Restaurant
The private restaurant was tucked inside the university's old district—quiet, expensive, and deliberately discreet. Soft music played from hidden speakers while the low murmur of other private rooms leaked faintly through thin wooden walls.
A man leaned forward, carefully pouring red wine into the glass across from him.
"How dare he think himself worthy of Emily Hayes," he scoffed. "A nobody actually daring to steal her from you. If anyone deserves her—"
He slid the glass closer.
"—it's your brother."
Mike took the glass, swirling the wine slowly. The deep red liquid caught the warm light as he watched it cling to the sides.
"The university is large," he said calmly. "Who knows if there's someone more worthy hiding in it?"
The man laughed quickly, eager to agree.
"There's no one like you. Even if this place is big, we'll find anyone who even thinks of her—and we'll take care of them."
Mike took a sip.
Then smiled.
"I'll leave her to you to take care of."
The man clapped his hands immediately.
Two waitresses entered, placing dishes on the table with practiced smiles.
"We'll protect the boss's woman," the man said confidently.
Mike chuckled, setting his glass down.
"If you want to help," he said lightly, "do it well."
He paused, lifting the glass again.
"But if any of your plans end up biting me back—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
He only smiled and took another sip.
The man choked on his wine.
Mike glanced at him, amused.
"Pour yourself another glass," he said softly. "Why are you afraid?"
Laughter followed—forced at first, then louder. The table filled with noise as they ate, but no one missed the tension coiled beneath the smiles.
Small Café
The café was crowded and loud, the kind of place students used to kill time between classes. Chairs scraped against the floor. Cups clinked. Someone argued softly over the bill near the counter.
Nathan sat by the window.
Tap. Tap.
His chopsticks hit the table in an uneven rhythm.
"Seriously," he sneered, staring outside. "What kind of father still pulls this nonsense? 'Hide your family name and see what you're worth.' Why am I the only one forced into that test?"
John sat across from him, shoulders stiff.
"First of all," John said carefully, "during the festival you actually prayed he'd die. Second, while all your siblings want the inheritance, you're the only one bold enough to say it outright. You're the one raising his blood pressure."
Nathan's chopsticks stopped.
He turned his head slowly.
John felt a chill crawl up his spine.
"You're also the one," John continued, "who started a company just to suppress his."
Nathan smiled faintly.
"First," he said calmly, "are you working for me or for him?"
John didn't answer.
"Second," Nathan continued, leaning back, "if you can't support me even when I'm wrong, then shut it."
His eyes sharpened.
"Didn't you leave your family property to work for me when I had nothing but an idea?"
John exhaled.
"I've been with you since you were thirteen," he said. "From the day you left home until now—when you're eighteen. That's how I make a name for myself. My father doesn't care; I'm just one of many illegitimate children."
Nathan listened, expression unreadable.
"Your methods," John went on, "are greedy. You aim for things you shouldn't be able to hold."
Nathan's smile widened slightly.
"But when you attack," John said, "you do it once—and everything collapses. Atlas didn't grow. It swallowed."
A cup shattered somewhere behind them.
Nathan didn't even glance back.
"No one knows who owns Atlas," John continued quietly. "No one knows a ten-year-old built it. Underground markets, security systems, military channels—"
He hesitated.
"And now you want to build Nathan Global Empire without using Atlas or your family's power."
Nathan leaned forward.
"And who told you I won't use them?"
John froze.
"My father kicked me out," Nathan said casually. "Told me to do it myself."
His eyes gleamed with amusement.
"So I will."
He stood, grabbing his jacket.
"As for Atlas," he added, "they don't know who their boss is."
Nathan turned to leave.
"And I don't like proving myself to people," he finished lightly. "Too much casualty."
As John nodded, he smirked. "So that's why you want to use a woman to pave your path," he said, chuckling.
Nathan clicked his tongue, leaning back slightly. "In ancient times, the emperor's advisors were afraid of him," he said, voice smooth, almost teasing. "But it seems your gut is as big as an elephant."
John coughed, irritated, but Nathan ignored him, sipping his drink with a calm air that made him seem untouchable.
Flashback
"It seems the cartel family isn't backing you now. Tsk. Your family isn't here to protect you—you're on your own," Mike said, flicking his lighter across the floor.
A grunt, a push, and Nathan laughed as one of the men kicked him lightly.
"The little dog wants to bark when the owner's away," Nathan mocked.
Mike paused and leaned in, whispering close. "You think I'm afraid of your family because of their lineage or bias? They're nothing but merchants in my eyes. Even if your father were here, I'd scold you. Now that he isn't, I'll help your father take his place—and make sure you don't stray."
Nathan smirked, unflinching. "Why are you whispering in my ear? Trying to get cozy? Or… are you gay?" he taunted.
Mike straightened, dusted off his hands, and left without another word. The men around Nathan gave him a few more kicks before leaving him sprawled on the ground. Nathan wiped blood from his mouth and grinned. "Damn… beaten by that pig," he muttered, cursing Mike under his breath.
The Carter family was aligned with business, but their influence stretched into the government, much like the Night family, the Voss family, Vegas, and the Kane family. The Night, Carter, and Voss families were the real old-money dynasties—centuries of wealth, power, and influence stabilizing the country. Sure, there were other rich families, but these three? They were untouchable.
