Aria and Kaya didn't slow down until the neon lights of the arena were far behind them. The night air felt cleaner, quieter—like they'd escaped something rotten.
They stopped at a tiny ice-cream shop tucked between two closed stores, its freezer humming softly like it was minding its own business.
"Two cones," Kaya announced dramatically. "Because we survived stupidity."
Minutes later, Kaya was happily demolishing her favorite ice cream when she suddenly froze.
Then—casually, criminally—she reached into her purse and pulled out a full bottle of champagne.
Aria's eyes nearly popped out of her skull. "Did you seriously steal that bottle from the club?"
Kaya scoffed, offended. "Excuse you. I didn't steal it." She lifted her chin proudly. "My boyfriend gave it to me."
Aria paused mid-lick. "…Your boyfriend?"
Kaya grinned. "Ron."
Everything clicked.
Aria sighed, shaking her head. "You're insane."
"Correct," Kaya said cheerfully. "But come on—it's our graduation! We have to celebrate."
"You celebrate," Aria replied calmly, licking her ice cream again. "I'm not drinking. I have work tomorrow."
Kaya groaned. "You and your responsible adult nonsense."
Then she smirked, nudging Aria with her elbow. "By the way… your acting back there?"
Aria glanced at her.
"Pure fire," Kaya continued. "That man completely folded. I almost applauded."
Aria's lips curved slightly, the smallest hint of a smile breaking through. "I wasn't acting," she said simply.
Kaya blinked. Then burst out laughing. "Oh. Even better."
Lucien leaned against the hood of his car, shoulders relaxed, eyes sharp as glass. The city lights reflected faintly off his watch as he pulled out another cigarette, rolling it between his fingers instead of lighting it.
"Find her," he said.
The apprentice stiffened slightly. "Details?"
"Everything," Lucien replied without looking at him. "Name. Background. Where she lives. What she does when she thinks no one's watching."
"Yes, sir."
"No contact," Lucien added calmly. "No interference."
The man nodded and disappeared into the night.
Ron watched the exchange with open amusement. "Digging files already? That was fast."
Lucien finally lit the cigarette, smoke curling lazily from his lips. "I don't like unknown variables."
Ron chuckled. "Funny. You didn't seem bothered by unknowns before tonight."
Lucien exhaled slowly. "Seems like the condition I set…"He paused, eyes darkening, remembering the way she moved—controlled, precise, fearless.
"…just got itself a whole body," he finished, then added, quieter, sharper,"and a face."
Ron's grin widened. "Yeah. You're screwed."
Lucien flicked ash to the ground. "No," he said coolly. "I'm curious."
The study was bathed in low amber light, walls lined with shelves of rare books and framed abstracts—paintings no one was allowed to touch. The air smelled faintly of leather, ink, and control.
Lucien sat behind his desk, posture relaxed, fingers steepled loosely as if nothing in the world could rush him.
A knock.
"Come in."
The apprentice entered, crisp and efficient, a thin folder in his hand. He walked forward, placing it carefully on the desk, as though the papers weighed more than they should.
"Aria," he said. "Full report."
Lucien didn't respond. He simply opened the file.
Pages turned slowly.
Name.Age.Education.Graduation—recent.Part-time café job.Family—ordinary. Close-knit. No scandals. No leverage.No political backing.No money.No protection.
His eyes paused briefly on a photograph.
Same sharp gaze. Same composed stillness. The kind of face that didn't beg, didn't bend—only assessed.
Lucien shut the file.
"Send her details," he said calmly, "to the entire Lee family."
The apprentice hesitated. Just a fraction. "Sir?"
Lucien finally looked up, eyes dark, expression unreadable. "Every aunt. Every uncle. Every cousin who thinks they get a vote."
"Yes, sir."
Lucien leaned back in his chair. "By tomorrow afternoon," he continued evenly, "a wedding invitation should be at her door."
The apprentice's breath hitched before he masked it. "Understood."
"No delays," Lucien added. "No discussion."
He stood, signaling the meeting was over. "They wanted a bride," he said coolly. "I've chosen one."
The apprentice bowed his head and left.
Lucien turned toward the window, the city spread beneath him like a chessboard.
He wasn't smiling.
He wasn't angry.
He was decisive.
Morning at the Lee mansion was never quiet—but today, it detonated.
Sunlight poured through the tall glass windows of the breakfast hall, glinting off marble floors and silver cutlery. The long table was occupied by the usual suspects: uncles nursing tea like it offended them, aunts scrolling phones, cousins half-asleep and uninterested in anything that didn't involve money.
Until the files arrived.
One by one.
Tablets buzzed. Phones chimed. Assistants whispered and retreated like they'd just delivered bad news to a firing squad.
Yue Yue was the first to open it.
She skimmed the details lazily—then froze.
"…What?"
Her voice cut through the room.
Mrs. Lee (the very-alive grandmother) adjusted her glasses. "What is it?"
