Six years later.

In the bustling, glittering heart of Aurelia State’s CBD, a colossal LED screen dominated the skyline, broadcasting a high-profile interview.

“Recently, SY Group went public on the New York Stock Exchange, transforming from a scrappy startup into a corporate juggernaut in just six years.

The mastermind behind this meteoric rise, its majority shareholder and CEO, Samuel, has become a living legend on Wall Street. Just last week, he graced the cover of Time Magazine.

Today, we’re honored to have Samuel here with us, to talk about how he single-handedly built SY into the empire it is today.”

Yvonne stepped out of the International Finance Tower, her shoulders slumped in defeat. She clutched her résumé tightly, her spirits dragging as low as they had been when she walked in. But as she raised her eyes, there he was—his image larger than life on the oversized screen, polished to an almost painful brilliance.

On the screen, Samuel sat poised in his tailored ash-gray suit, the neck of his black shirt closed neatly with a silver-gray tie. His cool, pale complexion and sharp, striking features carved an almost statuesque perfection. Long, elegant fingers rested loosely atop his knee, every inch of him radiating untouchable authority.

Relaxed but imperious, his expression seemed carved from ice—his faint, polite smile distant, almost indifferent. He exuded a composure that was both commanding and inescapably aloof. A man who seemed as unattainable as he was magnetic.

When the interviewer posed her question, his answer was brutally concise.

“Hatred,” he said calmly.

The interviewer blinked, caught off guard as if unsure if she had misheard. She had worked hard to land this rare opportunity to talk to someone of Samuel’s stature, and she wasn’t going to let it drop easily. Sensing the intrigue Samuel’s cryptic answer might stir, she leaned in with a daring follow-up, her voice laced with deliberate curiosity.

“There have been rumors, Mr. Blackwell, that six years ago you served time due to a false accusation made by your first love. I have to admit, I wonder—are those rumors true?”

The very air seemed to ice over.

The studio audience froze, their polite smiles evaporating as a leaden silence consumed the room. The question hung between them like a knife.

Samuel didn’t flinch. He remained motionless, the serene lines of his immaculate suit undisturbed, his handsome face betraying not a ripple. But his eyes—his eyes flashed with something dark and venomous, a glint of suppressed violence that transformed the atmosphere into something almost suffocating.

Leisurely, he reached down and buttoned his jacket, rising with predatory grace. He met the interviewer’s gaze evenly and spoke just two words, each syllable calm yet ringing with latent menace:

“Curiosity kills.”

And with that, he walked off set, leaving the room stunned and silent.

---

Across the street, Yvonne stood staring at the screen, her spine rigid as her blood drained cold. Her face was several shades lighter than before.

Six years.

Six years had transformed Samuel into the very embodiment of ambition’s rewards: an untouchable icon of power and poise. He emanated an authority that years of triumph had etched into his very bearing. The embarrassing stains of his past—of those criminal accusations and prison bars—had long since been swallowed up by his meteoric success. Now, even whispers of those days only seemed to deepen the mystique around him. People admired strength, after all, and nothing fascinated them more than mystery entwined with power. To the masses, Samuel’s tarnished past served only to gild his legend.

And, of course, the inevitable chorus followed: That first love of his must be insane! She threw away the man who would conquer the world! She must be writhing in regret now.

Yvonne let out a dry, sardonic laugh before her lips pressed into a hard, bitter slash. Regret? Oh, she regretted it, all right.

For six years—not just every day, but every agonizing, wakeful night—she had regretted it.

But that regret didn’t change reality. Six years had split their lives into unbridgeable gulfs. She and Samuel now lived in two separate worlds.

She had just been fired from her job at Aurelia Broadcasting. The reason? She had offended someone she should’ve known better than to cross. Her attempts to find another position all ended the same way: politely, firmly, and unambiguously shut down.

And she could guess who that unreachable, vengeful hand belonged to. Samuel. He still hated her.

But Yvonne didn’t hate him—not anymore. The mess she was in now? She deserved it. She could admit that.

Yet even knowing that didn’t help the suffocating weight of her circumstances. Her daughter, Iris, was starting first grade next month, and Yvonne couldn’t scrape together enough for even the modest tuition fee. Rent was due at the end of the month, another impossible sum hanging over her head. The numbers churned in her brain until they reduced her thoughts to chaos.

Money. That was all she needed, but it seemed nowhere to be found. How was she supposed to keep going?

At the bottom of her bag, her fingers found a card—glossy, sleek, and stark black. Lila Bennett, her best friend, had slipped it to her with a knowing look a week ago.

