The hall shimmered like something out of a dream—a masterpiece of gold and ivory with crystal chandeliers hanging from a domed ceiling etched in quiet luxury. The air hummed with soft classical music, and the scent of roses and expensive wine clung to the atmosphere like an invisible veil. Shareholders, relatives, employees, and opportunists filled the room, some dressed to impress, others simply watching—each one with their own reason for attending the long-anticipated engagement of Alexander Velmonte.
Mr. Velmonte stood tall in a midnight blue suit, his silver pocket watch gleaming subtly under the lights. Beside him, Mrs. Velmonte wore an emerald gown adorned with sequins that cascaded like shattered stars, her hair swept into a flawless chignon and her neck glinting with layers of diamonds. Her lips, painted in the deepest red, barely moved as she scanned the crowd—her expression unreadable.
Then came the moment everyone waited for.
The doors opened with a practiced grace, and Alexander Velmonte walked in with Emily Wards by his side. He wore a perfectly tailored black tuxedo with deep green detailing that subtly matched Emily's dress, the fabric catching the light like shadows on silk. His expression was composed, his steps confident—but behind the eyes, there was a storm veiled in silence.
Emily walked beside him like a picture carved from elegance. The gown sent to her the night before by Mrs. Velmonte was a deep forest green, off-shoulder and fitted at the waist, flaring slightly just above her knees into soft folds of lace and sheer fabric. Delicate floral embroidery climbed from the hem like ivy, and the fitted bodice hugged her silhouette with effortless grace. Her pale green eyes were striking, more vivid beneath the glow of chandelier light, framed by soft curls cascading past her shoulders. For a second, the room forgot how to breathe.
Whispers slithered through the crowd like perfume smoke.
"She's so lucky…"
"That dress—gorgeous. Of course, she's marrying into the Velmontes."
"Well, what else did you expect? Money buys perfection."
But Emily… Emily did not let it get to her. Not the awe, not the envy, not even the subtle resentment. She had a mission. This was just another step—another stage in the plan. With a delicate tilt of her chin and a practiced smile, she widened her grin ever so slightly and let herself play the part.
Alexander leaned in, his tone neutral but firm. "Smile," he said through his teeth.
She did. It was the kind of smile that could have fooled the devil himself.
Together, they stepped onto the stage.
Alexander's voice echoed across the crowd. "We never planned for this to be public," he began, his hand resting over Emily's like it belonged there. "But when you find someone who makes the world pause… someone who surprises you in unexpected places like an office corridor—one thing leads to another. And well," he smirked slightly, "here we are. We decided to give the public a little function to remember. So please, enjoy yourselves."
A soft wave of applause followed.
Andrew stepped forward, his suit crisp, champagne in hand. "To the newest couple," he said, voice smooth and warm. "To Alexander and Emily Velmonte." He raised his glass. "May this union be as strong as it is stunning."
Glasses clinked. Some genuinely celebrated. Others simply tolerated. And a few—the dangerous few—watched for an entirely different reason.
Alexander's sharp eyes scanned the crowd, catching sight of a man in the corner. Mr. Elias Grent. A former associate turned liability. Months ago, he had leaked confidential shipping routes from one of Alexander's hidden arms deals to a rival group—costing them millions. The betrayal had gone unpunished… until now.
Alexander gave a subtle nod.
Andrew, posted across the room, immediately caught it. His gaze flicked to the bar, where two of his men posed as servers. They moved smoothly, almost lazily, offering drinks. One of them, while pouring for a small group including Elias, made a quick exchange—two fingers tapping the rim of the glass.
Inside the stem of Elias's wine glass, a tiny puncture had been made earlier that day. A thin needle in the tray beneath it delivered a slow-releasing dose the moment Elias lifted it to sip. It wasn't fatal—but enough to make his vision blur, muscles weaken, and reflexes dull.
From a distance, Andrew watched as Elias's posture changed—shoulders sagging, blink rate slowing. He tapped his glass softly once against his own and nodded.
"Take him," he whispered through the mic hidden in his collar.
Two men moved in, dressed like guests. They didn't drag Elias—no, they escorted him, laughing like old friends helping a drunk colleague to the lounge. Only… they didn't head for the lounge. They exited through a side door leading to an underground tunnel beneath the estate—Spot One.
