In a luxurious office. Sunlight streamed through the tall glass windows, casting sharp shadows across the marble floor.
Seated behind a sleek obsidian desk, Alexander Quinn flipped through a file without looking up, his gold-rimmed glasses glinting in the light.
Suddenly, the heavy doors burst open with a bang.
"Xander! I've got great news!" Tyron Lancaster's voice bounced off the walls, full of the usual energy that contrasted sharply with the icy serenity of the office.
Alexander didn't flinch. He simply lifted his gaze over the top of his glasses, his expression unreadable.
Tyron, grinning from ear to ear, waved a sleek envelope dramatically in the air as if it were a golden ticket. "They're throwing a dinner party tonight at Belone's Club. High elites only. Adam wanted me to remind you—in case it slipped your mind."
Alexander blinked once. Slowly. That was all. He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his lap. The silence stretched for a few seconds too long.
"I'm not going," he said flatly, his voice devoid of inflection. He returned his attention to the file in his hands as if Tyron wasn't standing there.
Tyron groaned and flopped onto the leather couch in the corner of the room. "Of course you're not. I should've seen that coming."
Alexander wasn't just powerful—he was power in human form. The kind of man who didn't chase events; events were after him.
But the hated the kind small talk and such parties
Tyron, however, wasn't giving up so easily.
"Come on, man. Everyone will be there—Adam, Remi, Jules. Even Elijah's flying in from Florence for this. It's not just some dinner; this one's important. They're announcing the new alliance between Belone & Rowan Industries."
Alexander's expression didn't shift, but the slight twitch of his brow betrayed that he was listening.
"And," Tyron added slyly, sitting forward with a knowing grin, "rumor has it, the Belones are bringing him."
That made Alexander glance up again, this time sharper.
Tyron smirked. "You know. The Music King no one's seen since he got back from America.
Word is he's quite the stunner—and might just be the new face of the entertainment industry. I heard you want to pitch him over to your court.
Alexander didn't respond immediately. Instead, he closed the file with a soft click. The room grew still
Then finally, he spoke. "...Fine. I'll go."
Tyron blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected such a quick turnaround.He froze mid-chew when Alexander agreed to go.
"Hold up... are you gay?" he asked, eyes wide like he'd uncovered a secret plot.
Alexander turned to him slowly, eyebrows raised.
"If I were, trust me—you'd still be at the bottom of the list. Right next to expired yogurt and dial-up internet."
Leaving stunned tyron, Alexander rose from his chair, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored shirt. "But I'm leaving after one hour. No press. No speeches."
Tyron chuckled, standing as well. "Of course, Your Ice Majesty. Just try not to make anyone cry this time."
Alexander's lips twitched—almost a smile. Almost.
---
Iris wasn't in the mood to shop. But she had a party to attend and needed a dress. Something clean, sharp, and quiet enough to match her mood. A dress that would suit a the Belone club.
And then she saw it.
Dark black silk with silver embroidery. Elegant and beautiful.
She reached for it.
Another hand grabbed it at the same time.
"I'll take this," the girl said smugly, tugging it toward her.
Iris blinked slowly. "I took it first."
The girl turned to her with an exaggerated gasp, like Iris had just slapped her.
"Excuse me?" she snapped. "Do you even know who I am?"
No. And Iris didn't care.
But the mall attendant sure did.
"Miss Tayla! Welcome back!" the woman practically squealed, rushing over to fawn all over the other girl like a dog begging for treats.
Oh. Tayla.
Iris remembered now. Some celebrity type. Her face was always plastered on social media—lavish trips, luxury cars, boy drama. Daughter of a billionaire, rumored to have never worn the same outfit twice.
Tayla flipped her hair and pulled out a shiny emerald green card from her designer backpack.
"Take this," she said, handing it to the attendant like it was a gold bar. "It's a million-dollar premium card. I'm paying double the price. Wrap it up."
The attendant looked starstruck. "Of course, right away, Miss Tayla—"
Iris exhaled quietly, still holding onto the dress.
"I said," she repeated, voice cool and flat, "I took this dress first."
Tayla scoffed. "And I said I'm a VIP customer. Try shopping somewhere else, sweetheart."
Iris blinked once. Then, without a word, she reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a card.
Not green.
Black.
The attendant's jaw dropped.
"A VVIP...?" she whispered, almost afraid to touch it.
Iris didn't even blink. "It's valid for all RealCorp branches—restaurants, hotels, malls. Global access."
Tayla blinked. "Wait, what?! What kind of card is that?!"
The mall attendant turned pale. She'd almost denied a VVIP. That wasn't just rich—it was elite. Only the most powerful people carried those. Celebrities wished they could qualify.
"I—I apologize, ma'am!" she stammered, snatching the dress from Tayla's hands and carefully folding it for Iris. "I'll process it immediately. Please, allow me to escort you to the private lounge—"
"No need," Iris said, slipping the card back into her coat. "Just charge it."
The dress now in her hands, she turned and walked away.
Tayla stood frozen, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. "Who... who even is she?!"
The manager came running out seconds later, trying to calm her down with a "similar" dress from the back.
But Tayla wasn't stupid. It wasn't the same.
Her face flushed with embarrassment as a few shoppers whispered nearby. Furious, she scolded the manager loudly, throwing in every threat she could think of. The poor woman could only bow and apologize over and over.
"I swear," Tayla snapped, voice shaking with rage, "I'll never step foot in this trashy mall again!"
Still fuming, Tayla spun on her heels and stormed out of the mall—anger clinging to her like cheap perfume.