Velvet Afterglow Nightclub. Manager Turner.

Yvonne stared at it. Singing. That’s what Lila had floated as an idea. She had always had a good voice, something that turned heads at college events and drew polite applause at weddings. Before, the idea of stepping onto a nightclub stage had felt like an insult to whatever shreds of dignity she still clutched. A proud Young Madam Carrington, veteran TV host—why would she stoop to that?

But dignity didn’t pay school fees or keep the landlords at bay. And after tonight’s rejections, most painfully clear was this: dignity was useless.

She slipped the card back into her bag, her lips pressing thin.

Tomorrow night, she'd go.

8:00 PM, Velvet Afterglow Nightclub.

Inside the lavish luxury Room 888.

"What the hell was that reckless host thinking with those questions today? She could’ve brought up anyone and yet she had to mention her, his damnable first love! Jasper, we need to deal with her!"

"She’s already been fired—I made the call. Look, today is Samuel’s birthday. When he gets here, don’t bring up anything unpleasant."

"Who’d have the nerve? Not me! That Yvo—ugh, even her name’s bad luck! She’s the ultimate no-go for him!"

The speakers were Gabriel Sterling and Jasper Whitmore of SY Group, two of Samuel Blackwell’s closest—and most loyal—brothers in arms.

It wasn’t long before Samuel arrived, flanked by two bodyguards dressed in black suits. His presence seemed to steal the air from the room, a quiet command radiating from every inch of his tall, austere frame.

Gabriel threw an arm around Samuel’s shoulders. "Birthday boy, could you at least look happy? Jasper and I put this room together just for you. Surprise, huh?"

Samuel’s sharp eyes flicked across the room, taking in the balloons, ribbons, and all the glittering decorations with barely a flicker of emotion. He settled into the sofa with an unhurried grace, crossing his impossibly long legs. “It’s just another day. Nothing worth celebrating.”

“Oh, come on! You’re still young—why do you act like you’ve already retired from life? Tonight, I swear, I’m finding you a knockout to loosen you up."

Jasper smirked. "You think Mr. Blackwell shares your, let’s say, 'enthusiasms'? Hardly. Samuel, unlike Gabriel, I’ve planned you a real surprise…"

He didn’t get to finish before a soft knock interrupted him, the sound crisp against the room’s muffled luxury.

"Hi there, I’m the singer Mr. Whitmore requested. Should I come in now?"

Jasper broke into a knowing grin. "Well, speak of the devil. Looks like the surprise has arrived. Come on in!"

The door clicked faintly as it swung open, and Yvonne stepped in, her violin held carefully in her arms.

The room was dim, shadows stretching long where light barely reached. Yet the moment she lifted her gaze, her brown eyes locked onto a pair of piercing black ones in the corner—a gaze so intense it sent an electric silence rippling through her veins.

The instant their eyes met, Yvonne’s entire being froze. Her blood seemed to rush backward, solidifying into an icy chill. Her legs weren’t her own anymore. They refused to obey—neither stepping forward nor retreating. She stood there, rooted and exposed, under the weight of his gaze.

Not only Yvonne but even Gabriel was stunned into silence, though his shock quickly gave way to mockery.

He let out a low laugh. "Well, well. If it isn’t Westreach City’s illustrious Young Madam Yvonne from the Carrington family! What brings you out of the TV station and into a place like this to peddle your craft?"

In the corner, Samuel sat regal and detached, watching the scene unfold as though it were a play staged far, far away—something he could observe with untouched, aristocratic indifference. His striking features betrayed not even a flicker of emotion, and when his eyes settled on Yvonne… they were void of recognition.

Strangers—that was all they were, all they seemed to have ever been.

Six years. Six years without so much as a passing glance.

And now, Samuel.

So we meet again.

But of all places—this is where fate brings us back together?

He, the honored guest. She, little more than hired entertainment.

Yvonne’s fingernails dug into her palm so deeply that the pain, sharp and grounding, helped keep her teetering focus intact. She forced a faint smile—tight, unyielding.

“Mr. Sterling, you’re here to spend, and I’m here to earn. That’s how it works. Of course, if my presence is unwelcome, I’ll leave immediately. Apologies for disrupting your evening.”

Her back straight as a rod, she bowed deeply—a full ninety degrees, her breath steady but her heart beating like a frantic drum. She wanted no confrontation. She wanted nothing—not from them, not from Samuel.

But just as she clutched her violin and turned to go, ready to slip silently back into anonymity, the low, commanding voice that had remained silent all this time suddenly stopped her in her tracks.

"Stop."