The rhythmic thud-thud-thud of fists against leather echoed through the empty gym. Each impact was a detonation of rage, a punishment dealt to an imaginary face. Star's knuckles, wrapped in worn tape, connected with the heavy bag again and again, her breaths coming in sharp, furious bursts. In her mind, the bag wasn't filled with sand; it was Tomas—his smug face, his raised hand, his tyrannical presence.
With every strike, a new flash of memory surfaced: her father's fist connecting with her mother's cheekbone, the sickening thud of a body hitting the floor, the stifled sobs in the dark. For her entire life, Tomas had treated them like strays he'd reluctantly pulled from the gutter, not a family deserving of love or respect. Star often questioned if she was truly his daughter. Every misstep she made at home was paid for with her mother's blood. Now, as a third-year at Crestfall University, her only plan was to endure, to study with relentless focus, to graduate, and to buy her mother a house far, far away from the man who called himself her husband. Patience. It was a bitter pill she forced herself to swallow daily. But today, the patience was gone. Today, she just wanted to hit something.
"Star… Star!"
A muffled voice pierced the haze of her fury.
"Star!"
She stopped, her chest heaving. Sweat plastered her hair to her forehead and neck. She turned, walking stiffly to a bench where a bottle of water sat. Grabbing it, she tilted her head back and drained it in one long, desperate gulp. The cool liquid did nothing to quell the fire inside. She poured the remaining water over her head, the shock of cold making her gasp as rivulets ran down her face, over her neck, and soaked into the collar of her sports top.
"You were really going at it." Adrian, her closest friend from the university's business program, leaned against a weight rack, his expression a mix of concern and something else she couldn't quite place. "Is everything okay?"
Star tossed the empty bottle into a nearby bin, the plastic crackling. "I'm fine, Adrian."
She ran her fingers through her wet hair, pushing it back from her face. The motion was simple, unconscious. Adrian, however, stood frozen. In the year they'd been friends, he'd always known she was attractive—striking, even. But in this moment, with her skin flushed from exertion and water glistening on her toned arms, she was breathtaking. He felt the familiar, easy camaraderie shift, a dangerous tilt he hadn't anticipated.
"I'm going to hit the shower," Star said, oblivious to his internal struggle. She grabbed her gym bag from the floor. "Do you have a class? I could really use a ride back to campus."
When he didn't respond, his gaze still fixed on her, she tilted her head. "Adrian?"
He snapped back to the present, clearing his throat. "Yeah… no. My classes are in the evening. I'll take you." He pushed off from the weight rack, trying to regain his composure.
Before he could take another step, a blur of straight, dark hair and heavy makeup launched itself at him. A tall woman, her face painted with enough foundation to cover a small house, wrapped her arms around Adrian's neck and planted a possessive, lingering kiss on his lips.
Star rolled her eyes so hard she felt a twinge behind them. Tiffany.
Adrian pulled back, his jaw tightening. A flicker of annoyance crossed his features before he masked it. "Tiffany," he said, his voice flat. He used the back of his hand to wipe his lips. "Star knows we're dating. You don't need to put on a show every time she's around."
Tiffany merely smiled, swinging her arm around his neck as if he'd just paid her the greatest compliment. "I know," she purred. "I'm just making it our new greeting tradition."
She finally turned her gaze toward Star, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "Hi, Star."
Star didn't respond. She simply hoisted her gym bag onto her shoulder and walked out, her footsteps echoing in the sudden silence.
Tiffany pouted, her lower lip jutting out in a practiced, innocent gesture. "Does she hate me?"
Adrian watched Star's retreating form, a familiar ache settling in his chest. "No, she doesn't," he said distractedly. "She's just been on edge lately. Don't worry about her."
Tiffany pressed herself against him, her voice turning syrupy sweet. "Are we still on for our date tonight? I'm absolutely yearning for Italian."
"Yes," he replied, the word short, his mind already elsewhere.
Lately, his thoughts were consumed by Star. The way those hazel eyes of hers could pierce right through him, as if she were searching for the truth of his soul. She was a fortress, keeping everyone at a distance. Strong. Fierce. Brilliant. She saw a problem and dismantled it on her own terms. Adrian had always admired an independent woman.
"Babe…" Tiffany's voice took on a wheedling tone. "I saw this Laura bag. It's only a hundred thousand dollars. I really need it for tonight. Can I please have it?"
He sighed inwardly. And then there was this. The woman who saw him as nothing more than a walking ATM. The city's billionaire heir, and Tiffany treated his fortune like a bottomless pit.
"Talk to Lazarus," he said, referring to his head of security who handled such frivolous requests. "I have to drive Star back. I'll meet you there."
He leaned in and gave Tiffany a perfunctory peck on the forehead before heading out. Behind him, he heard her squeal in delight, already on her phone to Lazarus. He shook his head, a bitter taste in his mouth.
