Chapter 3: Kian's Birthday
Kian Fenix sat alone in the expansive penthouse, the city below sprawled out in a sea of twinkling lights. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the polished glass of the balcony railing, his gaze distant, unfocused. The night was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city, but Kian's thoughts were far from peaceful.
The countdown had begun. In less than a week, he would turn eighteen. A meaningless number, a technicality, a formality. But to the world, it meant everything. It would mark the day when he was no longer a shadow in his own family, when his status would be officially recognized, even if only in name.
Kian had never cared for birthdays, let alone his own. For most of his life, his existence had been a carefully guarded secret—his birth shrouded in whispers, his presence a subtle yet undeniable power behind the scenes. His father's empire had always belonged to him, but he had never wanted it. It was a golden cage, a prison in the guise of luxury.
The truth of his inheritance was clear: it was his empire to claim, and he could have it all. But the world had built this gilded image of a reluctant heir, one who cared little for the power that ran through his veins. He didn't need the empire—he didn't need the fame or the responsibility. He was untouchable without it.
A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Mr. Fenix," a voice called from the other side, "it's time to prepare for your birthday gathering. The invitations have been sent, and the staff are ready."
Kian didn't move, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. His fingers stopped their tapping, and for a moment, the world seemed to slow.
"Very well," Kian said, his voice low and controlled, as always. He wasn't one for grand celebrations, but this... This was expected. His father, Dmitri Fenix, would be there, of course, surrounded by the world's most influential people—an audience of power-hungry elites who would all gather to witness the latest spectacle of the Fenix name. Dmitri would likely make some public show of affection, something to further solidify his position in the public eye.
But Kian? Kian would remain an enigma, just as he always had been. His father had built this empire on manipulation, deceit, and a facade of unity, but Kian wasn't here to play along. He had other plans.
"Tell them I'll be ready soon," Kian said, his voice carrying an edge of finality.
The staff outside knew better than to argue. There were no demands when it came to Kian; only his unspoken expectations.
As the door clicked shut, Kian stood, stretching his long limbs, his gaze never leaving the night. His father, Dmitri, had no idea what he was about to face. No idea that Kian's indifference would soon fracture, that the walls he'd so carefully built around himself would soon crumble. There was only one thing that had ever truly stirred him, and her name lingered in his mind like an unspoken promise.
Seraphine Vasiliev.
Her name was more than just a whisper in the dark. It was a promise of something powerful, something undeniable. He hadn't yet met her, but he knew, without a doubt, that their paths would cross soon. The thought both terrified and thrilled him in equal measure.
But tonight was not the night for distractions. Tonight was for playing the part, the one expected of him. He'd put on his mask, the one the world had come to know. Cold. Unfeeling. Detached. The heir to the Fenix legacy, not the one who would ever claim it.
The night was his stage, and he would remain the shadow, as always. But even in the dark, a fire burned—an insatiable desire that would one day lead him to something far more dangerous than power.