Andrew exhaled slowly and glanced toward Alexander.
Alexander was still holding Emily's hand, still smiling faintly, but his eyes caught Andrew's. In one blink, Andrew sent the signal.
It is done.
In another blink, Alexander answered.
Understood.
And still, they smiled. Because appearances were everything.
Emily noticed it.
That brief exchange of glances between Alexander and Andrew hadn't gone unnoticed. She had been on guard all night, watching everything, absorbing every whisper, every shift of body language. Even though no one in this crowd truly knew who she was—or who she had been—she couldn't afford to feel safe. This room was brimming with enemies of the Velmontes, some loyal allies, but mostly watchers. Eyes that observed and waited. A single misstep could change everything.
Still holding her hand, Alexander suddenly turned to her.
"Dear," he said.
Emily blinked. The word sent a ripple of surprise through her. She turned to him with a slight tremor in her expression but quickly remembered the role she had signed up to play. She slid a soft, pretentious smile onto her lips. "Yes, dear?"
"Meet Mr. and Mrs. Langston. They're Julia's parents."
Emily's smile twitched as she tilted her head. She knew who Julia Langston was—Alexander's long-time "friend," the one everyone assumed would someday be the future Mrs. Velmonte. Still, she gave Alexander a confused glance for show.
"Yes… Julia, my friend," Alexander added casually, catching her unspoken question.
Emily caught on instantly. "Ah, Julia. Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Langston," she said with an almost innocent grace.
But the Langstons looked at her with undisguised disgust.
"We wanted you to have our Julia," Mrs. Langston said sharply, voice clipped. "You two have always been such good friends. We never knew another woman was… already in the picture."
Her words were a blade cloaked in silk.
Emily stood there in silence, her smile barely holding. But Alexander's grip around her waist tightened, pulling her closer, the gesture firm and deliberate.
"Emily is my woman," he said with cold finality.
Emily's gaze, which had been lowered, snapped to his face. Disbelief flickered in her chest. This behavior… this public claim—why now?
Alexander didn't flinch. "Julia," he continued coolly, "was never my type of woman to begin with."
A heavy silence fell around them.
Alexander turned to Emily, eyes unreadable. "Anything else you want to say to them?"
Emily glanced at the Langstons, then offered a smile so sharp it could cut through diamonds. "You have wonderful, beautiful stores, Mr. and Mrs. Langston."
Mrs. Langston let out a sharp sigh, her lips tightening as she murmured—loud enough for them to hear—"None of those jewelry pieces will you ever be able to afford."
Mr. Langston added with a sneer, "Some things just don't belong on certain people."
Alexander's jaw twitched. His voice, low but lethal, carried just enough to still the air.
"Whatever Emily chooses to wear—be it jewelry, clothes, or even a smile—will be more valuable than your stores and everything in them combined."
The Langstons stared in stunned silence.
Alexander took Emily's hand, firm and unapologetic, and led her away from the scene. She kept looking at him. Even though he towered over her, he still noticed the weight of her stare.
"Please," he said calmly, "calm down. You are almost a Velmonte. No one speaks to a Velmonte like that."
His expression didn't shift—it was cold, distant, absolute.
Before Emily could form a response, a familiar voice rang out behind her.
"Emily! Oh my gosh, you look so, so amazing!"
It was Sophia, radiant and wide-eyed, clearly overwhelmed by the elegance of the night. As soon as her gaze landed on Alexander, her smile froze and she straightened instinctively.
"Good evening, sir," she said nervously.
Alexander gave her a single nod. Then, in a tone only the two women could hear, he whispered to Emily, "Come to me later."
He turned and walked away, disappearing into the thick of the crowd.
Sophia exhaled heavily and waited until he was long gone before grabbing Emily's hand. "Please tell me, Emily… how did it happen? He's so in love with you. This is insane!"
Emily just smiled faintly. "Sophia, please—not tonight. Have you had anything to eat?"
Without waiting for a reply, she linked arms with her and led her to a nearby table where golden trays of food were laid out like a royal feast. As they filled their plates, talking about anything but the engagement, another pair of eyes watched from a higher platform.
Mrs. Velmonte sat in her private section, barely hiding her disdain.
