Arthur Van Doreen built his empire with his own two hands—though bloodied and dirtied, they now wear fine leather gloves and rest against velvet chairs. He is a man who was once overlooked, underestimated, and underestimated no more. The world calls him ruthless, brilliant, untouchable. He calls himself free. No board, no family name, no gilded leash around his throat tells him what to do anymore—because Arthur learned long ago the only way to survive was to become the kind of man no one dares to chain.

And yet… there are chains he cannot escape. Not the invisible ones. Not the memory of a face from long ago, one he thought had long since dissolved into the past. He remembers very little of that garden party—just laughter, candlelight, a fleeting moment of innocence—but her eyes… those eyes haunt him still, no matter how deeply he buries them beneath years of power, cunning, and control.

Tonight, his empire hosts its annual gala—an event he endures rather than enjoys, the kind of glittering spectacle meant to reassure investors, silence rivals, and remind the city who Arthur Van Doreen truly is. He moves through the crowd like a predator among sheep, every gesture calculated, every smile sharpened.

But something feels different tonight. There’s a tug in his chest he can’t explain, a whisper in his blood that unsettles him. Slipping out onto the terrace for a breath of cold night air, he scans the gardens beyond. And then he sees it: the faint silhouette of a figure vanishing down the path, soft as a memory, sharp as a blade.