2026, Manhattan, New York.
The Royal Banquet Hall on the top floor of the Metropolitan Hotel is now engulfed in an almost pathological opulence. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Manhattan's skyline is fragmented by countless holographic billboards and drone flights, while a pale blue glow filters through the glass, bathing the thick, ankle-deep handwoven cashmere carpet on the floor.
Sean Wozniak is at the center of all this power.
In his hand, he held a rare champagne from the Lanz region, its golden bubbles dancing joyfully in the glass, mirroring his meteoric rise. The velvet suit, meticulously hand-sewn by an Italian master tailor over three months, fit his sculpted physique like a glove, sculpted by years of rigorous training. As the youngest and most vexatious "Godfather" in America's legal circles, Sean had just won a textbook-worthy lawsuit—exploiting a loophole in AI algorithms to help a multinational conglomerate legally drain the hard-earned savings of three thousand small shareholders, leaving them powerless to utter a single curse in court.
Mr.Wozniak, your remarks to Forbes reporters on the terrace were the most biting yet captivating truth of this century.
A high-society woman in a deep V-neck dress with an emerald necklace—worth enough to buy an entire town—glided gracefully toward him. Her long nails, painted with蔻丹, grazed Sean's sleeve, their gaze blazing with a passion that could melt steel. "They're all betting you're the only man in the world who can make the law work."
Sean lowered his head slightly, revealing a textbook-style professional smile. This smile carried three parts indifference, three parts arrogance, and four parts seductive elegance: "Dear, the law never obeys—it's merely opportunistic. It favors the wealthy, and I merely add a veneer of legality to this' favor.'"
A low, envious laughter rippled through the crowd. To these glittering elites, Sean Wozzi stood as the ultimate godfather of the steel jungle. He was the coveted guest at every high-profile dinner, the dream guest every socialite yearned to meet. His phone held the private numbers of political heavyweights, his garage was filled with bespoke flying cars, and his life was a meticulously rehearsed play—every scene written with the word 'win' in bold.
Sean, if you keep acting this arrogant, I'm afraid even God might have to revise his code and create a' crime of arrogance' specifically for you.
A cold voice cut through the clamor of jazz, piercing Sean's ears with pinpoint accuracy.
Sean turned his head and saw Ivy Sorrensen standing in the shadows. Dressed in a sleek dark green suit dress, she stood out from the crowd of peacock-like gowns, her demeanor as cold and composed as a scalpel in a pile of brocade. Known as New York's' Iron Lady 'in the legal community, she was the only woman in three years who had dared to publicly accuse Sean of' having no moral boundaries' in court.
"Aivi, discussing God in this perfume-laden evening is a grave affront to fine wine," Sean said with a triumphant tone as he walked past the surrounding socialites. "By the way, your expression tonight is even more stiff than your rejected legal brief. If you beg me, I might spare you an assistant position in the next merger."
"You're beyond redemption, Sean," Ivy snorted, her gaze sweeping over his head. "Look at this opulent splendor filling the room. Do you truly believe this massive chandelier can forever illuminate your depravity?"
Sean burst into a wild laugh. At twenty-eight, he was at the peak of his life—famous across the world, with enough money in his account to buy half a Hell's Kitchen. Every noblewoman present longed to discuss' personal rights' with him on that expensive silk bedsheet.
"If I ever fall, Ivy," Sean whispered dangerously close to her ear, "I promise you, the last thing I'll see won't be God, but your furious face."
He turned around, opening his arms to embrace the waves of cheers and praise. Mr.Vanderbilt stepped onto the rostrum and called for a toast.
"For our most brilliant legal genius, Sean Wozniak!"
The cheers nearly shattered the precious stained glass windows. Standing beneath the dome, illuminated by the lights, Sean raised his cup, savoring the exhilaration of being adored by thousands, as if he could trample the world underfoot.
At that moment, he caught a sharp sound.
Whoo-ah!
It was the final sigh of the retro crystal chandelier's suspension cord reaching its fatigue limit. The two-ton luminous masterpiece, under gravity's pull, chose to end its long aerial career.
Sean looked up, watching the dazzling glow—enough to eclipse the sun and moon—rapidly magnify in his retinas. The last thought that flashed through his mind was: 'Damn, I haven't even had time to have my assistant iron my tie today...'
rumble !!!
The shattering of the crystal echoed like the world's end. Sean felt a wave of intense heat and excruciating pain pierce his skull. His hands, once so adept at manipulating the law, now dropped the crystal cup with feeble force. The pale gold champagne, mingled with viscous crimson, spilled wildly across the expensive carpet.
The last light of Manhattan faded completely in the instant his gaze drifted away.