The Emperor

"His Majesty will not see anyone today,” a cold, commanding voice announced from behind the tall double doors. “Mr. Vincent, you may leave.”

“Is that truly the Emperor’s command, Orien?”

“Didn’t I make myself clear the first time?” he snapped. “The emperor has important matters to attend to. He will not see anyone!”

Mr. Vincent’s jaw tightened. The imposing military figure stood firm, his expression unyielding. His boots echoed against the polished floor as he turned away, he was so frustrated.

At that very moment, across the vast skyline of Lisle City, the thunder of engines split the clouds.

A sleek private jet descended through the mist, escorted by a formation of fighter jetst. Below, Lisle International Airport was under full lockdown. Soldiers lined at the runways, with snipers perched on towers, and armored vehicles idled by the gates.

Inside the terminal, large digital screens flashed a breaking news banner:

“This just in — the emperor, the silent partner of the International Peace Corporation, has diverted his flight from the presidential palace to Lisle City. Global speculation surges as to the reason for this unexpected change in plans…”

Crowds of reporters swarmed outside the security perimeter, shouting into microphones, while the world watched in real time.

Everyone knew him — Christopher Rowe, the elusive financial magnate, the biggest shareholder of the International Peace Corporation. But behind that title lay a darker, hidden identity. He was the undisputed ruler of the world’s most secretive organization — The Round Table.

The corporation was merely the visible surface; the Round Table’s reach extended far beyond governments, beyond armies, beyond borders. Presidents bowed to him in private, and entire economies shifted at his word.

For someone like Scot Vincent, a mere city tycoon, to request an audience with him was nothing short of delusion.

When Christopher stepped off the jet, the tarmac seemed to still. He was tall, dressed in a fitted black coal. Behind him, his guards formed a silent wall.

He ignored the flashing cameras, the salutes, the hovering drones. His mind was elsewhere.

Inside the armored car waiting for him, Christopher leaned back, his eyes dimmed with thought as memories began to stir.

Five years ago, he hadn’t been the emperor. He was merely a low-level member of the Round Table — betrayed during a mission, hunted like prey. When he was gravely wounded, he had fled to Lisle City, collapsing in an alley where Anna Lancaster found him.

Anna was the radiant heiress of the Lancaster family, a woman born into luxury and expectation. She had nursed him back to health, her kindness becoming his salvation. Against the objections of her powerful family, she married him.

They had a year of peace until his past caught up with him. Assassins found them. That night, Christopher killed every last one of them in cold silence. He left before dawn, without a note, without a goodbye — to keep her safe from the blood that stained his world.

Now, five years later, she had called him again.

A single message had shattered his composure and brought him back to the city he had once sworn never to return to.

"Christopher, help me.!"

The emperor’s eyes darkened as he stared out the tinted window.

In the five years since his disappearance, Christopher Rowe had ascended to the very pinnacle of the Round Table. From a hunted fugitive to the organization’s supreme leader, he had become a man whose influence stretched across nations. Yet, amidst all the power and blood, he had never once forgotten his wife.

He had longed for the day he could return to her — to confess the truth, to tell her why he left. But when her distress message came, Christopher, help me, he didn’t hesitate another second.

The convoy of black vehicles rolled to a stop at the entrance of the Lancaster family mansion, a vast estate surrounded by marble fountains and iron gates. Christopher stepped out of the car.

He was just about to stride toward the mansion doors when his eye caught a small, frail silhouette crouched beside the trash bins.

It was a little girl, no older than five, wearing rags barely fit for a beggar. Her hair was matted, her tiny feet bare and bruised, her face streaked with dirt.

Christopher’s gaze softened. He watched as the girl rummaged through the garbage and pulled out a discarded slice of cake — smeared with dirt and crawling with worms. With her hands trembled, she lifted it to her lips.

Before she could take a bite, Christopher rushed forward.

He struck the cake from her grasp, his voice sharp.

“Don’t eat that. You’ll get sick.”

The little girl froze, startled by his sudden presence. Then she looked up at him with those pleading, golden eyes.

“Mister,” she whispered weakly, “please… give me back my cake. I haven’t eaten anything for days. I’m so hungry…”

Christopher’s throat tightened. Without a word, he reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small pack of cookies, and handed one to her.

“Here,” he said quietly. “Eat this instead.”

The girl’s face lit up. She grabbed the cookie with both hands and devoured it desperately, crumbs scattering across her cheeks.

But before Christopher could say another word, a harsh, grating voice echoed from inside the gates.

“You little brat! How dare you beg outside the Lancaster family mansion! Get out of here!”

A middle-aged maid stormed out, fury etched across her face. She wielded a wooden stick and swung it mercilessly at the child.

The girl yelped and stumbled back, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Please… don’t hit me,” she cried. “I’m hungry… it hurts…”

The maid rose the stick again — but Christopher’s hand shot out, catching it mid-swing. The crack of impact stopped the air cold.

His calm composure shattered, anger flashing through his eyes like lightning in a summer storm.

“That’s enough,” he growled.

The maid turned on him, her expression twisted with arrogance.

“And who are you to order me around?” she sneered. “This is the Lancaster estate. I serve the family.”

