Author's Note:
Welcome to Chapter 2. This one starts soft but burns slow—like a lit match in a room full of perfume.
We meet the world Niv steps into: curated wealth, unspoken power, and masks thicker than marble.
Watch for the shift. Every line that looks like banter hides a blade.
Also—watch Sera.
The party wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
No strobes. No DJs. No red solo cups.
This wasn't chaos.
This was curated decadence—perched atop the Astra Hotel, where chandeliers cost more than most people's futures.
Here, the elite didn't shout. They murmured.
They posed like royalty and smiled like knives.
The rooftop terrace glowed under warm light and colder secrets.
The marble bar gleamed. The liquor was older than the guests.
The air smelled like generational wealth and decisions without consequences.
There were heirs here—of corporations, kingdoms, and quiet monopolies.
Some wore Patek Philippes.
Some wore sneakers with fake modesty.
All of them knew how to smile without showing teeth.
Ethan McAllister moved through them like a warm breeze wrapped in black Amiri.
People greeted him with too much familiarity and not enough eye contact.
"McAllister! Still slumming it with the nerds?"
"Only the sexy ones," Ethan grinned.
And then—
"Wait—who's that with you?"
Behind him, just a step back, was Nivrit Vashirayan.
Blue t-shirt. Black jeans. No flex. No branding. No effort.
Just calm. Present. Unbothered.
They glanced. Labeled. Dismissed.
Polite smiles—the kind you give interns. Then they turned away.
Ethan felt it. Tight in his chest.
He started to say something—
But Niv leaned in, resting a hand on his shoulder.
"Don't," he said, voice low. "Fuck 'em. Not my type anyway."
Ethan blinked. Then smiled.
One line. And suddenly the party felt less fake.
Minutes later, Ethan spotted a cluster of beautiful girls near the corner lounge.
Among them: Jacob Caldwell — senator's son, billionaire heir, golden boy of inherited confidence.
Next to him, his girlfriend—perfectly styled, perfectly bored.
But Niv's eyes passed right over her—
And stopped.
The girl beside her didn't smile. Didn't speak.
She didn't have to.
She stood like a blade carved from ice.
Expression unreadable. Presence absolute.
Sera Marino.
Daughter of the most feared cartel leader in Mexico.
Rumors said her family didn't run the eastern seaboard.
They owned it.
"Who's he?"
The question came softly—from one of the girls, eyes sharp, tequila in hand.
Across the room, Niv leaned at the bar. Casual. Still.
Unremarkable on paper.
Unforgettable in person.
Even Sera glanced.
Just once.
Then turned back to her drink.
Jacob noticed.
He stiffened.
"That's just Niv," Ethan said. "My best friend. Chill guy. You'd like him."
"He's funny," one girl added.
"Reads people like it's a game," another chimed.
"Three words and he's got your unresolved trauma," Ethan smirked.
They laughed.
And right on cue, Niv approached.
Hands in pockets. Calm.
"So," he said. "What are we drinking, and whose personality are we blaming it on?"
More laughter. Not polite. Real.
He launched into a story—something about a blind date and a parrot that thought it was a therapist.
Perfect timing. Dry delivery. Effortless charm.
Even Sera's lips twitched.
That's when Jacob cracked.
"So what do you do, Niv?" he asked, swirling his drink.
"Grad student," Niv replied. "Trying to make sense of chaos. You?"
"International policy. My mom's Senator Caldwell. You've probably heard of her."
"Sure," Niv said. "Loved her piece on diplomatic immunity. Real tearjerker."
Snorts. Chuckles. The edge of a laugh.
Jacob's smile slipped.
"What about your family?" he pressed. "What do they do?"
Ethan tensed.
"Not much," Niv shrugged. "Back in India. Books, tea, mild judgment. The occasional power outage. Pretty normal."
Laughter again—just enough to tilt the room.
Jacob wasn't done.
"So you're basically the diversity hire," he said, like he'd just made a joke.
The laughter stopped.
Even the bartender froze.
Ethan opened his mouth.
Stopped.
Niv raised one hand.
"Jacob," he said gently. "You're trying to be funny. I respect that."
He stepped closer. Still calm. Still warm.
"But here's a tip.
If you feel the need to mention your parents in casual conversation…
You might want to ask yourself how much of you is actually you."
Silence.
One of the girls choked on her drink.
Even Sera turned—and looked at Niv directly.
Jacob's girlfriend elbowed him.
"Don't be an ass, babe."
Ethan was grinning like he'd just witnessed a surgical demolition.
They walked off, Niv quiet beside him.
Behind them, Jacob stood frozen, pride smoldering on the floor.
He stormed to the bar.
Two shots. Downed in silence.
His friend clapped him on the back.
"That Indian kid just handed your balls back on a platter."
Jacob's jaw clenched.
His eyes burned.
Then—he turned.
And shouted:
"HEY—"