The Emperor

Chapter 5

Anna blinked in surprise. “Mom… what are you doing here?”

The elegant woman standing near the center of the hall shot her daughter a fierce glare.

It was Evelyn Lancaster, Anna’s mother — her expression was icy.

Beside her stood Howard Lancaster, Harold’s third son and Anna’s father, who was tugging nervously at her sleeve, silently urging her to keep quiet.

Howard forced a strained smile and stepped forward.

“My apologies, Father. Everyone, please, forgive the disturbance. It’s just… some family matters. Please, continue enjoying the evening.”

The guests exchanged glances and later returned back to their seats.

Howard quickly pulled Anna and Christopher aside, his forehead damp with sweat.

Anna frowned, confusion and concern crossing her face. “Dad, what are you doing here?”

Howard sighed and cast a quick glance toward the main hall, where Evelyn still stood among the Lancasters.

“Your mother insisted,” he whispered hurriedly. “She said she wanted to mend things with your grandfather — to bring us back into the family’s good graces.”

Christopher’s expression darkened. The Lancasters again. He almost scoffed aloud.

Reconcile with such a petty, hypocritical family? He wouldn’t waste his breath.

Sensing his irritation, Anna gently touched her father’s arm. “Dad, it’s okay. You’ve done enough.” She said.

But before Howard could respond, Evelyn’s voice cracked through the air like a whip.

“Howard! Do you really think hiding will help you?” she barked, storming toward them. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor.

Her eyes were blazing with resentment. “You’re as spineless as ever. No wonder our daughter married a coward like Christopher!”

“Mom!” Anna cried, trying to calm her, but Evelyn waved her off, her focus fixed squarely on Christopher.

“And you,” she said coldly, “where have you been for the past five years?”

Anna tried to intervene, desperation coloring her voice. “Mom, Christopher joined the military—”

“Military?” Evelyn repeated, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t make me laugh. Just look at him! Does he even look like a soldier? And even if he were, he’d be nothing but a foot soldier at best. What high rank could a man like him possibly hold?”

Her words sliced through the air, sharp enough to draw blood.

Gerald chuckled from across the hall, his laughter spreading like a disease.

"Ha! He’s probably a scout boy who fetches water for real soldiers."

The hall erupted into laughter. 

Anna’s face turned pale with humiliation.

Evelyn’s lips tightened, disappointment flashing in her eyes. She had dared to hope Christopher’s return meant success — that her daughter hadn’t married a complete failure. But seeing him standing there, silent and composed, made her stomach twist in anger.

Christopher remained still, his gaze steady. But there was a dangerous calm in his tone when he finally spoke.

“Officer?” he said with a faint, humorless smile. “Why would I care about something as small as that? I don’t even care about the president himself.”

The laughter faltered.

“Let me tell you something,” Christopher said slowly, his voice low and sharp. “Even the Five-Star General, Leon, treats me with respect.”

The room went dead silent.

Every guest turned toward him, eyes wide with disbelief. Then, a few seconds later, the laughter returned — louder this time.

“Did you hear that?” one man howled. “Leon, respecting him?”

“He’s insane!” another snorted. “Completely out of his mind!”

“Maybe he hit his head during his ‘military service!’”

The hall roared with laughter. Wine glasses clinked, and mockery echoed through the chandeliers.

Evelyn’s expression hardened with disgust. “Enough, Christopher!” she snapped. “Do you want to embarrass yourself even more? Stop talking nonsense before you humiliate Anna completely!”

Anna stood frozen.

And then —

The laughter stopped.

All eyes were turned toward the grand entrance of the ballroom as two figures walked in, a man and a woman.

It was Norman Tyrion, Evelyn’s brother.

“Tywin Tyrion!” Harold exclaimed, his tone instantly lifting. “Mr. Tyrion, what a pleasant surprise!”

Norman Tyrion, the heir of the Tyrion family, a prominent financial dynasty in Lisle City, had just arrived. Recently, he’d gotten engaged to Marissa Dorne, daughter of Senator Victor Dorne, one of the most influential political figures in the region. The Dorne family had arranged for Norman’s presence at Harold Lancaster’s birthday celebration, hoping to strengthen ties with the Lancaster family, whose social influence in Lisle’s elite circles remained formidable.

The moment Norman stepped into the hall, the atmosphere shifted. All members of the Tyrion family rose, lifting their glasses in salute. Even the guests who had moments ago been laughing at Christopher now straightened in their seats.

Spotting Norman, Harold’s demeanor changed instantly—his earlier arrogance melted into a wide, flattering smile. He hurriedly adjusted his suit and made his way toward Norman, cane tapping against the marble floor.

“Mr. Tyrion,” Harold greeted with a bow of respect, “it’s truly an honor to have you at my birthday celebration. I wasn’t expecting such a distinguished guest tonight.”

