The Stellan night was a blaze of dazzling neon and brilliant lights.
Inside a VIP room at the Elysium Club, a few young men from prominent families were gathered for drinks.
A slickly groomed Shaun Adler, dressed head-to-toe in designer brands with a conspicuous logo on his chest, had his arm around Serena Sherwood. He drawled lazily, "That sister of yours is so tactless. Don't worry, Serena, I'll put her in her place for you."
Hailing from the prestigious Adler Family, Shaun Adler possessed a natural, unbridled arrogance. His tone was as cold and detached as his status demanded.
He was four years older than Serena Sherwood. They had grown up together and were considered childhood sweethearts. With their families being of equal social standing, it was widely assumed they were a couple.
Both had signed with the Grant Family's Elysian World entertainment company, cultivating personas as rich heirs. Their fans lauded them as the golden couple of the elite, and many avidly shipped them.
Shaun Adler, in particular, was doing quite well in the entertainment industry.
He was already a superstar.
Serena Sherwood's eyes glinted. She snuggled deeper into Shaun Adler's embrace and let out a coquettish murmur. "Milo, my sister just came from the countryside. It's her first time seeing how glamorous Stellan is, so she's a bit blinded by it all. That's why she's acting a little greedy."
Shaun Adler gave a wry smile. "There's nothing terribly wrong with a girl being a little vain."
Serena Sherwood pursed her lips, a calculating glint in her eyes. "When you see her, Milo, please help me talk some sense into her. A girl who hasn't seen the world can easily go down the wrong path when she suddenly enters high society. I'm her sister; I can't bear to see her fall from grace."
A man on a nearby sofa turned to glance over, letting out a low, derisive chuckle. His expression was inscrutable.
He had an average face and a lean build. Dressed in light-colored casual wear, he appeared cultured and composed. He was shuffling a deck of poker cards, his movements a dazzling blur that made him seem rather mysterious under the dim lighting.
"Young Master Kendrick, give it a try," a few of the other rich kids chimed in, trying to liven things up.
With a slight exertion of his fingers, the cards flew from his hand toward a target. The sharp edges of the poker cards sliced into the target board as if they were razor-sharp blades.
Thunderous applause filled the room. The other rich kids fell over themselves with compliments, each trying to outdo the other in flattering him.
"Young Master Kendrick, those card skills are unreal! You won't find another person in all of Stellan who can do that."
"That goes without saying! Young Master Kendrick is a natural talent—"
"Why stop at Stellan? Young Master Kendrick is from Valerium! I bet none of the other young masters in the capital have his skills."
Xavier Kendrick froze, the cards still in his hand. He lifted one, aiming it right at the head of the sycophant who had just spoken.
He leaned back, casually stretching out his long legs, clad in black trousers. "If you can't speak properly, then shut your mouth. Don't stir up trouble."
The rich kid froze. It took a nudge from the person beside him to snap him out of it. He quickly forced an apologetic smile. "Young Master Kendrick, I've had a little too much to drink. A slip of the tongue, that's all. Please don't take offense."
Xavier Kendrick radiated a cold, oppressive aura. Casually drawing up one leg, he looked up and sneered, "All of you, get out. And don't let me see you again."
A vicious glint flashed deep in his eyes—so profound and cold it sent a chill down the spine.
The rich kids exchanged glances, inwardly cursing themselves. Their attempt at flattery had completely backfired.
They hastily stammered their apologies and scurried out of the room in disgrace.
"What's wrong, Zane? Why the temper?" Shaun Adler asked, looking up at him with keen interest.
"Forget about me. What about you, superstar? Instead of shooting your scenes, you're here planning to mess with some young girl. Got too much time on your hands?"
Xavier Kendrick's tone was teasing. He raised an eyebrow at the man in the corner. "Donovan, you haven't said a word all night. Thinking about your goddess? The Sherwood Family's third miss just got back and already has the second miss crying her eyes out. I wonder if the eldest miss will be affected."
As he spoke, a cold, knowing smile lurked in his eyes, hinting at a deep, inscrutable cunning.