Christopher’s jaw tightened.

“And what exactly did this child do to deserve a beating?”

“She’s a disgrace,” the maid snapped, yanking at her stick. “An outcast! Her very existence tarnishes the Lancaster family’s name. I can beat her to death if I wish — and no one would care. So unless you want the same treatment, stranger, step aside.”

Christopher’s voice dropped to a dangerous calm.

“Outcast?” he repeated. “What do you mean by that?”

The maid gave a cold laugh.

“Don’t you know? Five years ago, Miss Anna Lancaster — our young lady — married a homeless man. A worthless drifter! He vanished right after their wedding, leaving behind nothing but this bastard child. Miss Anna’s been a laughingstock ever since.”

For a heartbeat, Christopher couldn’t breathe. The words struck him harder than any bullet.

Five years ago. A homeless man. Anna Lancaster.

His gaze fell on the trembling girl clutching the half-eaten cookie. Her eyes — those unmistakable amber eyes.

The realization hit him like a blade through the chest.

This little girl… she’s my daughter.

A storm of emotions surged inside him, he felt the guilt, rage, heartbreak. The Emperor, the man feared by presidents and kings, felt his entire world crumble in that single moment.

He knelt and gathered the crying child into his arms. She stiffened at first, then slowly buried her face against his chest, sobbing softly.

“Shh,” Christopher whispered, his voice low but trembling. “No one will hurt you again.”

Behind him, one of his black-clad attendants stepped forward, seizing the maid by the wrist.

Christopher’s gaze turned cold, his tone cutting like ice.

“You dared to raise your hand against my daughter?”

The maid froze, disbelief flooding her face.

“Y-your daughter?” she stammered. “You mean… you’re the homeless man who ran away five years ago?”

Christopher didn’t answer. He simply tightened his hold on the little girl, his eyes hard as steel.

Then, without another word, he turned and began walking away. The guards fell in line, the terrified maid still trembling in their shadow.

The Emperor carried his daughter in his arms, no one will ever hurt them again.

The little girl looked up at Christopher.

“Sir…can you help me find Mommy?”

Sir?

For a moment, Christopher froze. His lips parted, but no sound came out. It dawned on him then, his child didn’t even know who he was. To her, he was just a stranger who had stopped her from eating trash.

His chest tightened painfully as he looked down at his daughter.

“What’s your name?”

The little girl blinked up at him. “Faith,” she said in a tiny voice. “Faith Colen.”

Christopher’s heart twisted. Even her surname was different. He forced his voice to remain steady, though his throat burned.

“Faith,” he said gently, “where’s your mommy? Do you know where she went?”

Faith’s eyes widened as she tried to recall.

“Mommy said we didn’t have any money,” she murmured, her tone innocent, “so she went out to earn some. She said… she said when she comes back, we won’t be hungry anymore.”

Her voice cracked. “But I’m still hungry every day. And everyone hits me. They call me bad names. They don’t give me food.”

Her tiny fingers fidgeted with the hem of her dirty dress as tears welled up in her amber eyes.

Christopher’s vision blurred. His throat tightened as he swallowed the ache rising inside him. Anna… Faith… what kind of life have you both been living all while.

For years, he had bled, fought, and conquered without shedding a single tear. But now looking into his daughter’s the mighty Emperor’s resolve cracked. He cried.

After a moment, he managed to speak again, his voice low and rough.

“And your… your dad?”

Faith lowered her gaze. Her shoulders drooped, and the light in her eyes dimmed.

“I’ve never seen him,” she said softly. “Mommy says he went far away. Everyone says… I’m a fearless child because I don’t have a daddy.”

“I asked Mommy once where he is… but she just cried. So I stopped asking. I don’t want to make her sad.”

Christopher’s heart shattered into pieces. He wanted to pull her close, to tell her the truth — that her father was right here, that he had never stopped thinking about her mother, that he had returned for them both.

But the words wouldn’t come.

He didn’t deserve to say them. Not yet.

“Faith, come with me. I’ll take you to find your mommy.”

The little girl shook her head instantly. “Mommy said… I should not go with strangers,”

Christopher smiled faintly, “I’m not a stranger,” he said after a pause. “I’m your dad… dad’s friend.”

He couldn’t bring himself to speak the truth, not when he felt so undeserving of it.

Faith tilted her head, “Really?” she asked. “You know my daddy?”

Christopher forced a small nod. “Yes,” he whispered. “I know him very well.”

Faith’s lips quivered. Tears gathered again in her eyes as she looked up at him hopefully.

“Then… can you really take me to Mommy? I haven’t seen her for three days…” Her voice broke. “Please, sir. I miss her so much.”

Her plea was soft, but it tore through him like a blade. Christopher’s fists clenched at his sides, his body trembling with emotion he could barely contain.

The maid, still restrained by one of Christopher’s men. She sneered through her fear, spitting out words drenched in malice.

“Looking for her mother? Hah! I’ll tell you where your precious mother is.”

Christopher turned slowly, his gaze like frost.

The maid smirked, “Miss Anna Lancaster — that shameless woman — is at a strip club right now, rolling with men for money! She doesn’t have time to care for this brat!”