Yue Yue turned the screen around.
A photograph stared back at them.
A girl. Simple dress. Sharp eyes. No designer labels. No pedigree screaming wealth.
Silence.
Then—
"Who the hell is THIS?" an aunt snapped, slamming her teacup down.
"A café worker?" one uncle barked incredulously. "You're joking."
Another cousin laughed outright. "Is this a prank? Did Lucien finally lose his mind?"
Lucien's mother's face went pale as she read faster. Education. Ordinary family. No connections. No lineage worth mentioning.
"No," she whispered. "No, no, no… this won't work."
Mrs. Lee leaned forward, eyes narrowing—not angry, but intensely curious. "Read it properly."
"She's not from our circle," Yue Yue said sharply. "Not even close."
"That's unacceptable," Lucien's father thundered, entering the room like a storm that had been waiting for applause. "After everything—we get THIS?"
He jabbed a finger at the screen like it had personally offended him.
"You think society will accept this girl as a Lee?" an aunt scoffed. "She doesn't even know how our world works!"
A cousin muttered, "She'll fold in a week."
Mrs. Lee didn't speak.
She studied the photo longer than anyone else.
Then—slowly—she smiled.
"A girl with nothing," she murmured. "And he chose her."
The room turned to her.
"That boy," she continued softly, "never does anything without intent."
Lucien's father slammed his palm on the table. "Intent or not, I won't allow this humiliation!"
At that exact moment, a servant entered quietly. "Sir… the invitations have already been dispatched."
Dead silence.
"They'll reach her house," the servant added, "by this afternoon."
Faces drained of color.
No discussion.
No approval.
No warning.
Yue Yue exhaled sharply, half-amused, half-horrified. "He really did it."
Mrs. Lee chuckled. "Of course he did."
Lucien's father turned away, furious. "He thinks this is a game."
The Lee mansion was still vibrating with outrage when the sound of an engine cut through it—low, controlled, expensive.
Outside, a black car rolled through the gates like it had every right to exist. It stopped exactly where it pleased.
Lucien stepped out.
No rush. No hesitation. He straightened his cuffs once, adjusted his coat, and walked in as though the house had been waiting for him all morning.
Inside, voices were already raised.
"This is unacceptable—"
"He's humiliating us—"
"A nobody—"
The doors opened.
Every sound died.
Lucien entered the breakfast hall, eyes calm, expression unreadable, presence heavy enough to bend the room around him. He didn't look at anyone immediately. He poured himself a glass of water, took a sip, then finally lifted his gaze.
"Good morning," he said casually.
No one answered.
His father stood rigid, jaw clenched. "Explain yourself."
Lucien tilted his head slightly. "Explain what?"
"The girl," his father snapped. "You chose a girl with no standing, no money, no—"
"No leverage," Lucien finished for him, voice smooth. "Exactly."
A murmur rippled through the room.
An aunt scoffed. "You expect us to accept a café girl as a Lee?"
Lucien's eyes flicked to her. Just once.
She shut up instantly.
"I set a condition," Lucien said calmly. "You agreed."
Yue Yue crossed her arms. "We didn't think you'd actually do this."
"That," Lucien replied, "sounds like a comprehension problem."
Mrs. Lee chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the carnage.
Lucien stepped forward, palms resting on the back of a chair. "You wanted me married. I complied."
His father's voice rose. "This marriage will damage our reputation!"
Lucien leaned in slightly, eyes cold. "My reputation doesn't rely on approval."
Silence.
"You threatened my paintings," Lucien continued evenly, turning his gaze fully to his father now. "So I made a choice you can't undo."
His father stared at him. "You're doing this out of spite."
Lucien smiled faintly—for the first time.
"No," he said. "I'm doing this because she fits every rule you didn't think mattered."
He straightened. "The invitation has been sent. She'll receive it today."
"And if she refuses?" someone asked weakly.
Lucien's gaze sharpened, something dark flickering beneath the calm.
"She won't," he said simply.
Mrs. Lee tapped her cards against the table. "You're confident."
Lucien met her eyes. "I'm prepared."
He turned toward the door, already done with the conversation.
"Oh," he added without looking back, "be polite when you meet her."
The room erupted the second he left.
But Lucien didn't hear it.
Morning in Aria's house was usually gentle.
The kind where sunlight slipped through thin curtains, where the smell of tea and toasted bread filled the air, where life moved slowly and predictably.
That morning?
It shattered.
A line of black cars stopped outside the modest house like an invasion. The street went silent. Neighbors peeked through curtains. A suited man stepped forward and rang the bell—once.
Firm.
Final.
Inside, Aria's mother frowned. "Who could that be so early?"
When the door opened, the air changed.
Lucien Lee stood there.
Tailored black suit. Calm eyes. Money and authority clinging to him like a second skin. He didn't ask permission.
He stepped inside.