The club was a city within a city. A sleek, black-and-chrome line of luxury cars stretched along the velvet-lit street outside, engines humming low like predators. Drivers in tailored suits stepped out, opening doors with precise, silent movements.
The crowd waiting in line was a mix of the glittering elite and the dangerously flashy: men in silk shirts, cufflinks catching the neon, women in gowns that shimmered like liquid silver, their heels clicking against the cobblestone as they whispered and laughed.
Inside, the air throbbed with bass. Lights pulsed in time with the music, sweeping across the mirrored walls and glass balconies.
The DJ stood elevated on a platform, glowing with LED streaks, manipulating decks with hypnotic precision. Dancers moved across elevated stages and poles, blending elegance with impossible athleticism, their bodies catching the lights in glittering arcs. Each step, each spin seemed choreographed to perfection, yet effortless.
The VIP areas floated above the dance floor, private glass boxes lined with velvet couches. Patrons leaned on gold-trimmed railings, sipping champagne from crystal flutes. Waitresses in sleek black cocktail dresses, hair pulled back into immaculate buns, navigated the crowd with trays balanced like dancers themselves, offering exotic drinks, whispering names, memorizing faces. Even the bartenders moved like performers, tossing bottles and flipping shakers with flair, eyes never leaving the crowd.
Everywhere, life buzzed. Groups of intoxicated socialites laughed too loudly, some spilling drinks on designer shoes. Couples whispered secrets in shadowed corners. A man in a three-piece suit argued with a server over the origin of his whisky while a woman beside him swirled her drink, staring at the crowd like a predator. The music throbbed in everyone's chest, hearts syncing to the beat. It was unreal, alive, a world so perfect it shouldn't exist—yet here it was.
Nathan adjusted the collar of his jacket, eyes scanning the room. He thought about the Kane, Vegas, and Blackwood families—the aristocrats, old-money, royal-serving bloodlines, discreet but commanding. Power in names, tradition, secrecy, and influence—the kind that whispered through centuries yet rarely needed to shout.
He smirked. Mike, the illegitimate bastard heir who had somehow survived where others had fallen, was the target of his favorite pastime: annoyance.
Nothing entertained Nathan more than pushing Mike's buttons, stealing his little comforts, watching him squirm. And now? He'd heard whispers—about the campus beauty returning from her travels, about Mike's plans to be with her.
Nathan's grin widened. "What better way to get revenge… than to steal a woman," he muttered under his breath, his mind spinning with possibilities. Nothing could go wrong. Or so he thought.
He strode toward the club's private rooms, each step precise, confident, teasing the energy of the crowd around him. Suddenly—a waiter, distracted, poured an entire glass of red wine directly onto Nathan's chest. Nathan froze, eyes narrowing as the aroma of Merlot hit him.
"Really?" he said, voice low, calculating, as the waiter stammered apologies, bowing frantically. Nathan's grin returned, slower, sharper, a dangerous glint in his eye. "Watch it.
Nathan hurried into the bathroom, muttering under his breath about how annoying the whole day had been.
The cool tile under his sneakers was a relief, and the faint smell of disinfectant made him sigh. He entered a stall to clean up and noticed a pressing need to… you know.
As he opened the stall he froze.
A girl.
Standing there. Right in front of him.
"What the—" Nathan started, but before he could finish, the girl grabbed his wrist and yanked him into the stall. The door slammed shut just as the sounds of other footsteps and voices echoed in the bathroom.
"Shh!" she hissed, pressing a finger to her lips.
Nathan stared at her. "What is this? Are you a ghost? A pervert? Or… both at the same time?"
The girl rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Are you sick? Do I look like any of the above? Go clean your eyes. Have you never seen a pretty ghost like me before? Or, if I were a pervert, would I not have been touching you by now? Calling a pure lady a pervert? You need a slap."
Nathan sneered, leaning against the wall. "So pure and holy, and yet you wander into the male bathroom and hide in a stall. Is this pure lady here… enjoying hearing men pee? Or watching them take a shit?"
Only for Emily to lift her leg and kick him straight in the groin.
Nathan let out a choked gasp as his body folded instantly, crashing down onto the tiled floor with a loud thud.
Emily, unamused, raised an eyebrow. "You really have a mouth on you, don't you? Keep talking like that, and I'll make you regret it."
The tension hung thick in the small stall as the sounds of running water, flushing toilets, and murmured conversations from other patrons filled the air.
Outside the stall, the men froze.
"…What was that noise?" one guy whispered, glancing nervously at his friend.
His friend shrugged. "Seems like someone fell."
"Yeah… definitely fell," another man added, eyes darting toward the closed stall doors.
Inside the stall—
Nathan's heart pounded—not from fear, but from the audacity of the situation.
Emily smirked, leaning closer. "So, are you going to apologize, or are you going to keep embarrassing yourself?"
Nathan blinked.AH—DAMN IT, YOU DAMN GIRL!" Nathan roared, his voice echoing off the bathroom walls as he forced himself upright. "
"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU—"
He lunged forward, reaching to grab Emily—