VEIL OF DECEPTION

The doors of the Laurent Estate swung open without a sound, revealing a world of cold elegance. The air smelled of expensive perfume and aged whiskey, a place where power lingered in the very walls.

Ethan stepped inside, his every movement deliberate. This was Astrid's domain, and he wasn't just walking in—he was being invited.

A butler in a crisp black suit guided him through a marble-floored hallway lined with oil paintings. Soft classical music played from somewhere unseen, the kind of subtle luxury that only the truly powerful could afford.

At the end of the hall, a massive door was pushed open, revealing her.

Astrid Laurent sat in a high-backed chair, a glass of red wine in her hand. She was breathtaking—long dark waves framing a face that looked both timeless and untouchable. Her eyes, a shade of piercing emerald, held a quiet amusement.

She didn't stand. Didn't offer a greeting.

Instead, she simply tilted her head, as if studying an uninvited guest rather than an expected visitor.

Ethan let the silence stretch. Power was about control, and the first battle was always unspoken.

Finally, she spoke.

"You don't look like a man who fears consequences." Her voice was smooth, but there was something lethal beneath it.

Ethan smirked. "I don't believe in consequences. Only results."

Her lips curved slightly. "Spoken like someone who hasn't lost enough."

He stepped closer. "Or someone who's already lost everything."

A flicker of interest crossed her face. She gestured to the seat across from her. "Sit, then. Let's see what you think you know."

Ethan lowered himself onto the leather chair, never breaking eye contact. He wasn't here to beg for a place at the table.

He was here to flip the board.

—

Astrid swirled her wine, watching him. "You've been stirring things up, Ethan. Elias Harrington is scrambling, Vincent DeLuca is nervous, and now… you're sitting in my home."

Ethan leaned forward. "You knew I was coming."

She smiled. "Of course."

He expected that answer. "Then you also know why."

She tapped her manicured nails against the glass. "You want power. You want revenge. You want to tear apart the system that humiliated you."

Ethan didn't deny it.

She continued. "But here's the problem—revenge is personal. Power is business."

Ethan smirked. "I'm here to make them the same thing."

Astrid studied him for a moment before setting her wine down. She reached for something beside her chair—a small, golden envelope—and slid it across the table toward him.

"Then prove it."

Ethan picked up the envelope. The wax seal bore an intricate spade emblem.

He glanced at her. "What's this?"

Her smile was sharp. "An invitation. Tomorrow night. The Serpentine Gala."

Ethan had heard of it. A private event for the elite. Deals were made. Alliances forged. Enemies buried.

Astrid leaned in slightly. "If you really want to play in this world, Ethan… show me you can survive it."

Ethan held her gaze, then smirked. "Challenge accepted."

—

As he left the Laurent Estate, the night air felt different.

The board was set.

And the next move?

Was his.