Behind him, his men remained outside—because he didn't need backup to dominate a room.
"I'm Lucien Lee," he said evenly. "I'm here regarding your daughter."
Aria's father stiffened. "Our… daughter?"
Lucien nodded once. "I intend to marry her."
The words landed like a gunshot.
Tea cups rattled. Aria's mother's hand flew to her chest. "M-marry?"
"There's an invitation," Lucien added calmly. A folder was placed on the table—thick paper, embossed gold, obscene against the worn wood. "Everything is arranged."
He wasn't asking.
Upstairs, Aria was yanked from sleep by frantic knocking.
"Aria! Wake up—NOW!"
She stumbled out, hair messy, eyes still half-closed, wearing an oversized T-shirt—very much not ready to meet the man currently rearranging her future.
She froze at the top of the stairs.
Lucien looked up.
Their eyes met.
No surprise.
No apology.
Only recognition.
Him: composed, immovable.Her: furious, cornered.
"What is he doing here?" Aria demanded, marching down.
Lucien turned fully toward her. "I came to be clear."
Her jaw tightened. "About what."
"About marriage."
The room spun.
"No," Aria said instantly. "Absolutely not."
Lucien didn't react. He'd expected that.
Her parents exchanged panicked glances. The men outside. The name. The invitation. The weight of it all.
"Aria," her mother whispered, already faltering, "he's… he's a Lee."
"And?" Aria snapped. "That doesn't mean I'm for sale."
Lucien spoke again, voice calm, cutting through the chaos. "I won't touch you without consent. I won't control your work. Your family will be protected. Provided for."
Aria stared at him. "You think that makes this okay?"
"No," he said honestly. "It makes it inevitable."
Her father swallowed hard. "Sir… we're simple people. This is too much—"
Lucien looked at him—not cruelly, not kindly—just realistically. "This is already done."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Slowly—painfully—her parents began to bend. Fear. Security. Pressure disguised as opportunity.
Aria felt it happen.
Felt herself losing ground.
"This is insane," she whispered. "You're all insane."
Lucien met her gaze, unwavering. "You don't have to like it," he said quietly. "You just have to survive it."
Her hands curled into fists.
She didn't scream.
She didn't cry.
Lucien left without another word.
No threats. No promises. Just calm footsteps and a door closing like it had already decided the ending.
The moment the house went quiet, Aria snapped.
She locked herself in her room, slid down against the door, hands shaking, head buzzing, thoughts crashing into each other like broken glass.
She grabbed her phone and called the only person who made sense when her world didn't.
"Kaya."
The call connected in one ring.
"What happened?" Kaya asked instantly.
Aria exploded.
"WHAT DOES THAT MAN THINK OF HIMSELF?" she yelled, voice cracking. "He just walked into my house like he owned it. Like I was furniture. I swear, Kaya, I will kill him with my bare hands."
Kaya didn't interrupt. She just listened.
"He talked about marriage like he was ordering coffee," Aria continued, pacing her room. "My parents were just standing there—standing there—like stunned pigeons. Who does that? WHO DOES THAT?"
She stopped, breathing hard. "I hate him. I really, really hate him."
There was a pause.
Then Kaya said carefully, "So… you're really going to marry him?"
Aria practically screamed. "NO."
She threw herself onto the bed. "Absolutely not. Never. Over my dead body. I don't care how rich he is, I don't care how powerful his family is—he doesn't get to decide my life!"
Kaya hummed. "Good. Just checking."
Aria groaned into her pillow. "He thinks because he's rich, he can just—just—collect people. Like I'm some trophy. I swear, if arrogance had a face—"
"Okay," Kaya cut in calmly. "Breathe."
Aria inhaled sharply. Exhaled. Then continued ranting anyway.
"I don't even know him," she said angrily. "What he likes, what he hates, what kind of control freak he is—"
Kaya's tone shifted. "Exactly."
Aria paused. "What do you mean, exactly?"
Kaya sat up straighter on her end. "Why don't we find out? His habits. His preferences. What he likes, what annoys him."
Aria shot up. "Why would I need to know his preferences? I'm not changing myself to fit into his standards."
"Relax," Kaya said quickly. "I didn't say we follow them."
Aria frowned. "Then?"
"We do the opposite."
Silence.
Then—Aria's eyes lit up.
"…Opposite?"
Kaya smiled. "If he likes quiet, you're loud. If he likes control, you resist. If he likes perfection—"
"I become chaos," Aria finished slowly.
"Exactly," Kaya said, pleased. "But first, we need to know what we're dealing with."
Aria grabbed her jacket. "You're right."
"Of course I am."
"Let's meet," Aria said. "Y Café. Now."
"I'm already halfway dressed," Kaya replied. "See you in ten."
The call ended.
Aria stood in the middle of her room, heart still racing—but now, for the first time since that morning, her fear had shape.
And shape meant something she could fight