The city that evening was unusually silent, like it had been wrapped in a soft velvet blanket. Streetlights flickered on one by one, casting pools of amber across the cobblestones, and the faint hum of distant traffic seemed to whisper rather than roar. A gentle breeze stirred fallen leaves, sending them skittering across empty sidewalks, and the fading gold of the sun kissed the rooftops, giving the city a quiet, intimate glow. It was the kind of evening that made the heart ache with a mix of peace and anticipation, as if something just beyond the horizon was about to unfold.
Nestled on a quiet street corner, the café stood like a little jewel amidst the calm. Its glass windows glowed warmly, the soft light spilling onto the street and inviting anyone passing by to step into its cozy embrace. Inside, the space was a delicate mix of pastel colors and rustic wood, small potted plants perched on every sill, and fairy lights draped casually around the shelves. The scent of fresh bread and warm pastries hung in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of coffee beans and vanilla-scented candles. It was the kind of place that made people slow down, breathe, and for just a moment, forget the chaos of the world outside.
Aria moved quietly behind the counter, finishing the last order of the day with practiced ease. Her delicate hands, long and graceful, tied the final box with a ribbon, the gentle motion belying the strength that lay beneath her fragile appearance. Her dark hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, catching the light just enough to shimmer softly, and her eyes—bright, alert, and striking—scanned the café one last time. Though she looked soft, almost ethereal, there was a quiet intensity in her stance, the kind of presence that could defend herself without hesitation if ever needed.
She wiped down the counters, humming softly to herself, a faint smile playing on her lips. The little bell over the door jingled occasionally with the evening breeze, but the café remained her sanctuary, safe and warm. As she flipped the sign to "Closed" and dimmed the lights, Aria glanced around once more, her gaze lingering on the small details she loved—the chipped ceramic mugs, the stack of neatly folded napkins, the faint chalk marks of daily specials on the board. For a moment, she allowed herself to relax, the soft hum of the city evening outside blending with the quiet rhythm of the café, before she finally grabbed her coat, ready to step out into the world that waited beyond the doors.
Even as she locked the café door behind her, a tight knot of worry twisted in Aria's chest—bills, rent, supplies… the endless carousel of responsibilities. She sighed, sliding onto her scooty, letting the cool evening air brush her cheeks. The city, bathed in soft golden light from streetlamps, reflected in her eyes. She kicked off, but as she looked up at the sky, the clouds, painted in streaks of pink, lavender, and gold, stole her attention. For a fleeting moment, she let herself forget the bills, the deadlines… everything. The world felt suspended in that serene, almost magical evening.
Then, the rough laughter broke the spell.
A group of three boys, faces twisted in arrogance, lounged near the alley ahead. Their eyes landed on her, and one of them stepped forward, smirking. "Hey, pretty lady, scooty alone? Might be fun to…," his words trailed off as Aria's gaze locked onto him.
She didn't panic. Her fingers tightened on the handles, her posture perfectly calm, almost casual—like a cat about to pounce.
The first boy lunged, swinging a fist meant to catch her off guard. Aria shifted her weight, sidestepping with a dancer's grace, and grabbed his wrist, twisting it sharply until he yelped and crumpled to the pavement, clutching his arm.
The second boy, bigger and more confident, charged at her. She spun the scooty slightly, using it as leverage, and delivered a precise kick to his knee. He stumbled, almost toppled, but she wasn't done. With lightning speed, she followed with a palm strike to his chest, sending him sprawling backward into a wall.
The third, realizing the others were already out of commission, pulled a chain from his pocket, swinging it menacingly. Aria's eyes narrowed, her breath steady. With a flick of her wrist, she dodged the swing, ducked low, and delivered a spinning kick that sent the chain clattering across the ground. Before he could recover, she grabbed his arm, twisted it behind his back, and slammed him onto the pavement with a controlled, bone-crunching motion. He groaned loudly, sprawled and defeated.