Vincent Thorne, the man who had been addressed, was dressed in a sharp suit. His profile was chiseled, his thin lips pressed into a firm line. He looked every bit the elite CEO.
"Whoever returns to the Sherwood Family has nothing to do with Rosalind," he said, his expression impassive as he took a sip of brandy on the rocks from a faceted glass tumbler.
Just then, a waiter opened the door and pushed in a trolley to replenish their drinks and the fruit platter.
With the room's door ajar, Vincent Thorne's eyes caught a fleeting glimpse of a young, slender figure.
In the hallway, a girl with waist-length hair was wearing a baseball cap. The dim, soft light perfectly outlined her delicate profile.
As she passed, it was like a flash of iridescent light, a breathtaking, fleeting vision.
The glass paused at his lips. Vincent Thorne's fingers tightened slightly, his thumb stroking the side of the tumbler twice.
The light seemed to dim, and the man's eyes darkened, becoming as black as pooled ink.
*
In the club manager's office.
The portly, middle-aged manager wrung his hands nonstop, a sheen of oily sweat on his face as he stared nervously at the young woman before him.
"Miss Iris, something's gone wrong with the surveillance system. I don't know how, but it's a major problem." The manager had been so worried over the matter that he was losing his hair.
The major problem: the surveillance footage appeared to be haunted.
He had nearly called in a Daoist to perform an exorcism.
Three days ago, a rich second-generation kid was celebrating his birthday here. His group of six ordered a case of fruit wine and a two-hundred-thousand-dollar bottle of liquor.
When it was time to settle the bill, however, the kid refused to pay, yelling that they had never ordered such an expensive bottle of liquor.
The floor supervisor and a cocktail waitress tried to argue with him, but they were ganged up on and beaten by the rich kid's entourage. The group also smashed the expensive equipment in the VIP room.
The kid even had the audacity to threaten that if the club didn't compensate him two million for 'emotional distress and reputational damages,' he would use his family's influence to run them out of business!
The club manager was no pushover, of course. You couldn't run a top luxury club in Stellan without some serious connections.
He had his men pull the surveillance footage from that night, planning to shove the evidence right in the kid's face.
Instead, the move blew up right in his face.
The footage had no record of it whatsoever. There was no proof that the kid had ordered the two-hundred-thousand-dollar bottle.
In the video, the supervisor never fetched the bottle, and the waitress never brought it into the room.
Not a trace of the expensive liquor appeared in the entire night's worth of footage.
Two of the kid's friends had left partway through the night, but the footage didn't show them carrying an empty bottle out.
That two-hundred-thousand-dollar bottle of liquor had vanished into thin air!
Iris Dalton watched the surveillance feed on the computer, slowly twirling a lock of her hair as she fell into thought.
'This isn't supernatural. It's hacking.'
"Sigh... We paid a fortune to hire several hackers—all supposedly top-tier experts—but they all said there was nothing wrong with the footage," the manager said, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. His voice was thick with anxiety.
They knew perfectly well the rich kid was behind it, but they just couldn't find any proof.
"That young master of the Yates Family, Ethan Ellison, called again yesterday. He's not letting it go. I just can't stomach this insult. It's infuriating," the manager said, clenching his fists.
"Don't worry. It's a trivial matter." Iris Dalton sat down, and her fingers flew across the keyboard. Strings of code began to scroll across the screen.
"This is an AI deception. Pretty sophisticated," she murmured, a flicker of interest crossing her otherwise impassive face.
The surveillance feed had been completely overwritten by an AI-generated replacement, which was why the evidence had simply vanished.
A light flickered in Iris Dalton's eyes as she unleashed her spiritual power.
Her formidable presence instantly enveloped a five-hundred-meter radius. Not even a mosquito in the nearby park could escape her perception.
Following the network lines through virtual space, her spiritual power rapidly began to read the residual image fragments stored on the cloud.
Iris Dalton narrowed her eyes.
She now saw the truth of that night with perfect clarity.