reviewing a quarterly report.
The head maids tried to intervene, reminding her that organizing the event was their responsibility.
"Nonsense!" Diana snapped. "My son is coming home, and everything must be perfect. I won't leave this to anyone else."
The Master of the house, a man whose empire stretched across finance and real estate, watched quietly. He adored his wife too much to oppose her, and so he let her command the preparations as she pleased.
The Pemberton family was no ordinary household. Their wealth was old, their influence vast, built on generations of business empires. But it was not money alone that set them apart. Each member carried unique traits — gifts that shaped their success, and curses that bound them together.
Beyond the mansion's golden gates, the city was stirring with unrest.
Around noon, strange things began to happen. Groups of people dressed in black moved through the streets, whispering and plotting. Then chaos erupted—criminals, both notorious and petty, began a spree unlike anything the city had seen. Sirens wailed, smoke rose, and the news channels filled with panic.
At home, Mrs. Permetone watched the reports with trembling hands. "It's a curse," she whispered. "What if it ruins Clyde's homecoming?"
Her husband placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "It'll be all right," he said softly. "Tonight is for joy."
Evening came, and the mansion glowed like a jewel. Limousines lined the driveway as celebrities, ministers, and business tycoons stepped out in shimmering attire. The air buzzed with excitement—some saw the event as a social debut for the young heir, others as a chance to strengthen ties with the powerful Permetone family.
Then, at last, Clyde arrived.
The crowd turned as the boy stepped out of the car, his black hair catching the light. His mother rushed forward, tears glistening in her eyes, and wrapped him in a long embrace. His siblings clung to him, laughing and crying all at once. The party erupted in applause.
Hours passed in celebration. Music filled the halls, laughter echoed, and gifts piled high. By 8:15 p.m., the younger children had gone to bed, but the festivities continued. Guests murmured about the chaos in the city, hoping it wouldn't reach them.
At midnight, the highlight of the evening began. Everyone gathered on the rooftop, gazing up as fireworks burst into the night sky. Colors danced and shimmered, forming the name "CLYDE" in blazing letters. Hearts, flowers, and even his face appeared among the sparks.
Then Mr. Permetone stepped forward. A servant wheeled out a cart draped in red velvet. With a flourish, he unveiled a magnificent ring—a diamond surrounded by rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and jades, worth seventy million dollars.
"This," he declared, "is for my son—the light of our family."
The crowd gasped in awe, unaware that far beyond the mansion walls, the city's darkness was still spreading.
And as Clyde smiled beneath the fireworks, his name glowing above him, fate quietly began to turn its wheel.