"Are you prepared for this?" Damien asked his son, Alexander, his voice calm but firm.
Without saying a word, Alexander gave a small nod, his gaze fixed on the vehicles pulling up below. From his vantage point, he clearly saw the Johnson and Carter families stepping out of their cars, their presence reigniting a simmering rage within him.
His jaw tightened as his hands curled into fists. The weight of past humiliation bore down on him, fueling his anger. "I won't let them forget this night, Dad," he declared, his tone laced with cold determination.
"Every single one of them will bow before me. They will come to regret the day they cast me aside like I was nothing," he added, his eyes dark with vengeance.
Damien gave a small nod, his expression unreadable as he placed a firm yet reassuring hand on his son's shoulder. "I'll head inside the party first," he said in a low, measured tone. "As for you, you'll wait until Keiran sends you a message. That will be your cue."
Alexander responded with a slight nod, though his mind was elsewhere. His gaze remained locked on the parking area below, unwavering and intense, as if calculating every movement. His posture was rigid, his entire presence exuding a quiet, simmering anticipation.
The grand event was being held in one of the most prestigious hotels owned by the King family. From his vantage point on the 15th floor, Alexander had a clear view of everything happening below. The celebration itself would take place on the first floor, where a grand staircase served as the focal point of the elegant venue.
His return would be unlike anything anyone had ever witnessed—an entrance so extravagant and unforgettable that it would leave a lasting mark on everyone in attendance.
The King family was not just wealthy; they were powerful. They commanded influence in every sphere, shaping destinies with a mere word. They were accustomed to having everything—respect, authority, and absolute control. Others sought to align themselves with the Kings, eager to secure a place within their circle.
But Damien had always been selective, almost ruthless, when it came to his son's future. Many women had tried to enter Alexander's life, each hoping to gain favor and a place within the family. Yet Damien rejected them all, ensuring that no one could claim a hold over his son. He had his own vision for Alexander, and nothing—not love, not ambition, not outside interference—would stand in the way of that.
The grand hall of the hotel buzzed with life as the party officially began. Crystal chandeliers illuminated the space with a golden glow, casting elegant reflections on the marble floors. Guests in their finest attire mingled, exchanging pleasantries and laughter while sipping on expensive champagne. The atmosphere was filled with an air of luxury, status, and silent competition—every guest seeking to outshine the other.
At the heart of it all was the King family, the unchallenged rulers of this social elite. Damien had already made his entrance, commanding attention the moment he stepped in. With a composed expression, he greeted influential businessmen, high-profile politicians, and powerful allies. Though his presence alone was enough to command respect, tonight, he had something greater planned—his son's return.
Meanwhile, on the 15th floor, Alexander remained motionless, watching the scene unfold below through the large glass window. The party had started, and soon, it would be his turn.
His phone buzzed. A message from Keiran.
**"It's time."**
A slow, knowing smirk formed on Alexander's lips. This was the moment he had been waiting for.
With calculated steps, he turned away from the window and walked toward the elevator, his presence exuding quiet authority. He pressed the button, and as the doors slid open, he stepped inside, his heart steady, his mind focused.
As the elevator descended, memories of the past flashed through his mind—the betrayal, the humiliation, the day he was cast aside like he was nothing. But tonight, that would change. Tonight, they would all see the man he had become.
The elevator dinged as it reached the first floor. The doors parted, revealing the grand entrance of the ballroom.
Alexander took a deep breath, straightened his suit, and stepped forward.
The night was his.
The grand ballroom fell into a hushed anticipation as Damien stepped onto the stage at the front of the hall. The conversations softened, and all eyes turned toward him. A subtle smile played on his lips as he lifted his champagne glass, signaling for attention.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Damien began, his deep voice carrying authority. "Tonight is not just another gathering of the elite. It is a night of significance, a night that will be remembered for years to come."
Guests exchanged curious glances, sensing something monumental was about to unfold. The Johnson family, seated near the front, stiffened slightly. They had always been wary of Damien, knowing that he rarely made public declarations unless they carried weight.
Damien continued, his gaze sweeping across the crowd. "Many of you have known the King family for generations. You have seen our strength, our influence, and our legacy." He paused for effect, then spoke with quiet intensity. "But tonight, I wish to reintroduce someone—someone who was once cast aside but has returned stronger than ever."
Murmurs began to ripple through the crowd. Some leaned in to whisper to their companions, others frowned in confusion. The Johnsons, in particular, looked uneasy. A sense of foreboding settled over them, but none of them dared to voice their concerns.
The grand staircase at the side of the ballroom suddenly became the focal point. A figure appeared at the top—tall, composed, and exuding an aura of silent dominance. The murmurs grew louder as realization dawned on some of the guests.
Alexander.
The man who had been discarded. The man who was supposed to be powerless.
He descended the staircase with measured steps, his expression unreadable. His tailored suit fit him perfectly, a testament to the transformation he had undergone. Every step he took was deliberate, his presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room.
Gasps of shock erupted from the Johnson family. Some of them exchanged frantic whispers, their faces paling. The weight of their past actions pressed upon them, the memory of what they had done to Alexander resurfacing like a nightmare they thought had been buried.
One of them, Mrs. Evelyn Johnson, clutched her pearls tightly. "This can't be…" she muttered under her breath.