By now, the boys were writhing, groaning, and holding various bruised limbs, a combination of shock and pain written across their faces. Aria, untouched and eerily calm, dusted her hands lightly, her dark hair catching the streetlights like a halo. She glanced at them once—no fear, no hesitation—just a silent warning that this city evening belonged to her.
She swung her leg over the scooty again, kicked it into motion, and shot past the alley, leaving behind the groaning boys. Her heart was steady, her pulse calm, but a thrill of adrenaline lingered, fueling her senses. The wind tugged at her hair as she rode, the city lights blurring past, and she found herself looking up at the clouds once more. Lavender streaks melted into deep purple as night began to settle, and the serenity of the sky soothed her, balancing the raw intensity of the fight.
Aria allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible smile. Bills, threats, worries—all seemed smaller against the vastness of the evening sky. She was fragile, pretty, seemingly delicate… but she had the strength to face anyone who dared cross her. And tonight, she had proven it again.
The evening had barely settled into night when a small group of men, leaning casually against the shadows of a nearby building, watched the spectacle unfold. Two figures stood out among the crowd, their presence magnetic and dangerous. One was dressed immaculately, the sheen of his tailored suit catching the dim streetlights, his posture effortless yet commanding. Beside him, another man exuded raw energy, wild in appearance but with an unmistakable aura of dominance.
The first one, laughing softly, nudged his companion. "Seems like girls these days fight better than boys," he said, voice low and teasing. "But this little girl… she's set the bar." His grin was mischievous, but the admiration in his tone was undeniable.
The man he referred to remained silent, his gaze sharp and unflinching. His eyes were black orbs that seemed to swallow the surrounding light, cold and calculating. He barely moved as the girl in the alley continued to dispatch her attackers, yet every precise motion, every twist and strike, drew his full attention.
That man—none other than Lucien, the famous CEO of his firm, ruthless in business, feared in the underworld—tilted his head slightly. A luxurious cigarette rested between his rose-hued lips. With deliberate precision, he flicked open his lighter: a dragon-shaped family heirloom, passed down only to the head of the family. The flame danced across the dragon's snout, a symbol of power, legacy, and lethal precision.
His companion, Ron, Lucien's childhood friend and the CEO of another firm equally steeped in underground dealings, watched the scene with an approving smirk. Though he looked carefree, almost joking in demeanor, there was an edge to him—a lethal calm. "Impressive," Ron murmured, nodding toward the alley. "The girl just made tonight… interesting."
Lucien's gaze drifted to the alley where Aria had just left three men crumpled in pain. The shadows exaggerated their broken forms, and for a moment, the ruthless CEO allowed himself the smallest flicker of approval. "The men are beaten up," he said, his voice smooth, chillingly composed. "So there will be no deal tonight. Let's go."
He flicked the dragon lighter shut, the tiny click echoing faintly through the quiet street, a ceremonial sound of authority and finality. As Lucien moved, his eyes lingered on the alley one last time, watching the girl whose movements had drawn not just his attention, but an acknowledgment of skill rare even in his world.
There was something about her—fragile in appearance, unassuming in demeanor, yet lethal in execution—that had not gone unnoticed.
Ron chuckled quietly, following his friend's lead, already plotting, already calculating. "We'll meet again," he said under his breath, though neither of them needed to voice it aloud. Lucien's eyes didn't leave the alley until the pair melted into the shadows, leaving behind only the faint scent of cigarette smoke and the faint echo of Aria's recent fight.
And though she remained unaware of the two powerful men watching her every move, Lucien had already marked her. In a world ruled by deals, debts, and danger, she had just become… interesting
Inside the moving car, the windows were rolled halfway down, letting the night air swirl thick with smoke. Lucien sat back against the leather seat, cigarette resting between his fingers, gaze fixed on the city sliding past like it meant nothing to him. Ron sat beside him, one arm slung casually over the door, smoke curling lazily from his lips.
Lucien's phone vibrated.
He glanced at the screen.
Mom.
His jaw tightened—not surprise, not fear. Annoyance.
He answered anyway.
"Yes?" His voice was flat, detached, like he was taking a business call.