She turned to the man sitting beside her. "More commoners in our family," she muttered, her tone clipped and disdainful. "I'm sure you're happy. One of your kind is here now. At least you have someone to relate to."
Damian, husband to the youngest and only daughter of the Velmontes, didn't react outwardly. He'd grown used to her remarks over the past three years.
"Mother," he said quietly, glancing at her crystal glass. "Do you want some water?"
"No, please," she replied, her tone icy, and walked away with her usual elegance.
Damian's jaw clenched slightly as he watched her leave. He turned his gaze back to the table below, where Emily laughed quietly beside Sophia, and something unreadable passed through his eyes.
The engagement party ended just before midnight.
The last of the champagne flutes clinked gently against silver trays as the waiters made their final rounds. Laughter dulled, heels clicked across the marble floor, and velvet dresses disappeared through the towering archways of the Velmonte estate. Some guests left with questions. Others with envy. But none without whispers.
Emily Wards stood near the grand staircase, lips curled into a flawless smile, her pale green eyes betraying nothing. Alexander had vanished from her side shortly after the last toast, his presence gone like a blade sheathed in the dark. He whispered only once before leaving:
"I have something to handle."
She didn't ask questions.
She couldn't afford to.
—————————————————————————————
Spot One was already awake.
Far from the shimmer of chandeliers and string quartets, beneath layers of fake corporations and legal blind spots, the old textile warehouse in the industrial outskirts breathed a different kind of life. A cruel, silent, necessary life.
A black SUV rolled up to its gates.
Andrew stepped out first, the collar of his black coat turned up, his steps precise. He handed his jacket to a waiting man and adjusted the dark gloves on his hands—leather, worn at the knuckles.
Inside, under flickering industrial lights, Elias Grent sat bound to a metal chair. His face was bruised, one eye swollen, a gash splitting his bottom lip. Sweat rolled down his temple despite the chill in the air.
Earlier that evening, his drink had been spiked—not with poison, but something far more deliberate. One of Andrew's trained men, dressed seamlessly as a waiter, had made the glass switch during a round of celebratory pours. The drug settled in just enough to keep Elias quiet through the party, and weak enough to be dealt with now.
"You leaked the offshore contract details," Andrew said calmly, circling the chair. "You handed them to the De Santis family for a promise that won't outlive you."
Elias groaned. "I didn't— It was just—business—"
Andrew smiled faintly, pity in his eyes. "You used his name. That was your first mistake."
Footsteps echoed behind them.
Then Alexander entered.
He didn't need to speak. His presence alone shifted the atmosphere. He took slow, deliberate steps, the shadows peeling back with every inch he walked.
"Mr.Elias," he said coolly, crouching slightly so they were eye-level. "I gave you a seat at the table. You tried to trade it for scraps."
"I—Alexander, please—I have a family—"
Alexander tilted his head, studying him like a flawed investment.
"And so did the people who died when that oil shipment was hijacked because of your leak," he said. "Five men. Two of them were fathers. You made a choice. I'm making mine."
Andrew moved to the side table. The tools weren't elaborate—just practical. A heated metal strip, clamps, a dull blade, and a pair of pliers wrapped in wire.
No theatrics. Just consequence.
The first scream tore through the room as Andrew pressed the glowing metal into Elias collarbone. Skin sizzled. Flesh burned. The scent was thick and bitter.
Alexander didn't flinch.
"I don't touch the mess," he said, turning to light a cigarette. "But I make sure it's cleaned."
Andrew worked with careful precision. Each action calculated, slow enough to make Elias feel the betrayal clawing through his bones.
Blood ran in thin streams. The chair creaked under the weight of the man's agony. Words escaped Elias mouth, but they weren't coherent anymore.
"You don't die tonight," Andrew murmured close to his ear. "Not until he says so."
Alexander finally turned, smoke curling past his lips.
"Pier 9," he said coldly. "No face. No name. Let the De Santis family fish for what's left."
Andrew nodded to the men. "Clean him up. Burn the evidence."
As Alexander stepped out into the night, his cigarette nearly done, he didn't look back.
The SUV door opened for him without a word. Andrew joined him a moment later, sliding into the passenger seat.
"It's done," Andrew said quietly.
Alexander exhaled the final plume of smoke out the window.
"Good."
The door shut.
And just like that, Spot One faded back into silence—until the next betrayal.
