The Monroe Mansion towered above Shen like a silent monument of old wealth and pride. He let out a soft whistle as he entered, eyes taking in the grandiose interior — polished marble floors, antique vases, chandeliers gleaming like starlight, and portraits of ancestors lining the high walls.
"Gotta admit, the Monroes sure know how to keep their place spick and span," Shen said, his tone light, casting a glance at Ryona.
But Ryona didn't respond. Her cheerful energy had faded. She looked down, her smile gone, her shoulders slightly hunched.
"Ryona?" Shen asked, his brow furrowed in concern.
Before she could speak, another voice cut through the silence.
"Oh my, is that Shen Tucker? The loser who's actually gonna marry my poor, broke cousin?" The voice was saccharine, biting.
A slender blonde stepped into the room. Carol Monroe. Ryona's second cousin. Shen recognized her instantly. She hadn't changed since their childhood—still a haughty, spoiled diva who used to torment Ryona with backhanded compliments and cruelty disguised as charm.
Carol's heels clicked on the marble as she sauntered over. Shen didn't even blink.
He turned to Ryona. "What's going on here? I thought you lived here."
Ryona hesitated, then spoke in her soft southern accent. "We don't. Mama and I, we been livin' in an apartment downtown. This place ain't home no more."
Shen's jaw tightened. "Why? You're the rightful heir. By law."
She sighed. "'Cause I ain't no man, Shen. This family… they wanted a male heir. Grandma used to dote on me, but turns out, it was only 'cause there wasn't a male option back then."
Before Shen could say anything, another voice interrupted. "Oh my, so Zac Tucker is finally joinin' the Monroes?" A woman laughed theatrically from the staircase.
It was Foni Monroe — Ryona's aunt and Carol's mother. Her golden-yellow dress shimmered as she descended the stairs, her movements calculated, aristocratic.
"Imagine that, a womanizer weddin' my niece. Ohohoho... the irony."
Shen's eyes narrowed. He could feel Ryona stiffen beside him.
Foni approached them with a cruel smirk. "A tomboyish little tramp and a man who can't keep it in his pants. What a match."
Suddenly, her smile faltered. Shen's gaze locked onto her. Cold. Deadly. Not with rage, but pure dominance. Her spine tensed. She could feel it—this wasn't Zac.
"Don't glare daggers at me, child. It's disrespectful," she snapped.
Shen folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Pity. The more one nags, the deeper the wrinkles set in."
Foni gasped, mouth agape. "The audacity! You come into this household and throw threats? This is blasphemy!"
"Wrong again, old hag. I ain't Zac Tucker. I'm Shen. Shen Tucker."
Gasps echoed. Even Carol stiffened.
Foni's sneer returned. "So you're the runaway trash? The one who left the Tucker name behind? Came crawlin' back with his tail tucked? Ohohoho... this is rich."
As she flipped open her decorative fan in mock amusement, a deeper voice echoed across the hall.
"So, you're Zac Tucker? The one who'll marry my granddaughter?"
They all turned.
A tall man with sharp eyes and silvered hair stepped into the room. Jhon Monroe, patriarch of the Monroe family. Sixty years old, but still standing with the strength and posture of a man in his prime.
Shen gave a polite bow, one hand behind his back, the other across his chest. "Forgive the misunderstanding, sir. I am not Zac. I am Shen Tucker. Zac is... currently unavailable. The Tuckers sent me in his place."
"Unavailable?"
Shen said, eyes unblinking. "A private matter that might affect the Tucker family's reputation."
Jhon raised an eyebrow. His gaze drifted to Shen's attire. "These clothes… Dalton-made, are they not?"
Shen smiled faintly. "Indeed. Tailored by Sir Dalton Moore of the Moore Family Fashion Industries in Switzerland. They're his 'commoner' collection. Comfortable. Light. Practical."
The old man let out a hearty laugh. "Hahaha! A man of taste. And those earrings... unexpected. Yet refined."
Shen reached up, touching his earlobes. "My apologies, sir. I wore them out of habit. I can remove them."
Jhon waved him off. "No need. They suit you. A skin of shadow with the soul of snow."
Then, without hesitation, Jhon extended his hand.
Everyone in the room froze.
No one had ever seen the patriarch offer his hand. Not even to his own children.
Shen looked at it for a moment, then grasped it firmly. Their handshake was solid, meaningful.
"Strong grip. You've seen combat?"
"Yes, sir. Army. Navy. Special Forces. And a love for firearms. Right, Ryona?"
Ryona perked up, nodding. "He's had a thing for custom guns since he was 'bout six or seven."
"Is that so?" Jhon smiled, walking them toward a display case on the wall. He opened it and pulled out an elegant flintlock pistol. "Tell me. What is this?"
Shen's eyes lit up like a child at Christmas.
"Holy hell... that's one of the original Flintlock Pistols used by the first American President during the Revolutionary War! Dual-wielded. Ornate. Carried as symbols of honor and leadership."
Jhon looked impressed.
Shen continued, enthusiasm pouring out. "They weren't just weapons. They were status. Often used as diplomatic gifts. Custom wood grain, fine engraving. That one's from 1780, right?"
Jhon laughed again. "Spot on, lad. I haven't met anyone under forty who knew that. How about joining me for dinner tonight? Sit at my table."
Everyone gasped again.
Foni's hand trembled on her fan. Carol's mouth dropped open. Ryona looked stunned.
Shen bowed. "It would be an honor. But may I ask one thing, sir? May Ryona sit with us as well? I want to learn more about her and her bond with you."
Jhon turned to Ryona. Her eyes flickered down, as if ashamed.
"Very well," he said after a pause. Then he looked over his shoulder. "Take care of this man, child. He's a diamond in the rough."
And with that, Jhon walked off, his presence leaving a weight behind.
Ryona tugged Shen's sleeve with a bright smile, eyes shimmering. "I don't know what kinda spell you cast, but thank you... my future husband."
Her accent lingered with warmth. The southern drawl soft, tender. Her brunette hair glowed golden as the sun poured through the windows.
Shen chuckled and walked beside her.
But not everyone was pleased.
Foni's eyes burned with rage. Her hands shook, lips pursed in fury. Shen Goddem had just humiliated her, shifted the power dynamic with a few words and a handshake.
She turned to Carol, her voice low and cold. "Call your fiancé."
Carol smirked, reaching for her phone. Her fiancé was no ordinary man. He was private military. American elite. And he was coming to visit on leave.
If Shen wanted a war, they would bring him one.
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Chapter 3 — End.