CHAPTER 1: A THRONE ATOP GLASS
The colossal crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling shimmered with a treacherous beauty, casting fractured golden light into every corner of the grand hall. Thunderous applause erupted, a deafening tide of sound that refused to ebb, bouncing off the cold, unforgiving marble walls that encased the room like a tomb of luxury.
At the center of that blinding spotlight stood Axsel Shaow.
He stood with a spine like steel, radiating an aura so calm it felt untouchable as if the world around him were nothing more than a blurred, insignificant backdrop to his existence. The shimmering trophy gripped in his hand was far more than a prestigious award; it was the absolute symbol of his reign. In Virelle City, Axsel Shaow was not just a top-tier actor; he was a king on a stage of his own making.
Yet, behind the flawless, practiced smile he offered the cameras, Axsel could feel it a wave of piercing, icy stares cutting through the warmth of the lights. Faint whispers began to snake through the crowd, sharp and deliberate, no longer bothering to hide their venom.
Instead of being unnerved, the corner of his lips quirked upward. It wasn't a smile of gratitude, but a thin, mocking smirk a silent taunt born of pure, cynical satisfaction.
Let them claw at the dirt in the darkness, he thought, his eyes cold and dark. For no matter how hard they try, I am the one who remains above.
The grand doors of the hall finally groaned open, surrendering Axsel to a tide of chaos far more brutal than the one he had left behind. Camera flashes detonated in a violent, stroboscopic rhythm, as if the light itself sought to tear through his skin and rip away every remaining inch of his privacy. Questions were hurled at him like jagged spears, aimed to draw blood:
"Axsel Shaow, are the scandal rumors true?!"
"Are you in a secret relationship with someone outside the industry?!"
Immediately, his two personal bodyguards moved with practiced precision. Their towering, solid frames formed an impenetrable human shield around him, carving a path through the frenzy.
"Keep your eyes forward, Mr. Axsel," one of them whispered, his voice taut with the strain of holding back the crowd.
Axsel let out a soft, derisive scoff. His sharp gaze remained fixed on the horizon, cutting through the mob of information-hungry vultures. A scandal? Of course, there was one. But these people would never have the right nor the capability to lay a finger on anyone who belonged to his real life.
Beyond the steel barricades, thousands of fans erupted in a hysterical chorus.
"Axsel Shaow! I love you!"
"Axsel! Look this way, just for a second!"
Those voices, thick with a feverish obsession, collided with the barking commands of the security detail, creating a cacophony that felt almost surreal. One of the bodyguards reached out to guide him by the arm, but Axsel brushed him off with a subtle, fluid motion. He didn't need to be led.
He marched forward, his head held high, a permanent mask of arrogance etched onto his face. It was a cold, defiant smile a silent challenge to the entire world to try and bring him down.
The door of the Rolls-Royce Cullinan closed with a solid, expensive thud, instantly muzzling the frantic world outside. The blinding flashes and the cacophony of desperate screams withered away, reduced to nothing more than a faint, meaningless echo. Axsel Shaow leaned back into the embrace of the premium leather seat, his sharp silhouette the sole focus in the heavy silence of the exclusive cabin.
His fingers moved with slow deliberation, twisting the silver ring on his middle finger a private ritual, a way to anchor himself after the chaos. He turned his gaze toward the window, watching the sea of lights from the skyscrapers that dominated the heart of Virelle City. His expression remained unreadable, but beneath that stoic mask burned a restless, searing ambition.
Beautiful. Sparkling... but all of this is just a playground waiting to be conquered, he thought. A ghost of a smile, cold and arrogant, traced his lips once more. To him, the city's glitter was nothing more than a private stage where he was predestined to be the only lead.
The car glided smoothly through the night. On the digital clock, the numbers shifted to exactly 11:00 PM.
"Where to next, Mr. Axsel?" the driver asked, his voice hushed and laced with deep respect.
"Home," Axsel replied curtly, his tone devoid of any emotion.
The driver stole a quick glance through the rearview mirror but chose to remain silent. Years of service had taught him one vital lesson: as the night grew deeper, his master's temperament became colder and far more dangerous. Silence reclaimed the cabin, filled only by the low hum of the engine and the rhythmic blur of streetlights passing by.
