The Diamond Mirage Hotel rose like a gleaming shard of glass and gold in the heart of Manhattan, its surface catching the burnished hue of the dying sun. At 5 p.m., the skyline blushed a deep orange, and the building’s mirrored panels drank it all in — reflecting back a city alive with noise, ambition, money and more money. Ad banners stretched across the entrance: ‘Diamond Mirage International Culinary Festival — Excellence Meets Fire.’ The fonts were elegant, minimalist. Even the air smelled expensive — a blend of plenty of strong perfume, engine heat, and fresh rain from the brief drizzle that had ended just an hour before, making the air a bit cooler and refreshing, diluting the strong smell of the fragrances.The festival wasn’t supposed to be this grand. It had begun, years ago, as a small culinary showcase organized by a handful of chefs who wanted recognition. Now, under the sponsorship of Crestmoor Holdings and the Cross family, it had evolved into a red-carpet event — one

Inside the lobby, the chandeliers glowed like captured suns trapped in tiny balls, reflecting across marble floors that could have been mirrors. The scent of truffle oil and aged wine hung in the air, mingling with the faintest trace of tension.By the grand entrance, reporters swarmed the Cross family, cameras were already all over Ethan’s face and microphones on his mouth. One voice rose above the others: “Mr. Cross! Mr. Cross, how does it feel to stand in your father’s place tonight before he gets better?”Ethan turned slowly toward the question, the perfect image of composure. He scoffed, ‘gets better? Oh poor people. Your all mightJohn Cross is dead.’ he said to himself. ‘I have killed him. So, no. I am not standing in his place. I am sitting on the throne. It’s mine now!’“Mr. Cross?” the reporter called out to him, noticing that Ethan was now lost in thoughts.He smiled. “It feels like.. destiny,” he said.Flash. Flash. Flash.“I am just a humble son of my father. And until h

The silence that followed Fabio Romano’s words was heavy enough to press on the skin.Helen’s hand tightened around Adrian’s. Cameras still flashed, but the crowd’s murmurs turned to a stunned hush. She stood there —graceful, composed, every inch the Cross heiress she was— yet the defiance in her eyes was something no one expected. It wasn’t a scene rehearsed or orchestrated; it was real, raw, and utterly unplanned.Fabio strode forward, his shoes clicking against the marble like hammer strikes. The flashes from the cameras caught the sharp line of his jaw, the glint of the signet ring on his finger, which was the emblem of the Romano family legacy.“Helen, my wife,” he said smoothly, though his eyes were anything but calm. “How glad am I to see you.”The crowd parted instinctively as he stopped in front of her. His hand stretched out — perfect, manicured, commanding. “Come,” he said quietly, as though speaking to a child. “Leave the filth and walk beside your future. Do not embarrass

Ethan shoved air through his teeth. “This man must have escaped the psychiatric hospital. He is mentally unwell. Throw him out before he bites someone and give them his disease!” His tone had gone metropolitan now, measured — the voice of the man who would prefer a bureaucracy to a brawl.The guards pivoted toward Adrian. One of them held out a hand, a paperless demand. “We need ID. Pass. Invitation. Otherwise you will be escorted out.”Adrian's patience was something else — the guy who'd been laughed out of a million places was now totally chill, like he was born for this. He pulled a tissue from his pocket and, with a small, steady move that made everyone quiet, gently wiped a tear from Helen's cheek. Seeing her cry made him hurt. He brushed her skin like he was patching her up. "We'll win," he whispered to her. "We'll blow them away."The guard’s outstretched hand trembled a little in the light. “Sir, identification, now!”Adrian smiled then, half-surprised, like he’d been asked to

Ethan’s voice still echoed faintly against the marble as he stormed into the banquet hall. “Don’t embarrass this family, Helen,” he’d snarled. “You stand with him again, and you’re no Cross. You’re nothing.”Then he was gone, leaving a wake of whispers and an air that felt scorched.For a long moment, no one moved. Helen stood where she was, shaking slightly, the mark of Ethan’s slap still blooming across her cheek. Adrian’s hands curled at his sides, but he said nothing. His silence was its own promise. But he knew he had to do something. Helen was being hurt because of him, because she loved him. He needed to reveal his true identity soon and save his wife once and for eternity. From the crowd, two familiar figures that had been standing at the rear began to walk toward them — Vanessa and Bobby. They didn’t hurry; they strolled, almost proudly, like celebrities arriving late to their own show. Vanessa’s diamond heels clicked against the floor, her perfume cutting through the heavy