Minutes later, his sleek black car pulled up outside Star's dormitory. The silence between them had been comfortable, a rare and precious thing.
Star reached for the door handle, then paused. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Yes." He tried to keep his voice casual. "And please… I miss your sweets. Bring some along. Especially the chocolate ones."
A genuine smile touched her lips, the first he'd seen all day. "Yes, Lucian got me a new stock. I'll bring them."
The name hit him like a splash of cold water. "You talk about this Lucian a lot," he said, the question slipping out before he could stop it. "Is he your boyfriend?"
Star chuckled, a low, musical sound that did nothing to ease the knot in his stomach. "If he was," she said, her eyes meeting his with a flicker of amusement, "you'd be the first to know."
She got out, closing the door behind her. Adrian watched her walk toward the entrance, her back straight, her stride purposeful. Then, as if sensing his gaze, she turned, smiled, and gave a small wave.
He smiled back, but the moment she turned away, his expression hardened. He wasn't looking at her anymore. He was scanning the shadowed courtyards, the tree-lined walkways, the faces of the few students milling about. A prickle of unease crawled up his spine. He felt it too—a presence, a weight of observation that had nothing to do with him. He was a billionaire's son; he knew the feeling of being watched. This was different. This was predatory.
He saw no one. Just Star, disappearing through the heavy wooden doors of her dorm. After a long moment, he pulled away, the feeling of unseen eyes lingering long after the car had turned the corner.
Inside, Star walked through the silent hallway, but the feeling didn't leave her. The feeling of someone watching her after Adrian dropped her off. It was an intense, almost physical sensation, like a cold finger tracing her spine. She spun around, but the hall was empty. Frowning, she shook it off and continued to her room, chalking it up to the lingering adrenaline from her workout.
***
Across the city, in a restaurant that cost more per plate than most people's rent, Tomas sat across from Frienda. Lunch was a ritual at the end of every month, a celebration of his salary and her careful manipulation.
Their food arrived, plates laden with delicacies that Frienda eyed with barely concealed greed.
"So, babe," she began, rubbing his hand with her thumb, her voice a soft, concerned murmur. "I was thinking. The twins should just continue with private school into secondary. I'm terrified that if we throw them into the public system now, they'll be confused, lost… they might even fail next year."
Tomas nodded, his chest swelling with pride at being seen as such a provider. "I understand, babe. We'll keep them there. I'll pay for their fees, happily."
Frienda's lips curved in a perfect pout. "Are you sure? I mean… you have your wife, right? And Star? I wouldn't want to be a burden."
"Don't worry about them, Frienda." He chuckled, mistaking her avarice for compassion. "That's why I love you so much. You have such a big heart."
She leaned forward, her voice dripping with false concern. "Well, it's only natural I worry for them. Your salary alone… can it really contain all of us?"
The waitress appeared, depositing their meals with a quiet, "Enjoy." Frienda's eyes lit up. End of the month meant Tomas was flush, and she intended to milk him dry.
She took a delicate bite, then broached the subject she'd been circling. "So," she said casually, "what are you going to do about Star? Breaking your nose like that… it's just so… disrespectful."
Tomas's jaw clenched. "These days, she's become impossible. Unpredictable." He stabbed a piece of meat with his fork. "Can you imagine? Loise had the audacity to ask me for money for food for the house."
Frienda's eyes glittered with malice. "What did you say?"
"I told her I don't have any," he scoffed. "I don't know where she gets the audacity from."
"It's Star," Frienda said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Now that Star is standing up for her, beating you back, Loise has a little bit of hope. And where there's hope, there's audacity. Next thing you know, they'll be threatening to take your money, your house… everything you've ever given them."
She watched with satisfaction as Tomas's rage ignited. His fork clattered onto his plate, his appetite suddenly gone. She had planted the seed perfectly.
"It will be over my dead body, Frienda," he hissed, his eyes burning with paranoid fury. "I just wish something would happen to that girl. Something to clip her wings. Cut off Loise's hope entirely. They are my maids. They need to know their place." He pushed his plate away, the food now sour in his mouth. If he let this continue, Loise and her wretched daughter would team up and steal everything from him. He had to move first.
He looked at Frienda, his expression hardening with resolve. "Babe… give me your account number. Let me transfer my whole salary to you. Just to be safe."
Frienda's smile was slow and triumphant. She rattled off the numbers, her voice a purr of contentment.
***
Far from the city's gleaming towers, at Port U on the frigid western edge of Crestfall, the air was thick with salt and the metallic tang of danger. Inside a massive container ship, men moved with the practiced, silent efficiency of a wolf pack. Armed with high-caliber rifles and clad in bulletproof vests, they stacked bricks of white powder onto pallets, their breaths misting in the cold. This was no ordinary cargo. This was the lifeblood of Lucian Throne's empire.