The hall shimmered like something out of a dream—a masterpiece of gold and ivory with crystal chandeliers hanging from a domed ceiling etched in quiet luxury. The air hummed with soft classical music, and the scent of roses and expensive wine clung to the atmosphere like an invisible veil. Shareholders, relatives, employees, and opportunists filled the room, some dressed to impress, others simply watching—each one with their own reason for attending the long-anticipated engagement of Alexander Velmonte.
Mr. Velmonte stood tall in a midnight blue suit, his silver pocket watch gleaming subtly under the lights. Beside him, Mrs. Velmonte wore an emerald gown adorned with sequins that cascaded like shattered stars, her hair swept into a flawless chignon and her neck glinting with layers of diamonds. Her lips, painted in the deepest red, barely moved as she scanned the crowd—her expression unreadable.
Then came the moment everyone waited for.
The doors opened with a practiced grace, and Alexander Velmonte walked in with Emily Wards by his side. He wore a perfectly tailored black tuxedo with deep green detailing that subtly matched Emily's dress, the fabric catching the light like shadows on silk. His expression was composed, his steps confident—but behind the eyes, there was a storm veiled in silence.
Emily walked beside him like a picture carved from elegance. The gown sent to her the night before by Mrs. Velmonte was a deep forest green, off-shoulder and fitted at the waist, flaring slightly just above her knees into soft folds of lace and sheer fabric. Delicate floral embroidery climbed from the hem like ivy, and the fitted bodice hugged her silhouette with effortless grace. Her pale green eyes were striking, more vivid beneath the glow of chandelier light, framed by soft curls cascading past her shoulders. For a second, the room forgot how to breathe.
Whispers slithered through the crowd like perfume smoke.
"She's so lucky…"
"That dress—gorgeous. Of course, she's marrying into the Velmontes."
"Well, what else did you expect? Money buys perfection."
But Emily… Emily did not let it get to her. Not the awe, not the envy, not even the subtle resentment. She had a mission. This was just another step—another stage in the plan. With a delicate tilt of her chin and a practiced smile, she widened her grin ever so slightly and let herself play the part.
Alexander leaned in, his tone neutral but firm. "Smile," he said through his teeth.
She did. It was the kind of smile that could have fooled the devil himself.
Together, they stepped onto the stage.
Alexander's voice echoed across the crowd. "We never planned for this to be public," he began, his hand resting over Emily's like it belonged there. "But when you find someone who makes the world pause… someone who surprises you in unexpected places like an office corridor—one thing leads to another. And well," he smirked slightly, "here we are. We decided to give the public a little function to remember. So please, enjoy yourselves."
A soft wave of applause followed.
Andrew stepped forward, his suit crisp, champagne in hand. "To the newest couple," he said, voice smooth and warm. "To Alexander and Emily Velmonte." He raised his glass. "May this union be as strong as it is stunning."
Glasses clinked. Some genuinely celebrated. Others simply tolerated. And a few—the dangerous few—watched for an entirely different reason.
Alexander's sharp eyes scanned the crowd, catching sight of a man in the corner. Mr. Elias Grent. A former associate turned liability. Months ago, he had leaked confidential shipping routes from one of Alexander's hidden arms deals to a rival group—costing them millions. The betrayal had gone unpunished… until now.
Alexander gave a subtle nod.
Andrew, posted across the room, immediately caught it. His gaze flicked to the bar, where two of his men posed as servers. They moved smoothly, almost lazily, offering drinks. One of them, while pouring for a small group including Elias, made a quick exchange—two fingers tapping the rim of the glass.
Inside the stem of Elias's wine glass, a tiny puncture had been made earlier that day. A thin needle in the tray beneath it delivered a slow-releasing dose the moment Elias lifted it to sip. It wasn't fatal—but enough to make his vision blur, muscles weaken, and reflexes dull.
From a distance, Andrew watched as Elias's posture changed—shoulders sagging, blink rate slowing. He tapped his glass softly once against his own and nodded.
"Take him," he whispered through the mic hidden in his collar.
Two men moved in, dressed like guests. They didn't drag Elias—no, they escorted him, laughing like old friends helping a drunk colleague to the lounge. Only… they didn't head for the lounge. They exited through a side door leading to an underground tunnel beneath the estate—Spot One.
