Lucian looked at the crowd before him and allowed a faint, knowing smirk to touch his lips.
"You mean to tell me you are all terrified of Lucian Throne, yet not one of you thought to connect the dots?" His grin widened, but there was no humour in it. "I will be on the headlines tomorrow because I just called Crestfall foolish to their faces."
A few scattered, nervous chuckles rippled through the crowd before dying just as quickly.
Lucian sighed, his gaze drifting to Star. Her face remained shadowed with gloom, and the weight of it settled heavily in his chest. Then his eyes found Tiffany, and something cold passed through him. He could still see it—the image of her hands locked around Star's throat, struggling to end her life. A quiet hiss escaped him as he stared at her, and Tiffany shrank backward as though his gaze alone might undo her.
Adrian stepped away from the main event and walked out onto the balcony. His eyes widened at the sight before him. The yacht was fortified like a warship. Guards patrolled every edge, every deck, their presence heavy and unblinking.
He frowned, his mind churning. Who exactly was Lucian Throne? Throne Enterprise was renowned for its weaponry, its advanced gadgets, its impossibly high-tech electronics. Was this the reason for such intense protection? Or was there something deeper, something darker?
He pulled out his phone and made a call.
"I need an extensive report on Lucian Throne," he said, and hung up without waiting for a reply.
Back inside, Lucian stood at centre stage, his expression unreadable, his posture rigid. He wore his stoicism like armour, concealing the nerves and irritation churning beneath the surface. He had organized this gala with a clear purpose—to expand Throne Enterprise into a multinational power.
In Velmora, with its thriving economy and abundant resources, his company had already claimed most of the city. Only Crestfall, the capital, remained largely untouched by his empire. Which was ironic, because Crestfall was where he truly ruled. He was the king of the underworld, and the underworld was the backbone of Crestfall economy.
But stepping into the public eye was a risk. To the people of Crestfall, Lucian Throne was a myth, a phantom. A ruthless killer who showed no mercy. A man who bled people of their hard-earned money through threats and terror. A trafficker of humans and drugs. Some of the rumours were lies. Others were the truth. And though part of him longed to clear his name, another part—the darker, more honest part—took satisfaction in the fear his name provoked, in the way entire rooms crumbled at the mere mention of him.
But now, standing in this room, his eyes found the woman he loves. The woman who had likely married his rival simply because she had uncovered fragments of his secrets. He wanted to tell Star that he loves her. That he cares for her more than anything. That despite the fortune, the power, the empire—he was nothing without her. And she stood there, furious, wounded, and impossibly distant.
Lucian glanced down at the slip of paper in his hand, the one where he had written careful notes for a short speech before the guests resumed their networking. But his mind refused to focus. Not while Star was fighting so hard to hold herself together, forcing a smile that never reached her eyes. His lies had done this to her. He crushed the paper in his fist and let out a sharp breath.
"I—" He stopped, exhaling slowly as he looked out at the sea of faces before him, a mixture of shock, fear, expectation, and fragile hope.
"When I was fourteen years old, my father came home with a look on his face I had never seen before. Terror. Pure, absolute terror." His voice was steady, flat, because revisiting this memory was not remembering it—it was living it again.
"He was in a hurry." Lucian slid his free hand into his pocket and shifted slightly from the podium. "My mother was still at work. It was twilight and I watched him rush into the room and start gathering things at random. I was a curious child, and my father promised he would explain everything, but we had to leave immediately. Then the front door burst open. My father shoved me under the bed. I lay there, frozen, as a group of men tore through our home searching for him, until they dragged him out of the closet. I was still under the bed when they forced him to the ground. His face turned toward me, under the bed where I hid. They did not speak. They just started cutting him while he was still alive. He screamed in agony. And the whole time, he never looked away from me. I can still see his face. Clear as if it happened this morning. I watched the light leave his eyes. And his eyes never closed."
The crowd gasped. A silence fell over the room—thick, heavy and suffocating. Cameras were fixed on him. Reporters were recording. And this is everything he despised; sympathy. Only Star had the right to feel something for him, and she was offering nothing. Behind her, the Stark family listened with pale faces and stunned, regretful expressions.
"I stayed frozen beneath that bed in complete silence. The carpet was soaked in my father's blood. His lifeless head was still facing me, his eyes still open. Then my mother came home. She shrieked as she called the police, and she thought I was missing. I do not know why I could not move. I thought I could simply scream, let my mother know I was there, but my voice was also gone. I could not speak."
He paused, the memory pressing down on him.
"The police searched the entire house, but they could not find me. At some point, I remember feeling... frustrated." A hollow, bitter scoff escaped him.
