The letter arrived on diamond paper, sealed with melted sapphire wax. No courier. No explanation. Just six words:
"Tonight, you either shine—or die."
Ochieng turned the letter over. It had no crest, but the scent—vanilla smoke and velvet wine—belonged to one woman only.
Seraphina Gray.
---
The ballroom shimmered like a liquid mirror—walls of chrome, chandeliers made of obsidian, a floor that shifted colors with every step.
Over 500 elite guests gathered—princes, heiresses, royals, tech moguls, and underworld bosses cloaked as diplomats.
Everyone wore masks.
The Rules:
1. No names.
2. No weapons.
3. No truth.
Ochieng arrived in a crimson suit, face hidden behind a golden lion mask. His confidence matched the music—smooth, calculated, impossible to ignore.
Across the room, Aurora Takahashi wore a feathered emerald gown. Age 22, robotics prodigy and heiress to Takahashi Industries. Her flaw? She trusted no one—especially not herself.
Her beauty tonight was surgical: lips the color of stolen cherries, curves elegant but deadly.
Aurora (to a stranger): "I'm not here to dance. I'm here to destroy someone."
---
The lights dimmed. A single violin began to play. The dance floor cleared. It was time for the Forbidden Waltz, a tradition only known among the top 0.01%.
The rules were unspoken—but simple:
Whoever you danced with… might just be your killer.
Ochieng extended his hand toward a veiled woman in sapphire silk.
She accepted.
They danced.
With every turn, he whispered questions. She answered with silences. Their chemistry could kill empires.
Ochieng (whispering): "Why do I feel like I've held you before?"
Her: "Because you have… in another life you betrayed."
Then she was gone.
---
On the upper balcony, Seraphina Gray leaned into the arm of Felix Ryker, her lips brushing his neck.
Seraphina: "The poison's in the wine."
Felix: "Whose glass?"
She smiled.
Seraphina: "Whoever breaks the next heart."
Moments later, Celestine Navarro screamed. Her twin, Celine, collapsed—blood from her nose, eyes glazed.
Dean Luther rushed forward.
Dean Luther: "Medic!"
Too late.
Celine was gone.
Celestine fell to her knees, crying—but not tears of grief. Of rage.
Celestine (to no one in particular): "Someone here is going to burn."
---
In a hidden courtyard behind the ballroom, four figures met under moonlight and cherry blossom fog.
Jayden, blood still fresh on his mind
Ochieng, now questioning everything
Aurora, holding a memory chip she stole
Gloria, veiled in black lace, whispering promises
They made a pact—to find the real mastermind behind the assassinations and take them down before the final event: The Black Coronation.
Jayden: "No more waiting. No more pretending."
Ochieng: "We're not allies."
Gloria: "We're necessary."
Aurora: "Then let's start with the Navarro family."
---
At 2:59 a.m., when the moon cracked behind the storm clouds, a thunderous engine roared across the hills.
A platinum SUV arrived.
Out stepped Kael Monroe, age 26, the secret bastard son of the Monroe banking dynasty, exiled since age 14. Tall, devilishly handsome, tattooed knuckles, and a backstory soaked in betrayal.
His left eye was artificial—implanted with a red sensor.
His flaw? He always falls for the wrong girl.
His eyes scanned the wrecked garden, the blood, the elegance masking violence.
Kael: "Looks like I'm not too late for the chaos."
He lit a cigarette.
Kael (smirking): "Let the real game begin."
---