"The boss is here!" a leader yelled, and a ripple of alertness shot through the crew.
They formed a line, their backs straight, as a convoy of black SUVs rolled to a stop. In the center, a vehicle so small it seemed almost comical—a luxury Peel P50—contrasted sharply with the brute force surrounding it. The SUVs' doors opened in perfect sync, and men in black suits, tactical goggles, and earpieces fanned out, their weapons scanning the perimeter with lethal intent. It was the arrival of a head of state, not a drug lord.
The men at the port had already arranged their product in neat rows, a testament to the fear their boss inspired.
The door of the Peel P50 opened. A polished black shoe touched the ground, followed by another. Lucian emerged. He was dressed entirely in black: a long leather jacket over a black polo neck, his trousers pressed to a razor's edge, a black scarf wrapped around his neck. The western cold was biting, but the temperature seemed to plummet further with his arrival. It was Lucian after all.
He moved with a predator's grace, each step deliberate, his presence commanding the space around him. He was the boss of the underworld, the master of this drug trafficking ring, and the undisputed king of a dozen other criminal enterprises.
He stopped before the arranged pallets, his gaze cold and assessing. "Is this all that's for trade?"
The gang leader swallowed, his voice a nervous tremor. "Yes, Boss. The buyer will be here any minute."
Lucian glanced at the gold watch on his wrist, a subtle frown touching his lips. That single, tiny movement made the leader's heart race with primal fear.
One minute. That was the grace period.
On cue, the distant roar of a plane engine filled the air. It landed on a makeshift strip a mile away, and armed men poured out, forming a second, opposing force. At their head was a man in his fifties, his hair white, his posture arrogant. He approached the line of drugs and stopped, standing opposite Lucian.
"Lucian Throne," the white-haired man said, his arms clasped behind his back. He gave a dismissive smirk. "I thought you'd be… older."
Lucian's expression didn't change. "I'm twenty-two. But there's a phrase I heard at Crestfall University. Even my professors said it: age is just a number."
The man—Mr. Andreas—let out a dry chuckle. "Hmm." He paused, letting the silence stretch. "Twenty billion."
The words hung in the air. Lucian's frown deepened. He turned his glacial gaze to his own leader.
The leader stepped forward, his voice tight. "Mr. Andreas, we agreed on fifty billion."
"I know," Andreas said, his grin widening. He took a step closer to Lucian, his arrogance palpable. "See, in my city, we don't trade with children. They get… cut."
Lucian's eyes, cold as a winter sea, fixed on the man. "I assume you have the agreed-upon amount with you right now?"
Andreas spread his hands. "I don't. I have twenty." He gestured to his men. "Now, let's pack up."
The first of Andreas's men reached for a bag of cocaine. The sharp, suppressed thwip of a silenced pistol was the only warning. A neat hole appeared in the man's forehead, and his body crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud. Lucian lowered his gun, his face betraying nothing.
Andreas's men raised their weapons, a storm about to break. But Lucian's voice cut through the tension, low and deadly.
"Those drugs leave this place with fifty billion in my account. If you don't have the money, you leave. If you want to play grandpa stupid…" He let the threat hang, a promise of death.
Andreas, however, was not moved. If anything, a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. This child was playing with fire he didn't understand. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur.
"Before I came here, my men ran an extensive background check on you," he said, his eyes boring into Lucian's.
"Left at a hospital as a baby. A cleaner took you in. A sad story, but not one I dwell on." He shook his head, then smiled. "What interested me was a beautiful girl. Hazel eyes. Long, natural brown hair." He chuckled, savoring the moment. "I looked at my wife, Lucian, and then at this girl—Star. She's way too beautiful. Delicate, and yet… fierce."
Lucian's knuckles turned white around the grip of his pistol. A cold, terrifying fury replaced his stoic mask.
Andreas took another step, emboldened. "I was watching her today at Crestfall. A real pi—"
He didn't finish the word.
Lucian moved. It wasn't a blur; it was an absence of motion, a displacement of air that defied physics. One moment he was standing six feet away, the next he was inches from Andreas. A sharp, curved knife materialized in his hand, and with a single, brutal thrust, he drove it through Andreas's heart.
The old man's eyes went wide with shock. His mouth opened, but only a wet gurgle escaped. His body slid off the blade and collapsed at Lucian's feet, dead before he hit the ground.
Lucian looked down at the corpse, his face a mask of terrifying calm. He straightened, flicking a speck of blood from his sleeve, and his gaze swept over Andreas's stunned men.
"No one threatens Star," he said, his voice soft, yet it carried across the silent port like a death knell. His eyes, still blazing with the embers of a protective rage, met each of their terrified faces. "And talks about it. Your leader must have been special."
He wiped the blade clean on Andreas's coat, then sheathed it.