On the other end, his mother's voice came soft, careful, wrapped in urgency. "Lucien, come home early. It's important."
"I have work," he replied without hesitation. "I'll come after ten days."
Ron's eyes flicked sideways. He didn't say a word, but he understood immediately. Family call. And from the stiffness in Lucien's shoulders—not a pleasant one.
Lucien was already lifting the phone away, thumb hovering over end call, when his mother spoke again, voice breaking just enough to hook his attention.
"Your grandma… she's very sick. She's in the ICU."
That did it.
The cigarette paused midway to his lips.
Before Lucien could respond, another voice crashed into the call—sharp, loud, disrespectful.
His father.
"You ungrateful kid," the man snapped, rage vibrating through the speaker. "Be home before sunrise tomorrow, or I will burn every single one of your paintings."
The car went dead silent.
Lucien's jaw clenched so hard a muscle jumped along his cheek. The cigarette dropped from his fingers, hitting the floor of the car, forgotten. His eyes darkened—those black orbs turning colder, heavier.
Without a word, he cut the call.
Ron exhaled slowly, smoke slipping from his lips. "Well," he muttered, voice light but eyes serious, "that escalated fast."
Lucien leaned forward and crushed the fallen cigarette under his shoe, grinding it like it had personally offended him. "Turn the car around," he said quietly.
Ron didn't joke this time. He nodded and signaled the driver.
Back at the family house, the air was thick with tension and unspoken resentment.
Lucien's father stormed out of the room, voice still echoing down the corridor. "This is why I raised a pig," he barked. "No respect. No obedience."
Doors slammed.
His mother sank onto the couch, exhausted, rubbing her temples. She didn't argue. She never did.
Yue Yue, Lucien's older sister, crossed her arms, expression unimpressed. "What the hell do you expect?" she said coolly. "You threaten him every time. You think he'll suddenly come running?"
She scoffed. "He still won't come. You know how stubborn he is."
Their mother nodded weakly, eyes distant.
Around them, siblings and cousins lounged across sofas and chairs, faces illuminated by phone screens. Someone scrolled. Someone laughed quietly at a reel. Someone yawned.
No one looked shocked.No one looked worried.
This chaos was routine.
Aria reached home just as the night fully settled in. The narrow lane outside her house was dimly lit, familiar in a way that eased her shoulders the moment she parked her scooty and cut the engine. The adrenaline from earlier had finally drained, leaving behind a gentle exhaustion.
Inside, the house was alive in its usual way.
The television murmured from the living room, some serial playing that no one seemed to be truly watching. Her younger brother was sprawled on the couch, earphones in, fingers flying across his phone screen. From one of the rooms came the faint sound of someone on a call, half-arguing, half-laughing. Life—messy, ordinary, unapologetically normal.
Aria slipped off her shoes and set her keys down quietly.
Before she could take three steps, the kitchen door opened.
Her mother appeared, the smell of warm food following her like a hug. "You're home," she said, already turning back toward the kitchen. "Go, freshen up. Food's ready."
Aria smiled despite herself. "You didn't wait for me."
Her mother shot her a look over her shoulder. "As if you'd eat cold food without complaining. Go."
Aria laughed softly and headed to her room, washing her hands, splashing water on her face, letting the mirror remind her—safe, home, normal. No alleyways. No shadows watching.
When she came back out, the dining table was already set.
Plates clinked. Someone pulled out a chair. Her father folded the newspaper and placed it aside. Her mother served food without asking—because she never needed to.
This was their family time.
Everyone talked at once—about rising prices, about a neighbor's wedding, about a relative who called but never visited. Aria listened, chiming in here and there, nodding, smiling, pretending the world was as simple as the food in front of her.
Her mother glanced at her suddenly. "You're late today."
"Café closed late," Aria replied easily, taking a bite.
No one questioned it. No one noticed the faint bruise blooming on her wrist, already hidden beneath her sleeve. No one saw the way her eyes occasionally drifted—not to fear, but to thought.
The family ate together, laughter mixing with complaints, warmth filling the room in a way no café ever could. For a while, Aria let herself sink into it—the clatter of dishes, her mother's scolding, her father's tired sighs.
