The warehouse was dark—so dark that even the shadows seemed afraid to breathe. Metal beams creaked overhead, the distant hum of machinery echoing like a heartbeat in the empty space.
Then a figure moved.
Not stumbled.
Not walked.
Moved—like a blade slicing through air, like a predator gliding toward its prey.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Built for power and precision.
His messy hair fell over sharp eyes, eyes that glowed faintly even in the pitch black. They missed nothing—calculating, dissecting, judging.
Every step he took radiated control so absolute that the darkness itself recoiled from him.
A life was taken tonight.
Silently. Efficiently. Irreversibly.
And as the man wiped the faint trace of blood from his gloved fingers, there was no tremor, no hesitation.
No remorse.
Just the cold acceptance of a task completed.
The world didn't know who had wielded that power.
And even if it did—it wouldn't matter.
Because men like him didn't fear consequences.
Men like him created them.
He stepped outside, the night air sharp against his warm skin. A sleek black car waited at the alleyway entrance, headlights cutting through the dark like twin blades. The driver didn't speak—he only bowed his head as the man slid into the back seat.
The man glanced down at his clothes, brushing off invisible stains. The faintest smirk tugged at his lips.
The night swallowed them whole as the car pulled away, leaving nothing behind but a whisper of menace lingering on the quiet streets.
In her small, cluttered bedroom, a girl sat hunched over a desk that had seen better days. Papers were stacked everywhere, books were piled like miniature skyscrapers, and in the middle of it all—she worked with the intensity of an artist who forgot the world existed.
Her pencil flew across the worn pages of a sketchbook, lines forming designs—jewelry, dresses, delicate patterns that shimmered even in graphite. She was not conventionally pretty; she was short, a little awkward, her features unpolished. But her eyes—oh, her eyes.
They sparkled with mischief.
With intelligence.
With fire.
Ashina.
She lived in two worlds:
The first was the one her parents controlled—strict, structured, predictable.
The second was the one she built with her own hands—the world of lace, gemstones, fabrics, and beauty only she could imagine.
And she guarded that world fiercely, like a secret treasure.
The next morning, she stood in front of her closet, arms folded, glaring at her clothes like they had personally offended her.
The seminar wasn't her thing. Crowds? Annoying.
Formal events? Worse.
But her best friend had begged—B-E-G-G-E-D—dragging her into this promise of "fun" and "gossip" and "maybe cute seniors."
Ashina wasn't convinced.
After rummaging, judging, and almost giving up entirely, she chose a smart, simple outfit. Neat jeans, a clean shirt, a little jacket. Nothing to attract too much attention, nothing embarrassing either.
She turned to show her father.
He gave her a once-over and nodded.
"Fine. But behave. And don't be late."
Her mother added, "Remember the lucky draw today. The scholarship—this is your chance."
Ashina rolled her eyes slightly when they weren't looking. The scholarship wasn't even that appealing, but it had helped convince her parents to let her go.
She grabbed her bag, slipped her sketchbook inside with the care of a mother placing a newborn in a crib, and left with her best friend—heart neither excited nor anxious.
Just curious.
The college hall was a zoo.
No—calling it a zoo was disrespectful to zoos.
It was chaos. Controlled chaos.
Students were clustered everywhere, buzzing like hyperactive bees. Phones flashed from every angle, capturing the stage decorated with banners that screamed:
Dream Big, Achieve Bigger
Ashina chose a seat near the center—strategic. Not too front, not too back. A seat where she could see everything… yet remain invisible.
She didn't realize the chaos had only just begun.
The hallways outside erupted.
"He's here—HE'S ACTUALLY HERE!"
"No way, the CEO? Today?!"
"Move! MOVE! I need to fix my hair—omg stop pushing—"
Even teachers pretended not to care while clearly smoothing their shirts and adjusting their glasses.
Then—
The doors opened.
Silence.
Real silence.
And he walked in.
Tall. Elegant. A crisp, black suit hugging his frame like it had been stitched directly onto his skin. His gait was controlled, slow but commanding—every step announcing that he was a man the world obeyed.
Those eyes—cool, unreadable, dangerously calm—swept across the students like he could see straight through each one.
A girl squealed.
Someone dropped their pen.
One guy whispered, "Bro… he looks like he fires people for breathing wrong."
Rumors whispered through the crowd like a gust of wind:
"That's the Frost King CEO…"
"He donated the new research wing."
"He bought a whole company at twenty-one."
"He apparently never smiles."
"He's so fine it's actually illegal—"
He paused, adjusting a small brooch on his suit.
A brooch no one understood, but everyone was obsessed with.
Simple… but elegant.
Subtle… but powerful.
An insignia that whispered secrets.
The Seminar officially began.
Time crawled.
Thirty minutes of announcements.
Thirty minutes of boring speeches.
Thirty minutes of students losing the will to live.
Ashina quietly pulled out her sketchbook, flipping it open with practiced familiarity. The speaker faded into a dull background buzz as she lost herself in the strokes of her pencil.
Her world became lines and shadows.
Fabric folds.
Shimmering diamonds.
Jewels dancing on her fingertips.
Then the mic crackled.
A hush fell.
The man stepped forward, adjusting the mic with two fingers like it annoyed him. He scanned the hall like he owned every soul sitting inside it—and honestly? He probably did.
"Good morning.
I'm Adrian Valtor, CEO of Valtor Industries."
The crowd held their breath.
"I don't usually attend events like this, so consider today… unusual."
Murmurs. Phones raised. People panicked-adjusting their hair in case they ended up on camera.
"Your academy has a reputation for excellence.
I expect you to live up to it."
He scanned the hall again—this time slower. Sharper.
"Talent is valuable. Discipline is essential.
But consistency—
Consistency is what separates the remarkable from the forgettable."
Every student sat straighter.
"I invested in this institute because I see potential here.
Don't make me regret it."
Someone whimpered quietly.
"Work hard. Achieve more.
Make yourselves worth the opportunity you've been given."
Applause broke out.
Cameras clicked like machine guns.
And then—
His eyes shifted.
Just a glance, passing over dozens of faces…
then freezing.
On her.
He blinked once.
Students clapped, teachers smiled, the dean nearly fainted—but none of that reached him.
Because there, in the middle row, oblivious to the entire universe…
a girl was hunched over a sketchbook.
Drawing.
Focused.
Absorbed.
Lost in her own world.
Her messy hair slipped over her face, hiding half of it, but the spark behind her concentration—
It caught him.
Pulled him.
Confused him.
Adrian Valtor did not get confused.
And yet his eyes stayed on her, narrowed with curiosity, unreadable but intense.
Dangerously captivating.
Almost… disarmed.
She didn't even know he existed at that moment.
But he knew—
Oh, he knew—
That their worlds had just collided.
And nothing would be the same after today