The morning at Jefferson Global started like any other.
Too many suits. Too much coffee. Too little soul.
But beneath the polished steel and glass, a thousand silent knives were drawn — political maneuvers cloaked in polite handshakes.
And Chess Golding?
He strolled through the lobby in worn sneakers and a coffee-stained hoodie.
One intern whispered to another, "That's the CEO's husband? He looks like he just rolled out of a video game."
The other chuckled. "Nepotism speedrun. Dude probably doesn't even know how to spell 'dividends.'"
They both laughed.
Until Chess turned and looked at them.
Not angry. Not hurt.
Just smiled.
And in that smile was a quiet suggestion of something monstrous. Something ancient.
The interns fell silent.
Upstairs, Elsa sat at the head of a tense board meeting.
Clarissa Jefferson was already stirring trouble.
"I'm just saying," Clarissa purred, "public perception matters. People are beginning to ask questions about your husband. His background. His credentials. Or lack thereof."
"Then tell them he's a barista I found on a discount app," Elsa replied coldly.
Clarissa's smile thinned.
"It's only a matter of time before someone does a deep dive. And we wouldn't want that, would we?"
Elsa's pen snapped in her hand.
She said nothing.
But Chess—who'd been seated at the far end of the room eating a croissant like it was Sunday brunch—spoke without looking up.
"Clarissa, how's your Cayman account doing these days?"
Silence.
Clarissa blinked. "Excuse me?"
Chess looked up, crumbs on his lip. "The one under your housekeeper's name. The one with eight years of skimming from Jefferson Global's charity fund."
Clarissa's face went pale.
Chess casually sipped his coffee. "Oh, don't worry. I didn't tell Elsa. Yet."
The entire boardroom went still.
Elsa turned to him, eyes wide. "Chess…"
He stood, licking a bit of jam off his finger.
"I may not know 'dividends'—" he air-quoted with a glance at the interns through the glass "—but I know when a house is made of termites. You should all be careful how loud you walk."
And with that, he left the room like a man who just dropped a match in a room full of gas.
Later that afternoon, Silas Kade stood in the Veloria Art Hall, surrounded by marble and silence.
He studied a sculpture — a dragon with its wings wrapped tight, like it was hiding.
He sensed someone approaching.
A man in a tailored navy suit. Bald. Sharp eyes. A fixer.
"He doesn't show up on anything," the man said. "No past. No banking history. No record before age 21. Even his school credentials are redacted."
Silas narrowed his eyes. "Impossible."
"Unless someone wiped them all."
Silas stared at the sculpture. "No one hides unless they have something dangerous to protect."
"Who is he?" the fixer asked.
Silas said nothing for a long time.
Then finally:"He's not who I thought. He's worse."
That night, Elsa walked into Chess's study.
It wasn't lavish. Just clean. Organized. Quiet.
He was meditating on the floor.
"Chess," she said.
He opened one eye.
"Who are you really?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Then, slowly, he rose to his feet, barefoot and still impossibly calm.
"Why?" he asked. "Because I humiliated your aunt? Or because I knew about Clarissa before your security team did?"
"No," she said. "Because… you're always five moves ahead. And you hide it so well, it scares me."
Chess looked at her for a long moment.
Then he said, in a voice like thunder wrapped in silk:
"The world expects me to lose. That's why it's so easy to win."
Elsa's heart stuttered.
Because in that moment, she realized something terrifying:
Her husband wasn't a man without power.
He was a man who chose not to use it.
And that... was far more dangerous.
Far across the world, in a snow-covered dojo buried in the Kaeliran Mountains, an old master stared into a bowl of fire.
He whispered to the flames:
"The dragon walks unseen.But when it chooses to be seen…All kingdoms will kneel."