Leon's mind went blank.

  Lucas wasn't moving. The blood pooling beneath him was dark against the marble floor. His eyes were open but unfocused.

  Leon dropped to his knees beside him. "No. No, no, no." His hands hovered over Lucas, not knowing what to do. "Wake up. Please wake up."

  Nothing.

  Reality crashed down. What had he done? What had he actually done?

  "Help!" Leon screamed. "Someone help! Please!"

  Footsteps thundered down the hallway. Guards appeared—six of them, all in formal security uniforms. They stopped at the scene, taking it in.

  Two rushed forward, dropping beside Lucas. One checked for a pulse. The other tried to find signs of breathing. Both were sweating, faces pale.

  "He's—" the first guard's voice cracked. "He's dead."

  The other guard confirmed with a nod, looking shaken.

  The remaining guards looked at each other, then at Leon. One of them—older, probably in charge—approached slowly.

  "What happened here?" His voice was tight, controlled.

  "I—I didn't mean to—" Leon couldn't stop shaking. "It was an accident. I just—I hit him and he—"

  "You hit him?" The guard's eyes widened slightly. He looked at Lucas's body again, at the position, at the damage.

  "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—why did I do that? I shouldn't have—"

  The lead guard made a sharp gesture. Immediately, the other guards moved in. They grabbed Leon's arms, forced him to the ground, restrained him completely. He didn't resist. Couldn't resist.

  "Secure the area," the lead guard said. "Alert everyone. Code black."

  One guard spoke urgently into his radio. Within seconds, the entire corridor filled with more security personnel.

  Leon stayed on the ground, hands bound, mind still blank with horror.

  He'd killed someone. Actually killed someone.

  Down the hall, the two young men who'd been with Lucas were walking quickly.

  "He was insane," one of them muttered. "Taking lady Iris’s name that recklessly. Does he have a death wish?"

  "Had," the other corrected grimly. "Past tense now, probably."

  They were from influential families themselves—powerful in their respective countries. But at this event, surrounded by presidents and industry titans, they were at the bottom of the hierarchy. That's why they'd been courting Lucas's favor. The Clomen family controlled massive sectors of Yemen's economy and had significant political influence throughout the Middle East. Having their backing would be valuable.

  But not if it meant at the possibility of angering the most powerfully authority in the world. Nothing was worth that.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  "We made the right call leaving when we did," the first one said.

  "Absolutely. If Lucas wants to destroy himself, that's his problem. Our families come first."

  They turned a corner and stopped.

  Security was everywhere. Guards running in formation, radios crackling with urgent communication. Something major had happened.

  "Should we—"

  "Main hall. Now."

  They hurried back to the reception, joining the crowd flowing in the same direction. When they entered, both froze.

  The massive hall—easily large enough for thousands of people—was filled wall-to-wall with professional bodyguards and armed militants in Remeria family colors. The earlier atmosphere of celebration was gone, replaced by tension and confusion.

  Guests clustered in groups, whispering urgently, trying to understand what was happening. Security personnel stood at every entrance. The casual servers were gone, replaced by stone-faced guards.

  In the center of the hall was the Clomen family. Lucas's parents, his siblings, extended relatives. They were surrounded by their own security detail and some high-ranking military figure who appeared to be head of the island's security.

  And on the floor, completely restrained by guards, was the boy who'd confronted Lucas.

  Lucas himself was on a stretcher. His mother was beside him, crying, shaking him, begging him to wake up. A man in a medical coat—one of the personal physicians attending the event—stood nearby, his expression grim.

  "Can you save him?" Lucas's father demanded. Arnold Clomen, head of the Clomen family. His voice was controlled but his hands were clenched into fists.

  The doctor shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry. He's already gone. There's nothing that can be done."

  The words hit like a shockwave. Lucas's mother let out a wail. The family closed ranks around her.

  The guests' whispers intensified.

  "Who is that boy?"

  "Does anyone recognize him?"

  "Must be related to the staff. No one from our circles."

  "His entire family is finished."

  "The Clomens won't let this stand."

  Arnold Clomen stood perfectly still, staring at Leon. Grief and rage warred on his face. When he finally spoke, his voice carried across the entire hall.

  "A life for a life." The words were flat, final. "I will kill him. And I will erase his family from existence."

  A figure pushed through the crowd. The Prime Minister of Yemen, dressed in formal robes. He'd been a guest at the event, and everyone knew he and Arnold were close friends.

  "Arnold," he said, approaching. "You're being too merciful."

  Arnold looked at him.

  "This boy and his family don't deserve a quick death. They need to suffer. They need to understand the magnitude of what they've done." The Prime Minister gestured at Leon dismissively. "He's likely just a relative of one of the island staff. Nobody important. Which means we can take our time."

  A few voices rose from the crowd in agreement. Some were genuinely outraged. Others just seemed entertained by the spectacle.

  Arnold considered this, then nodded slowly. He turned to his family's servants, men who'd served the Clomens for years.

  "Take him. Beat him without stopping until he dies or until someone from his family steps forward to claim him."

  The servants moved forward. The guards holding Leon started to lift him up.

  Leon didn't struggle. Couldn't process what was happening. His mind was still stuck on Lucas's body, on what he'd done.

  The servants were almost to him when a voice cut through the hall.

  "Restrain your hands."

  It wasn't loud. But the tone carried absolute authority.

  Everyone stopped. Every head turned.

  On the second-floor balcony overlooking the hall stood a woman. Early thirties, dark business suit, expression completely neutral. She surveyed the scene below with the calm of someone used to command.

  The whispers started immediately.

  "That's Emilia."

  "Iris Remeria's personal secretary."

  "If she's here, then—"

  The atmosphere in the hall changed instantly. The earlier tension was nothing compared to this. If Emilia was present, it meant Iris had likely arrived on the island, and now—

  Every person in that hall, no matter how powerful, was suddenly aware of their position in a much larger hierarchy. Presidents, CEOs, industry heads—all of them ranked below Emilia in practical terms. She is someone who directly reports to Iris. Making anyone unable to refuse any orders from her.

  Arnold Clomen looked up at her, jaw tight. The Prime Minister of Yemen had gone pale. The servants had frozen mid-step.

  Emilia's gaze swept across the hall, taking in every detail. The Clomen family. Lucas's body. The restrained boy on the floor.

  Then she spoke again, voice carrying effortlessly.

  "No one moves until I understand what has occurred here."

  Silence fell across the hall. Complete, absolute silence.

  Everyone waited.