This was her world.
Small. Crowded. Real.
A luxury car rolled to a smooth stop in front of the hospital, its polished surface reflecting the harsh white lights of the building. The engine purred once before going silent. Two men stepped out.
Lucien first.Ron right beside him.
They didn't rush. Didn't look around. They moved like the place already belonged to them.
Inside, they bypassed the reception desk entirely. A nurse opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it, and stepped aside. Their shoes clicked against the spotless floor as they walked toward the ICU—every step drawing attention.
Heads turned.
Some people saw danger.Some saw devastatingly handsome men in expensive suits.Some saw money walking past them, heavy and undeniable.Others saw arrogance… greed… power wrapped in silk and steel.
Lucien didn't notice any of it. Or maybe he did—and simply didn't care.
They reached a private ICU room.
Lucien pushed the door open.
And froze.
Inside, Mrs. Lee—his grandmother, allegedly on her deathbed—sat upright on the hospital bed, a deck of cards fanned expertly in her wrinkled hands. Her hair was neatly tied, eyes sharp and alive, lips curled into a triumphant grin.
Across from her, Lucien's mother-in-law laughed as she tossed down a card. Two of the younger grandkids sat on the couch, whispering loudly and arguing over points. Snack wrappers littered the side table.
Monitors beeped steadily.IV still attached.Zero drama.Maximum audacity.
Silence stretched.
Ron blinked once.
Then twice.
He slowly turned to Lucien, lips twitching into a smirk. "Wasn't your grandma in critical condition?"
Mrs. Lee looked up, eyes locking onto Lucien.
"Oh," she said brightly, slapping a card down. "You came."
The room went stiff.
Everyone stared at Lucien like he was an unexpected plot twist. Shock flickered across faces—because no one had actually believed he'd show up. He never did. Not for threats. Not for guilt. Not even for blood.
Lucien's expression didn't change, but something dark moved behind his eyes.
They froze in their places.
For a split second, no one spoke—then nervous laughter bubbled up, awkward and hurried. Cards were swept off the bed, snack wrappers grabbed, cushions straightened with unnecessary urgency. The room transformed from chaos to forced order in seconds.
Lucien didn't move.
He remained at the doorframe, tall and unmoving, hands buried deep in his pockets. His presence alone sucked the air out of the room. No irritation. No surprise. Just stillness—heavy and unsettling.
From the adjoining room, his father stepped back in.
The moment his eyes landed on Lucien, his expression hardened. Disappointment—familiar, practiced—settled across his face like a permanent scar.
"Don't just stand there," his father snapped, voice sharp and commanding. "Come inside. I have work."
Lucien lifted his gaze slowly.
"This is how you call someone for work?" he asked calmly. He paused, letting the silence stretch. "Threatening them isn't how a person is summoned, Mr. Lee."
The title landed like an insult.
Ron leaned casually against the doorframe now, arms crossed, watching the family drama unfold like front-row entertainment. A faint smirk tugged at his lips—but his eyes stayed alert.
Lucien stepped inside at last and took a chair, sitting with deliberate ease. Ron followed, dropping onto the sofa like he belonged there.
Lucien crossed his legs.
"Now," he said evenly, eyes fixed on his father, "tell me what work was important enough to drag me here."
Each word cut clean.
His father stiffened—the accusation sharp, precise, unavoidable. The room fell quiet again, this time heavier, darker.
Before his father could speak again, Lucien's mother stepped in, smoothing the edge of her dupatta as if this were a casual conversation and not a calculated move.
"As you know," she said gently, already choosing her words, "your grandmother is getting old. She wishes to see your marriage."
Lucien didn't respond.
He didn't even blink.
His gaze remained steady, unreadable—like a man watching a play he had already seen too many times.
His mother shifted slightly, her fingers brushing the blanket—a signal so practiced it might as well have been rehearsed.
Mrs. Lee followed on cue.
