I once longed for a life of silver and gold—climbing a ladder surrounded by dogs and foxes. Everywhere I looked, someone was watching, waiting for me to fail, just so they could humiliate me and cast me out of this hell. But I refused to leave, because this is where I belong now.
This world of fake smiles and eerie glances is nothing compared to my own facade. No one can make me show any emotion other than coldness. I've stripped away every feeling I once had—just to reach this place.
Or so I thought.
A clink of wine glasses crashing against each other echoed from the balcony. At last, I escaped the pool of people in this ridiculous party. Even though they hate my guts, they still suck up to me. Hypocrites.
"Is that him?" someone whispered.
"I think so. I heard this party is to welcome him," said another.
Curiosity sparked in me. Who could that be?
I came to this event without even knowing what it was for—only that the chairman had asked me to accompany his beloved wife, Isabelle Arcelli.
Ever since I became the executive director at a young age, they've been dragging me to these social events. I couldn't exactly refuse. "Having a daughter must be nice," they always say. No wonder they're so fond of me—they only have one child, and he's a man.
CRASH.
The sound of something shattering yanked me back to reality.
What was that? I muttered.
The chandelier—
It had fallen from the ceiling.
This kind of thing happens a lot at social events—especially among these high-class people with blood on their hands. They've probably made more than one enemy on their way to the top. Dogs.
I looked up toward the staircase—expressionless, as always. I've learned to hide every emotion in any situation. I have to look strong, so no one dares to take advantage of me.
Slowly, I descended the stairs, scanning the crowd for any casualties. Women were crying, panicking. Men were chattering about what had happened, as if they'd just witnessed a good show. Assholes.
But what struck me most was the man standing near the spot where the chandelier had fallen.
Unfazed.
Smirking.
Calculating.
What a strange man.
He had impeccable features—a tall frame, neat porcelain skin, and striking eyes that locked onto mine. He stared at me intensely. I stared back, unblinking. It felt like a silent competition: whoever looked away first would be the one to submit.
And I don't submit. Not ever.
I saw the corners of his mouth lift, revealing perfectly white teeth. His broad shoulders were sharp under his perfectly tailored coat. His long legs gave him a commanding, charismatic presence—the kind of guy girls swoon over all day long.
Bastard.
"Lira!" a man shouted.
I had no choice but to look away. Damn it.
"Chairman, we have a situation. People are panicking—we should clear the area and let the authorities handle this. Where is Madame Isabelle?" I said, keeping my tone steady and professional.
"She's in the private room. The guards led her there immediately after the crash. This is a total mess… I'm just glad you're okay, child," the chairman said with a sigh of relief.
"Are you not going to ask if I'm okay, old man?" the man from earlier spoke, his tone teasing yet sharp.
"Lucien, this party is for you. How can you be so late? You really are a handful," the chairman scolded.
He went on, chewing Lucien out—which clearly confirmed what I just realized. The man standing beneath the fallen chandelier was none other than the chairman's son. Of course he is.
I didn't want to hear any more of their family-like bickering. Honestly, I just wanted to go home.
"By the way, Lira, this is Lucien—my son. Lucien, this is Lira, our youngest Executive Director," the chairman introduced.
"Impressive," Lucien said, holding out his hand with a charming smile. "Nice to meet you, Lira."
I shook his hand. "The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Arcelli."
"Just call me Lucien, Lira," he added, almost insistently.
There was something different in the way he said my name—like he deliberately let it linger on his tongue with a subtle, sensual edge. One only I seemed to notice.
I could feel his intense gaze boring into me. This is bad.
He feels dangerous.
I don't want to be near him.
It's suffocating. He is suffocating.
Lucien, you should take Lira home. I have to fix this mess," the chairman said, rubbing his temples.
"I know you're tired, Lira. Go home and rest," he added, his tone softer now.
"I can take a cab, Chairman. I don't want to trouble Mr. Arcelli. He must be tired from his flight. I can go by myself. But thank you for your concern," I replied confidently, leaving no room for argument.
"I'll take you," Lucien said sharply, his tone edged like a blade.
I paused. I couldn't say no—not because I couldn't, but because I shouldn't.
I won't let him think I'm afraid. I've dealt with worse. I've driven people like him away with ease—people who tried to ruin everything I worked so hard for. I can do it again if I have to.
A sleek black Rolls-Royce pulled up in front of the hall. Lucien took his time, stepping forward to open the door for me. Without saying much, he dismissed the driver and slid into the driver's seat himself.
The silence between us was thick as he started the car and pulled away from the crowd.
"Where do you live?" he asked.
"Glass Palace," I answered coldly.
His jaw tensed. He turned slightly away, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white.
I didn't say a word. I didn't ask questions. I didn't care to know why he suddenly looked like he'd bitten down on something bitter.
I don't know him. He's just another dog—hungry for power, just like the rest of them.
Just like me.
The ride felt longer than ever.
The awkward silence was suffocating. I should've just taken a cab—the regret was starting to sink in.
A trickle of rain began to pour outside.
I love the rain.
The sound always relaxes me.
Maybe I've just been too tired lately. I could feel my energy leaving my body. My eyes were getting heavy.
I didn't care anymore.
And in a brief moment, I slipped into a deep slumber.
I felt a hand on my back.
It was warm—steady.
Someone was carrying me.
I forced my eyes open, sluggish and dazed.
Lucien.
His features were striking even under the faint lighting.
He was holding me bridal style.
My body reacted before my brain caught up.
I jumped out of his arms, wide-eyed and embarrassed.
"I—I'm really sorry. I don't know what came over me. I must've been so tired. Thank you… really."
"It's not a big deal. You're light as a feather," he said, almost amused. "Not that it's a bad thing."
"Yeah…" I muttered awkwardly, my face flushed from embarrassment.
"Well, since you're awake, I'll take my leave. Rest well. Good night."
"Thank you. Good night, Mr. Arcelli."
"I'd really appreciate it if you called me Lucien. My father's Mr. Arcelli too, you know."
I was too tired to argue.
Too tired to act stubborn.
"Okay, Lucien. Good night."
A flicker of a smile crossed his face, but it disappeared just as quickly.
I didn't dwell on it.
Not that seeing him smile was important anyway.
I entered my room in silence, peeling off every layer of clothing that clung to my skin.
"What a tiresome day," I muttered to myself.