The next morning in Veloria City, the Jefferson estate buzzed with its usual orchestra of motion—maids dusting antique frames, security drones scanning ID chips, and staff whispering the latest scandal with the same reverence priests reserve for scripture.
The scandal today?
Elsa Jefferson's new husband.
Downstairs in the family dining hall, the long obsidian table could seat twenty but held only five—yet the tension was thick enough to require a sword.
At the head sat Wallace Jefferson, silently sipping his tea, while Elsa sat on his right in a perfectly pressed ivory blouse—calm, polished, lethal.
Chess Golding, still an outsider in every sense, sat across from her, in a plain black shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal faint callouses and a dragon-shaped scar snaking along his forearm.
The scar drew more attention than anything he said—especially because he hadn't said anything.
Across from him sat Clarissa Jefferson, decked out in morning jewels as if preparing for a photoshoot. Her eyes scanned Chess like he was a defective package someone forgot to return.
"So…" Clarissa finally said, her voice dipped in poison. "Mr. Golding. Quite the enigma, aren't you? No résumé, no public records, no social media. Should we be worried, Elsa?"
Elsa didn't flinch.
"If being invisible kept him out of our scandals, I'll take it as a blessing," she said.
Clarissa's painted lips thinned. "Still, it's strange. A man with no background, no business profile… yet you chose him to be part of this family?"
"I didn't choose him," Elsa replied. "Grandfather did."
All eyes turned to Wallace, who stirred his tea with the serenity of a monk watching birds.
"I chose him," Wallace said quietly. "Because loyalty is rare. And Chess Golding comes from a house that honors it like blood."
Clarissa raised a perfectly arched brow. "And which house is that?"
Wallace gave her a long look.
"The Golding Line. You may not know it, but you will. The world will."
Chess finally spoke, voice as steady as stone.
"I'm not here to impress anyone."
Clarissa's nails tapped against her cup. "Clearly."
"I'm here because your father asked me to protect this house. To stand by his granddaughter. Not to entertain small talk."
That silenced the room.
Even Elsa blinked at that.
Wallace smiled.
But Clarissa?
Oh, she hated him now.
Later that day, Elsa stormed into her office on the 45th floor of Jefferson Global Consortium HQ, glass walls giving her a perfect view of Veloria's skyline. She dropped her handbag on the desk and spun to face Chess, who had followed her quietly.
"You didn't have to challenge her like that," she said sharply.
"She challenged me first," Chess replied, leaning casually against the wall.
Elsa's jaw tightened. "They'll come for you harder now."
"I hope they do," he said with a small, dangerous grin. "It'll be more fun that way."
She stared at him. "You're not normal."
"I'm not trying to be."
She wanted to slap him. Or kiss him. Or both. But instead, she sighed and sat down.
"You know this isn't a love story, right?"
Chess nodded. "It's a war."
Elsa paused.
Then slowly, she smirked. "At least you know the genre."
From outside the frosted office door, Elliot Jefferson watched them through a crack, eyes narrowed. He didn't like the way Chess looked at his cousin.
More importantly, he didn't like the way Elsa looked back.