"I am getting old," she said softly, her voice layered with age and affection. "And I don't know how long I will be here with you." She smiled at Lucien, warmth carefully applied. "The only thing I wish to see is your marriage."
She paused, letting the words sink in.
"I want a beautiful, young, kind-hearted girl to stand beside you. Someone who will love you, take care of you." Her tone turned sweeter, almost fragile. "Lucien… am I asking for too much?"
The room waited.
Lucien remained silent.
He had known this was coming the moment his phone rang. The ICU story. The threats. The sudden urgency. Every piece fit together neatly—too neatly.
This wasn't a request.It was a performance.
Lucien leaned back slightly in his chair, one arm resting lazily on the armrest. His expression stayed calm, detached, almost bored—but his eyes missed nothing.
Ron watched from the sofa, eyebrows lifting just a fraction. Yeah, he thought. He sees it.
Lucien didn't argue.Didn't refuse.Didn't agree.
Silence was his answer.
And somehow, that silence said more than words ever could.
Lucien finally moved.
Not much—just enough to remind everyone he hadn't been frozen, only waiting.
He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, fingers loosely clasped. His voice, when it came, was calm, unhurried… almost conversational.
"You want me to marry."
It wasn't a question.
The room collectively held its breath.
Lucien lifted his gaze to his grandmother first, his expression respectful, unsoftened. "If this is truly what you want," he said evenly, "then I won't refuse."
Shock rippled through the room.
His mother stiffened.His father's eyes narrowed.Mrs. Lee's lips parted slightly, victory flickering too soon.
Ron straightened on the sofa. Oh no, he thought. This isn't surrender.
Lucien continued.
"But I have one condition."
There it was.
He stood now, slow and deliberate, the air shifting with him. "I will choose her."
Silence cracked.
"No family introductions," Lucien went on, voice steady. "No background checks disguised as concern. No alliances hidden as tradition."
He looked at his father then—direct, unapologetic. "No deals."
Mrs. Lee frowned slightly. "Lucien—"
"I will meet her on my terms," he said smoothly. "I will decide if she becomes my wife. Not you. Not the family. Me."
His mother's smile faltered. "But that's risky—"
"That's the point."
Lucien straightened, hands slipping back into his pockets. "If I don't find someone I deem worthy," he added calmly, "then there will be no marriage. Ever."
His father's voice cut in sharply. "You think you can control everything?"
Lucien met his gaze without blinking. "I already do."
The words landed heavy. Final.
Mrs. Lee studied him for a long moment—then, unexpectedly, she laughed softly. "You're impossible," she said. "Just like your grandfather."
Ron smirked, unable to help himself. "Told you. Negotiating with him is a full-contact sport."
Lucien picked up his jacket. "You wanted an answer," he said coolly. "That's mine."
He turned toward the door.
The room had descended into quiet chaos the moment Lucien turned his back.
Voices overlapped. Arguments flared. Plans were whispered and discarded just as quickly. But no matter how much they talked, one truth settled heavy over everyone—
They couldn't do anything.
Lucien Lee had already set the terms.
Outside the hospital, the night air hit sharp and cold. Lucien stood near the car, cigarette burning low between his fingers. He exhaled slowly, smoke curling around his face as he stared at nothing in particular. His jaw was tight, eyes dark—anger restrained, not erased.
Ron watched him for a moment, then smirked.
"That face," he said lightly, lighting his own cigarette, "is the 'I'm two seconds away from ruining someone's life' face."
Lucien didn't respond.
Ron leaned closer, nudging him with his shoulder. "Let's go to the club. Fresh crowd. New girls just entered the arena." He grinned. "You might actually like one of them."
Lucien flicked ash to the ground. "I'm not in the mood."
"That's exactly why we're going," Ron replied, already opening the car door. "You brood, you spiral, you start planning hostile takeovers for fun. Bad for everyone."
Lucien took one last drag, crushed the cigarette beneath his shoe, and turned away. "I'm not interested."
Ron grabbed his arm anyway, dragging him toward the car. "Come on, future husband. Consider it… market research."
Lucien shot him a warning look.