The journey was a quiet one, until they reached a long bridge bathed in a shimmering golden glow.
"Pull over for a moment," Axsel commanded suddenly, his voice sharp and absolute.
Without a word of questioning, the car veered to the side. The bodyguards stepped out first, their eyes scanning the perimeter to ensure total security. Seconds later, the rear door opened. Axsel Shaow stepped out, his black suit catching the metallic glint of the streetlamps.
He leaned casually against the bridge's railing. Despite his status as a global icon, his hand reflexively tightened around the steel baton hidden beneath his clothes a silent reminder of the hidden dangers that always lurked in his shadows. With a slow, calculated movement, he lit a cigarette. A cloud of white smoke swirled from his lips, carried away by the gentle night breeze.
His gaze cut through the city's horizon. Exquisite... yet everything still feels so empty, he mused. He allowed himself to drift in the stillness while the world continued to spin beneath his feet.
Minutes passed. As the last trail of smoke vanished into the air, the phone in his pocket vibrated. The screen flickered to life, displaying a cryptic message meant for his eyes only. Axsel stared at the screen for a few heartbeat.
Suddenly, a thin smirk curled at the corner of his mouth a secret, defiant grin. Without a word, he flicked the cigarette butt into the street. The red ember died instantly amidst the city lights.
The mission had changed.
He stepped back into the Rolls-Royce, his presence now more predatory than before. "Change of plans. Back to the penthouse," he said flatly, not bothering to look back.
The private elevator chimed with a soft, expensive tone as it reached the summit of the skyscraper. Axsel stepped out into his penthouse a modern fortress in the sky. It was a palace of cold white marble and monolithic glass walls that stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a panoramic view of Virelle City that looked like a shimmering ocean of captured light.
Axsel shed his black suit jacket, tossing it carelessly onto a thousand-dollar Italian leather sofa. But before the silence of the penthouse could settle, a voice drifted from the shadows soft, yet laced with a demanding edge.
"Where have you been? It's far too late. If it weren't for my message... did you even intend to come home at all?"
The voice sliced through the stillness, and a smirk of anticipation ghosted across Axsel's lips. Slow, deliberate footsteps approached. From the darkness, a figure emerged.
Tall, with features that looked deceptively gentle, but possessed a pair of eyes capable of stripping bare anyone who dared to meet them. This was Kael Darvick. His hair was slightly disheveled, and his thin shirt hung half-open, exposing the sharp lines of his collarbone and chest under the dim, recessed lighting of the room.
Axsel didn't move. His gaze merely shifted, catching Kael's reflection in the glass window.
"Waiting for me like a restless wife, I see," Axsel remarked, his voice dripping with a provocative, cynical edge.
Kael closed the distance until only inches of charged air remained between them. The scent of his signature cologne mingled with the lingering trail of cigarette smoke on Axsel's skin.
"If I weren't restless... would you have even bothered to return tonight?" Kael whispered, the words soft but aimed straight for the jugular.
Silence followed. Their gazes locked, engaging in a wordless conversation far more heated than any spoken dialogue. Axsel straightened his posture and turned fully to face him. His hand shot out, long fingers clamping firmly around Kael's jaw, forcing his head up.
"You have a lot of nerve, interrogating me..." Axsel's voice dropped to a low, dangerous vibration that felt intoxicatingly heavy.
The tension in the room became suffocating. Outside, the flickering city lights framed the two figures as they fought for dominance in their own private world.
"I didn't come home because you were waiting," Axsel asserted, his tone as cold as ice.
Kael only offered a faint, unreadable smile the kind that held a thousand secrets. Slowly, he raised his hand and reached for Axsel's collar, straightening the fabric as if he were the rightful owner of the man's arrogance. It was a light touch, but it felt like a declaration of war.
Axsel's eyes narrowed. His breathing grew heavy, though his face remained a mask of stone.
"You're getting bolder, Kael."
"Bold?" Kael leaned in even closer, his low voice brushing against Axsel's ear. "No. I'm simply taking what was always meant to be by my side."
At that moment, the atmosphere in the room seemed to fracture. Ego, dominance, and a buried, burning passion ignited beneath the surface. Neither backed down, both refusing to surrender to the suffocating intensity of the other.