Norman extended his hand with practiced politeness, shaking Harold’s. “Mr. Lancaster,” he said smoothly, “the honor is mine. I wouldn’t have attended, truth be told, if not for my fiancée’s insistence. She speaks very highly of your family.”

Harold laughed a little too loudly, nodding eagerly. “Ah, Miss Dorne is a remarkable young lady. Your engagement is the talk of Lisle! What a fine match between two great families.”

Norman’s polite smile didn’t reach his eyes. His attention, however, was drawn to the tension lingering in the air—he had overheard part of the earlier commotion as he entered. Turning slightly, he asked in a measured, curious tone,

“I couldn’t help but overhear,” he began, “someone here boasting about not caring about the president, and being respected by Five-Star General Leon himself. That’s quite a claim. I’m rather curious—who might this remarkable individual be?”

The question immediately froze the air again. Heads turned, and all eyes landed on Christopher, who stood calmly at the edge of the crowd beside Anna.

Before Harold could answer, a woman’s sharp, contemptuous voice rang out.

“Darling,” she said, looping her arm possessively around Norman’s, “it’s that shameless lowlife over there.”

Her lips curled into a cruel smile as she pointed directly at Christopher. “Unfortunately, he’s my cousin’s husband. Imagine the disgrace—boasting about generals and presidents as if he’s someone important.”

Norman’s fiancée, Marissa Dorne, looked Christopher up and down, her eyes dripping disdain. “He’s truly an embarrassment to the family,” she said coldly, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Anna’s heart sank at Marissa’s cruel words. Shame burned her cheeks, and she wanted nothing more than to drag Christopher away from that hall and hide him from the sneering faces surrounding them. Yet, when she glanced at him—Christopher remained perfectly calm. His expression was unreadable, composed, almost detached, as though their ridicule could not reach him.

Norman, amused by the tension, burst into laughter. The crowd followed suit, eager to please him. He waved to a group of waiters standing by the entrance.

“Mr. Lancaster,” Norman said with a confident grin, “I’ve prepared something special for you. Consider it a token of my respect.”

The waiters hurried forward, carrying a large velvet-covered box. When Norman gave the signal, they lifted the lid.

A golden light spilled across the room.

Inside stood a golden deer statue, exquisitely detailed and gleaming beneath the chandelier’s light. Gasps rippled through the guests.

“This,” Norman declared proudly, “is a replica of the Golden Hart of Lisle. It symbolizes prosperity and longevity. I had it custom-made overseas—pure gold, and worth at least one million dollars.”

A hush fell before the crowd erupted into admiration.

“One million?” someone whispered.

“My God, look at the craftsmanship!”

“Marissa is so lucky—her fiancé spares no expense!”

Marissa Dorne smiled smugly, looping her hand around Norman’s arm. “He had it made just for this occasion,” she said sweetly, though her eyes flickered toward Christopher with mocking satisfaction.

Norman chuckled modestly. “Ah, it’s nothing. I’m satisfied as long as you likes it”

Harold laughed out. “Mr. Tyrion, you’ve truly outdone yourself. What a magnificent gift! You’ve set a standard none can match.”

Then Norman turned, his gaze settling on Christopher with calculated amusement.

“Speaking of gifts…” he began, his tone dripping with derision. “Since our friend here”—he gestured at Christopher—“claims to be so capable and respected, I’m curious. What grand offering has he prepared for Mr. Lancaster?”

The guests exchanged glances, smirking, already anticipating a scene.

Norman continued, feigning politeness. “Surely, a man who claims friendship with a five-star general wouldn’t come empty-handed, right? Why don’t you show us what you’ve brought?”

The laughter that followed was sharp and cruel. Even Anna’s mother shook her head in embarrassment.

But Christopher only smiled faintly, that same calm, cryptic curve of his lips that made even Norman falter for a heartbeat. Then Christopher spoke—his tone slow, deliberate, every word slicing through the noise.

“That reminds me,” he said evenly, “to express my attitude toward the Lancaster family… and to thank Mr. Lancaster for all his care toward my wife over the years.”

His words silenced the laughter. People exchanged puzzled looks.

“I have indeed prepared a gift,” Christopher continued, his voice carrying through the hall.

With a wave of his hand, several men in black suits entered through the main doors. Their heavy footsteps echoed against the marble floor as they pushed a massive wooden crate on a steel dolly toward the center of the room.

Whispers broke out.

“What’s that?”

“Did he really bring something?”

“Looks like a box from a warehouse…”

Christopher didn’t answer. His gaze remained fixed on Harold Lancaster.

The men in suits positioned the crate carefully, then stepped back. Christopher nodded once.

“Open it.”

The men pried off the boards. Wood splintered and fell away—And then, a gleam of gold pierced the light.

Gasps filled the hall.

Inside the crate lay a golden coffin.