Ron laughed, completely unfazed. "Relax. Worst case, you glare at people and scare them. Best case?" He shrugged. "You find someone who pisses you off less than your family."
Lucien didn't argue again.
The car door slammed shut.
And as the engine roared to life, the city opened its neon arms—clubs, music, shadows, and choices waiting to be made.
They entered the arena with a small circle of friends, the club doors parting like a curtain to chaos. Music thudded through the floor, bass heavy enough to rattle bones. Neon lights cut through smoke, painting everything in gold, blue, and temptation.
VIP sofas waited for them like thrones.
They sank into the leather, drinks arriving before anyone had to ask. Ice clinked. Bottles gleamed. Lucien lifted his glass and took a slow sip, liquor burning just enough to keep his anger under control—not gone, just caged.
It didn't take long.
Girls appeared almost instantly, drifting toward them like bees to fresh nectar. Beautiful, confident, dressed to be noticed. Laughter spilled easily. Compliments were thrown without restraint.
Ron was in his element.
He leaned forward, charm switched fully on, flirting back without effort, already surrounded, already enjoying the attention. "See?" he shouted over the music toward Lucien. "Healing environment."
Lucien didn't react.
He sat back on the sofa, one arm resting lazily along the back, expression cool, detached. Eyes sharp, but distant. The noise didn't reach him. Neither did the attention.
Then she stepped forward.
She was beautiful—striking, confident in a quiet way. She picked up the bottle, poured him a fresh glass with practiced ease, and held it out to him, eyes lifting to meet his.
Lucien looked at her.
Not casually.Not politely.
Fully.
His gaze settled on her like a weight—dark, steady, unreadable. For a brief moment, the noise around them seemed to dull. The girl faltered, breath hitching just slightly as that attention pinned her in place.
She smiled anyway. Tried to recover. "You looked like you needed another," she said softly.
Lucien accepted the glass, fingers brushing hers just briefly.
"Thank you," he said, voice low, controlled.
That was all.
But it was enough.
She folded—shoulders relaxing, smile deepening, confidence melting into something warmer, softer. She leaned in closer without realizing she'd moved, drawn by something she couldn't quite name.
Ron noticed and laughed under his breath. There it is.
Lucien took another slow sip, eyes still on her, expression unchanged.
He wasn't chasing.He wasn't impressed.
He was observing.
And somewhere deep beneath the music and lights, a thought surfaced—unwanted, uninvited.
She's beautiful… but she isn't it.
At the very same arena, a lively crowd gathered near the entrance—laughter spilling over each other, phones out, cameras flashing. A group of freshly graduated students had taken over the doorway, buzzing with excitement.
It was their school reunion.
Among them stood a familiar figure.
Aria.
She looked… different tonight.
The dress hugged her just right—not loud, not flashy, just effortlessly elegant. Her hair fell neatly over her shoulders, eyes bright with a mix of curiosity and nervous excitement. Standing beside her was Kaya—her best friend—equally stunning, confidence radiating off her like it was second nature.
"Stop overthinking," Kaya said, grabbing Aria's hand. "It's a club, not a battlefield. Let's go."
Aria laughed, shaking her head. "You say that like you don't know me."
They stepped inside.
The music hit first—loud, vibrant, alive. Lights flashed. The air buzzed with energy. For a second, Aria froze, taking it all in—the movement, the colors, the freedom.
Her first time in a club.
Kaya's too.
The group spread out quickly, excitement taking over. Some headed straight to the dance floor, others toward the bar. Aria and Kaya found a table near the side, close enough to feel the pulse of the music without being swallowed by it.
They sat, drinks arriving soon after—clearly marked non-alcoholic, thank you very much.
Girls crowded around, familiar faces from school, voices overlapping as gossip poured out—who moved abroad, who broke up, who secretly dated whom. Laughter came easily, shoulders relaxed.
Aria found herself smiling more than she expected.
She tapped her fingers lightly to the rhythm, eyes drifting across the room—taking in the scene, the people, the unfamiliar thrill of being somewhere so unlike her usual world.