"I could hear my mother's voice turning hoarse from crying, from screaming, from grief. Her husband murdered, her son missing and I was just there, frozen, hopeless and helpless. Imprisoned in my own body. Just before I gave up entirely, the sheets lifted. One officer finally found me. I was awake, but stiff as death. Traumatized, yes. But I was also the key witness to my father's murder. While I was recovering in the hospital, my mother visited and told me the case had been lost. The documents were missing. They could not continue. There was no evidence. And I still could not speak. That was three weeks after the tragedy. I was at Crestfall General and my mother worked as a cleaner at Summit Heights. She could not visit often because of the distance and the cost of transport, but she made sure I was never entirely alone. And that was when they came. People came to my bedside and threatened me. They told me I was a helpless child who could not even give his own father the justice he deserved. They told me they would kill my mother if I ever recovered and spoke. Sitting in that bed, I had never felt so vulnerable. So utterly powerless. I wanted to strike the grin off that man's face, but I was motionless. Voiceless. Powerless." he breathed
"Then, just a day after those threats, someone came to me. Someone I now call my closest friend. He promised me safety if I was willing to face my fear. He told me I could reclaim everything I had lost, even though my father would never return. He arranged for physiotherapy and traumatic therapy for me. He trained me until I could speak again, until I could walk again, until I was free. But I was not really free. Not truly. I could still hear my father screaming. I could still see the light fading from his eyes. So I returned to court. I went back to the police and told them what had happened. But I was no help. It had been almost two months. I had not seen their faces. I had only seen their shoes. Five men, black trousers, black Oxfords. Anyone could wear that. The police could not find a murderer with black trousers and black Oxfords because every man in Crestfall owns them."
He drew a slow breath.
"I searched the underground circuits of Crestfall. The hideouts, the places no one wants to admit exist, using only those shoes as my lead. And I found them. Powerful politicians. Some of them are in this room tonight. I know who they are. And they are still free, even after killing my father." His voice dropped, quieter but sharper.
"Going into the darkness to demand justice is never for the weak or the lost. To this day, I wonder how I am still alive. Because I made a wreckage of those men. I met their illegality and criminality with my own. The government refused to give me the justice I needed, so I refused to give them peace. That is how I earned the myth of the ruthless crime lord. But I am just a boy who watched his father die and did nothing to save him. I built an empire in his name so I could remember him. So I could carry him with me through Throne Enterprise."
Silence returned, deeper this time, heavier. Adrian stood at the edge of the yacht entrance, unable to form words. He remembered Star telling him about Lucian's father's tragedy, and because of his hatred toward Lucian, he had given it none of his sympathy. But hearing the full story now, he felt something shift inside him. It was like watching a grief-stricken film that left the entire audience undone.
"Mr. Throne..." A reporter's voice broke the quiet, gentler now, respectful. "Who was your father?"
"Abel Throne," Lucian said, his voice steady and clear. "He was the right-hand man and butler to the most respected and adored family in Crestfall—the Stark family. He served Mr. David Stark personally. He was murdered two days after Mr. Stark was reported missing." he said with a faint grin on his face. He doesn't care anymore, he has to destroy the Stark, one stock at a time.
He did not tell them everything though. He did not speak of his photographic memory, of the way he had memorized how those murderers breathed, moved, walked. That was how he truly found them. That was how, at just fifteen, with Alex's help, he had brought about their quiet, bloody ends with ripple effect. But that could never be spoken aloud.
As Lucian's words settled, Alaric felt something drop through his chest like a stone. He knew the hunger for power and control that consumed Crestfall's politicians and powerful men. He despised it. But now, realizing that Lucian was simply another victim of that same machine, he felt a sharp sting of shame for the scene he had caused earlier. Worse still, a cold possibility crept into his mind—a very real chance that his own family, the Stark family, was entangled in Abel Throne's murder.
"This is going to damage the Stark family's reputation significantly," Cassian whispered to him.
"I know," Alaric replied quietly.
Across the room, Maria stood frozen, stripped of words entirely. Her purpose tonight had been to secure a deal with Lucian Throne for an AI printer—a device capable of creating flawless, unfakeable official documents, from currency to court papers, at least until the forgery was detected. But to acquire it, she would have to pass through his truth-testing device. He would know exactly what she intended to use it for. There was no lying to a man like him. And now, discovering that she was standing before Abel's son, she knew with absolute certainty that the Crestfall drug lord knew exactly who she was.
"This is deeply uncomfortable," Kefas muttered, as if reaching into Maria's mind and pulling the words straight out. But when she glanced at the Doctor, his expression was strange. Not awkward. He looked annoyed, yes, but also faintly intrigued as he studied Lucian.
"So, Mr. Throne, you admit that you are indeed a crime lord of Crestfall?" A male reproter with a bald head asked.
Lucian's smirk returned but before he could answer-
"UH-OH," Kefas said suddenly, her eyes snapping upward.
A ball of fire was streaking through the sky, headed straight for the yacht.
Kefas screamed, and the crowd erupted into chaos. People scrambled, panic tearing through the room like a live current. Lucian pressed a button on his watch. The yacht entrance sealed with a smooth, final hiss.
The guests spun back toward him, their faces twisted in confusion and terror, only to find him wearing a smirk that belonged to the devil himself. And in that moment, fear settled deep into every soul in that room and made itself at home.