Another member of their family, Richard Johnson, leaned toward his brother. "Didn't we get rid of him? How is he here?"
Before they could process it further, Damien's voice rang through the hall once more, sealing their fate.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you—Alexander King."
A wave of stunned silence filled the room. Then, whispers turned into gasps, gasps into shock.
The son of the King family had returned. And this time, he wasn't just here to exist.
He was here to reclaim everything.
Alexander stood at the foot of the grand staircase, his sharp gaze sweeping across the room. He could feel the weight of their stares—some filled with disbelief, others with fear. The power in the air had shifted the moment Damien uttered his name.
He took his time, walking toward his father with measured steps. Each footfall echoed against the marble floor, amplifying the tension in the room. He could hear the hushed murmurs, the frantic whispers exchanged between those who had once thought they were rid of him.
The Johnsons, in particular, were frozen in place. Evelyn Johnson's fingers trembled against her pearl necklace, her lips slightly parted in shock. Richard Johnson, who had once sneered at him in contempt, was gripping his champagne glass so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Alexander reached Damien's side, his posture straight, his face unreadable. Damien turned to him, pride evident in his eyes, before lifting his glass once more.
"The future of the King family has arrived," Damien declared. "To those who doubted, to those who betrayed—let this night be a reminder that the Kings never fall."
A slow smirk played on Alexander's lips as he finally spoke, his voice smooth yet laced with something dangerous.
"I'm sure some of you never expected to see me again," he said, scanning the crowd. Some guests averted their eyes, while others stiffened at his words. "I don't blame you. After all, you thought you had won."
A tense silence fell over the room. The Johnsons looked as if they wanted to disappear.
"But the thing about the past," Alexander continued, taking a step forward, "is that it never stays buried for long."
His words sent an unmistakable message—a warning, a promise, a reckoning.
The murmurs grew louder. Some guests tried to mask their reactions, sipping their drinks to hide their unease, while others couldn't tear their eyes away from the scene unfolding before them.
Alexander tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening. "I look forward to catching up with old acquaintances tonight."
It was a challenge. A statement wrapped in velvet yet laced with iron.
The Johnsons remained silent, but the fear in their eyes told him everything he needed to know.
This was just the beginning.
As the party resumed, the tension in the air remained thick. Guests tried to return to their conversations, but whispers still circled the room like a storm waiting to break.
Alexander made his way toward the bar, his posture effortlessly composed, though his presence commanded the room like a silent king reclaiming his throne. He accepted a glass of whiskey from a waiter, taking a slow sip as he observed the sea of familiar faces—some filled with curiosity, others with barely concealed anxiety.
Then, he heard a voice behind him. A voice he hadn't heard in years.
"You really came back."
Alexander turned slowly, his gaze meeting the piercing eyes of Sophia Johnson.
The woman who had once stood by his side. The woman who had abandoned him when he needed her most.
She looked different now—more refined, more guarded—but her striking beauty remained. Dressed in a sleek black gown that hugged her figure perfectly, she exuded confidence, but Alexander knew her well enough to see the flicker of unease beneath her poised exterior.
He set his glass down and smirked slightly. "Disappointed?"
Sophia held his gaze, though he noticed the way her fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass. "I didn't think you'd ever return," she admitted, her voice steady, but there was something else there—something unspoken.
Alexander let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Oh, Sophia. You should know me better than that." He took a step closer, lowering his voice just enough to make her breath hitch. "Did you really think I'd let you all forget what you did to me?"
Sophia's lips parted slightly, but she quickly recovered, masking her emotions behind a calm expression. "You act like I had a choice," she said, her tone sharp. "Like I wanted things to end the way they did."
Alexander's smirk faded. His jaw clenched as he leaned in, his voice now a low murmur only she could hear. "You did have a choice. And you chose them."
Sophia swallowed hard, but she didn't back down. "And what about now? Are you here to make them pay? Or are you here to prove that you're stronger than them?"
Alexander studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he smiled—cold, calculating. "Why not both?"
Sophia exhaled sharply, setting her drink down as she met his gaze head-on. "Just be careful, Alexander. You might think you're in control, but this world… it plays by its own rules."
Alexander's smirk returned, but this time, it held something darker. He leaned in slightly, his breath ghosting over her ear as he whispered, "Then I guess it's time to change the rules."
Sophia's breath caught, but before she could respond, Alexander stepped back, lifting his glass once more as he turned away.
The game had begun. And he had every intention of winning.
Sophia stood still, frozen for a moment, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for her wine glass again. Alexander's words echoed in her ears—"Then I guess it's time to change the rules."
There was something final in the way he said it, like a door had closed.
She turned her gaze toward him as he moved through the crowd like a storm cloaked in velvet—charming some, intimidating others, but never unnoticed. The guests were drawn to him now, like moths to a flame, their curiosity overtaking their judgment.
He was no longer the boy they abandoned.
He was something else now. Sharper. Colder. Dangerous.
"Still watching me?" Alexander's voice cut through her thoughts. He had returned, standing a few feet away, watching her with a sly grin.
"I don't know what you want from me," Sophia said, trying to keep her voice even. "Closure? Revenge?"
Alexander laughed, a low, humorless sound. "Closure is for the weak. Revenge, though? That's earned." He took a sip of his drink before continuing, "And don't flatter yourself. This isn't about you, Sophia… not entirely."