The King Of Crystal Diamond Is Back

008-The Eve Of The Illusion

The big ballroom of the Harrison-Pentagon house was full of the clinking sound of champagne glasses and live classical music playing under high, curved ceilings.

It was the night of the big wedding rehearsal dinner.

Hundreds of rich people, high government officials, and company shareholders filled the hall, wearing silk dresses and sparkling diamond necklaces.

To the outside world, the alliance looked unstoppable.

Even though Richard Harrison and Paris Pentagon had just spent seventy million dollars in cash at the auction, their huge credit lines, rising stock prices, and oil business kept the illusion of perfect financial health alive.

They easily ignored the temporary freeze on the wine ledger, calling it just a small paperwork problem by jealous officials, while their wine and oil business was still making millions every day. They still looked high and mighty.

Standing near the center stage, Paris wore a beautiful white silk gown with silver thread, her huge diamond ring catching every light as she laughed at a joke told by a senior bank director.

Next to her, Richard stood tall in a custom dark blue tuxedo, his arm around Paris's waist.

His chest swelled with pride as he looked at the crowd of powerful men and women who came to worship the new dynasty.

"To the future," Richard announced, raising his glass as the room went quiet. "A century of total dominance for the Harrison-Pentagon alliance!"

The room exploded with loud applause and toasts, glasses clicking with a sound of immense wealth, arrogance, and pride.

But among the sea of smiling faces, Beatrice Pentagon's sharp eyes drifted to the edge of the room and locked onto a single, still figure standing quietly by the service doors.

It was Chay.

Dressed in his clean, plain dark driver uniform, hands neatly behind his back, he blended into the wall like a low-life at the feast.

Beatrice's lips twisted into a cruel, poisonous smirk.

She whispered something into Paris's ear, pointing secretly to the back of the hall.

Paris followed her mother's gaze, and her face changed from radiant joy to spiteful, mean amusement.

Paris and Beatrice left the crowd and glided across the shiny floor toward the side exit, where Chay stood near the courtyard doors as cool night rain started to mist on the glass.

"Still standing like a good little dog, aren't you, Chay?" Paris mocked loudly, stopping two feet from him and flashing her blinding diamond ring right in his face.

Chay stayed completely still, his eyes looking straight ahead, refusing to give them any reaction.

Beatrice crossed her arms and let out a sharp, ugly laugh. "Look at him, Paris," Beatrice sneered with rich-people disgust. "A year ago he thought he was an equal, and now look where life has put him. Carrying bags and opening car doors."

Paris stepped closer, wanting to give him one final crushing blow before tomorrow's ceremony.

"Listen to me, servant," Paris commanded in a poisonous whisper as she reached into her designer bag and pulled out a pair of clean, bright white driver gloves.

She threw the gloves hard, hitting Chay right on the chest so they fluttered down to rest on his dark jacket.

"Tomorrow morning, at exactly ten o'clock, you are going to drive the main bridal limousine to the cathedral," Paris purred with a victorious grin.

"I want you in the front seat. I want you holding the steering wheel while you watch me walk down the aisle to marry the true king of this province. I want every drop of your pathetic jealousy to burn into your soul while you watch me take everything you ever dreamed of."

Chay's hand moved slowly.

He caught the white gloves by the fingertips before they could fall to the floor.

His fingers closed around the fabric with terrifying stillness. He finally lowered his gaze and locked his deep eyes directly onto Paris's delusional triumphant face.

A cold, thin smile touched the corners of his mouth, a smile so chilling and without warmth that Paris involuntarily stepped back half a step, a sudden shiver running down her spine.

"Enjoy the rehearsal, Paris," Chay whispered in a low, metallic voice that vibrated in the damp night air. "Make sure you celebrate well enough."

Paris blinked, shook off the uneasy feeling, and tossed her head back with a loud, defiant laugh.

"Bitter to the very end!" Paris scoffed, turning and linking arms with Beatrice. "Come, Mother. Let's not waste our breath on a stray dog."

They walked back toward the glittering warmth of the ballroom, laughing brightly, completely blind to the deep hole waiting at their feet.

Forty miles away, inside the secure underground control room of the Crystal Diamond estate, the discreet plan for their destruction was being prepared, and it would be executed at Chay's sole decision.

Huge monitors on the wall blinked with millions of lines of secret financial data.

Chay's mother stood before the main computer, her fingers moving across the glass keyboard as she synced the verification.

Standing next to her, Kimberly Shelton tapped enter on her master tablet, loading the complete, unedited audio confession files from the Pentagon house, the fake medical records, the fraudulent prison transfer papers, and the debt purchase receipts into a synced federal database controlled by the Supreme Court.

The system locked the files with an unbreakable, military-grade blockchain signature, preparing for the massive reckoning when Chay had given the go-ahead order.

Just as the verification bar turned green, Chay's secure communicator buzzed lightly in his pocket.

He pulled it out and looked at the incoming message.

It was a high-priority alert from the city traffic system, paired with an anonymous, highly encrypted text message sent directly to Richard Harrison's personal phone upstairs in the VIP suite.

The screen showed a live, silent video feed from a traffic drone.

It showed a huge convoy of five midnight-black, heavily armored vehicles bearing the official crest of the Lord Chief of the Provincial Judiciary, rolling silently through the rain-slicked gates of the downtown district.

Upstairs in his private penthouse suite, Richard Harrison glanced down at his buzzing phone, lazily watching the silent video of the Lord Chief's convoy entering the city.

Richard let out a smug, arrogant laugh and tossed his phone onto the bed without a second thought.

"Look at that," Richard muttered to himself, shaking his head with total self-obsession. "Even the highest judges in the province are moving their fleets tonight just to clear the streets for our wedding tomorrow. They know who the real kings are."

He turned off the lights and slipped into bed with a deep, peaceful smile, still blind to the fact that the convoy was the front of an approaching storm, and his downfall was silently being cooked.