Andrew exhaled slowly and glanced toward Alexander.
Alexander was still holding Emily's hand, still smiling faintly, but his eyes caught Andrew's. In one blink, Andrew sent the signal.
It is done.
In another blink, Alexander answered.
Understood.
And still, they smiled. Because appearances were everything.
Emily noticed it.
That brief exchange of glances between Alexander and Andrew hadn't gone unnoticed. She had been on guard all night, watching everything, absorbing every whisper, every shift of body language. Even though no one in this crowd truly knew who she was—or who she had been—she couldn't afford to feel safe. This room was brimming with enemies of the Velmontes, some loyal allies, but mostly watchers. Eyes that observed and waited. A single misstep could change everything.
Still holding her hand, Alexander suddenly turned to her.
"Dear," he said.
Emily blinked. The word sent a ripple of surprise through her. She turned to him with a slight tremor in her expression but quickly remembered the role she had signed up to play. She slid a soft, pretentious smile onto her lips. "Yes, dear?"
"Meet Mr. and Mrs. Langston. They're Julia's parents."
Emily's smile twitched as she tilted her head. She knew who Julia Langston was—Alexander's long-time "friend," the one everyone assumed would someday be the future Mrs. Velmonte. Still, she gave Alexander a confused glance for show.
"Yes… Julia, my friend," Alexander added casually, catching her unspoken question.
Emily caught on instantly. "Ah, Julia. Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Langston," she said with an almost innocent grace.
But the Langstons looked at her with undisguised disgust.
"We wanted you to have our Julia," Mrs. Langston said sharply, voice clipped. "You two have always been such good friends. We never knew another woman was… already in the picture."
Her words were a blade cloaked in silk.
Emily stood there in silence, her smile barely holding. But Alexander's grip around her waist tightened, pulling her closer, the gesture firm and deliberate.
"Emily is my woman," he said with cold finality.
Emily's gaze, which had been lowered, snapped to his face. Disbelief flickered in her chest. This behavior… this public claim—why now?
Alexander didn't flinch. "Julia," he continued coolly, "was never my type of woman to begin with."
A heavy silence fell around them.
Alexander turned to Emily, eyes unreadable. "Anything else you want to say to them?"
Emily glanced at the Langstons, then offered a smile so sharp it could cut through diamonds. "You have wonderful, beautiful stores, Mr. and Mrs. Langston."
Mrs. Langston let out a sharp sigh, her lips tightening as she murmured—loud enough for them to hear—"None of those jewelry pieces will you ever be able to afford."
Mr. Langston added with a sneer, "Some things just don't belong on certain people."
Alexander's jaw twitched. His voice, low but lethal, carried just enough to still the air.
"Whatever Emily chooses to wear—be it jewelry, clothes, or even a smile—will be more valuable than your stores and everything in them combined."
The Langstons stared in stunned silence.
Alexander took Emily's hand, firm and unapologetic, and led her away from the scene. She kept looking at him. Even though he towered over her, he still noticed the weight of her stare.
"Please," he said calmly, "calm down. You are almost a Velmonte. No one speaks to a Velmonte like that."
His expression didn't shift—it was cold, distant, absolute.
Before Emily could form a response, a familiar voice rang out behind her.
"Emily! Oh my gosh, you look so, so amazing!"
It was Sophia, radiant and wide-eyed, clearly overwhelmed by the elegance of the night. As soon as her gaze landed on Alexander, her smile froze and she straightened instinctively.
"Good evening, sir," she said nervously.
Alexander gave her a single nod. Then, in a tone only the two women could hear, he whispered to Emily, "Come to me later."
He turned and walked away, disappearing into the thick of the crowd.
Sophia exhaled heavily and waited until he was long gone before grabbing Emily's hand. "Please tell me, Emily… how did it happen? He's so in love with you. This is insane!"
Emily just smiled faintly. "Sophia, please—not tonight. Have you had anything to eat?"
Without waiting for a reply, she linked arms with her and led her to a nearby table where golden trays of food were laid out like a royal feast. As they filled their plates, talking about anything but the engagement, another pair of eyes watched from a higher platform.
Mrs. Velmonte sat in her private section, barely hiding her disdain.
She turned to the man sitting beside her. "More commoners in our family," she muttered, her tone clipped and disdainful. "I'm sure you're happy. One of your kind is here now. At least you have someone to relate to."
Damian, husband to the youngest and only daughter of the Velmontes, didn't react outwardly. He'd grown used to her remarks over the past three years.
"Mother," he said quietly, glancing at her crystal glass. "Do you want some water?"
"No, please," she replied, her tone icy, and walked away with her usual elegance.
Damian's jaw clenched slightly as he watched her leave. He turned his gaze back to the table below, where Emily laughed quietly beside Sophia, and something unreadable passed through his eyes.
The engagement party ended just before midnight.
The last of the champagne flutes clinked gently against silver trays as the waiters made their final rounds. Laughter dulled, heels clicked across the marble floor, and velvet dresses disappeared through the towering archways of the Velmonte estate. Some guests left with questions. Others with envy. But none without whispers.
Emily Wards stood near the grand staircase, lips curled into a flawless smile, her pale green eyes betraying nothing. Alexander had vanished from her side shortly after the last toast, his presence gone like a blade sheathed in the dark. He whispered only once before leaving:
"I have something to handle."
She didn't ask questions.
She couldn't afford to.
—————————————————————————————
Spot One was already awake.
Far from the shimmer of chandeliers and string quartets, beneath layers of fake corporations and legal blind spots, the old textile warehouse in the industrial outskirts breathed a different kind of life. A cruel, silent, necessary life.
A black SUV rolled up to its gates.
Andrew stepped out first, the collar of his black coat turned up, his steps precise. He handed his jacket to a waiting man and adjusted the dark gloves on his hands—leather, worn at the knuckles.
Inside, under flickering industrial lights, Elias Grent sat bound to a metal chair. His face was bruised, one eye swollen, a gash splitting his bottom lip. Sweat rolled down his temple despite the chill in the air.
Earlier that evening, his drink had been spiked—not with poison, but something far more deliberate. One of Andrew's trained men, dressed seamlessly as a waiter, had made the glass switch during a round of celebratory pours. The drug settled in just enough to keep Elias quiet through the party, and weak enough to be dealt with now.
"You leaked the offshore contract details," Andrew said calmly, circling the chair. "You handed them to the De Santis family for a promise that won't outlive you."
Elias groaned. "I didn't— It was just—business—"
Andrew smiled faintly, pity in his eyes. "You used his name. That was your first mistake."
Footsteps echoed behind them.
Then Alexander entered.
He didn't need to speak. His presence alone shifted the atmosphere. He took slow, deliberate steps, the shadows peeling back with every inch he walked.
"Mr.Elias," he said coolly, crouching slightly so they were eye-level. "I gave you a seat at the table. You tried to trade it for scraps."
"I—Alexander, please—I have a family—"
Alexander tilted his head, studying him like a flawed investment.
"And so did the people who died when that oil shipment was hijacked because of your leak," he said. "Five men. Two of them were fathers. You made a choice. I'm making mine."
Andrew moved to the side table. The tools weren't elaborate—just practical. A heated metal strip, clamps, a dull blade, and a pair of pliers wrapped in wire.
No theatrics. Just consequence.
The first scream tore through the room as Andrew pressed the glowing metal into Elias collarbone. Skin sizzled. Flesh burned. The scent was thick and bitter.
Alexander didn't flinch.
"I don't touch the mess," he said, turning to light a cigarette. "But I make sure it's cleaned."
Andrew worked with careful precision. Each action calculated, slow enough to make Elias feel the betrayal clawing through his bones.
Blood ran in thin streams. The chair creaked under the weight of the man's agony. Words escaped Elias mouth, but they weren't coherent anymore.
"You don't die tonight," Andrew murmured close to his ear. "Not until he says so."
Alexander finally turned, smoke curling past his lips.
"Pier 9," he said coldly. "No face. No name. Let the De Santis family fish for what's left."
Andrew nodded to the men. "Clean him up. Burn the evidence."
As Alexander stepped out into the night, his cigarette nearly done, he didn't look back.
The SUV door opened for him without a word. Andrew joined him a moment later, sliding into the passenger seat.
"It's done," Andrew said quietly.
Alexander exhaled the final plume of smoke out the window.
"Good."
The door shut.
And just like that, Spot One faded back into silence—until the next betrayal.