2025-04-28 23:35:49All eyes turned toward the grand staircase at the far end of the hall.
There, standing in a crimson dress that shimmered like firelight, was Emily Wilson. "It's over." Someone muttered from the crowd, breaking the stunned silence. “His lie will soon be exposed because Miss Emily has arrived!” Whispered another guest, leaning toward her companion. “We’ll soon see livestock being dragged from this party.” A young man snorted, earning laughter from the group around him. Jack heard it all. The whispers. The sneers. The laughter. But he didn’t flinch. If that woman truly was Emily Wilson—his fiancée—then he needed to be certain. With steady steps, Jack pushed through the crowd, unfazed by the murmurs or the expensive perfumes that filled the air. He stopped just a few feet in front of the staircase, gazing up at the woman who had caused such a stir. “Are you Emily?” Jack asked, his voice calm and even. Emily’s heels clicked gently as she descended the steps, her expression unreadable. She stopped midway, her eyes narrowing at the man in front of her. “Excuse me? Who are you?” “I’m Jack Parker,” he said. “Your fiancé. I came to honour our engagement.” The hall went silent for one heartbeat—and then burst into laughter. “He’s delusional.” Someone chuckled from the right. “Is he serious?” “Fiancé? Of Emily Wilson? He must be off his meds!” Emily’s eyes sharpened. “Listen. I don’t know who you are, but you’re making a scene. Leave now before you cause more trouble.” Jack remained still, gaze steady. “I’m not lying. Our grandfathers arranged our marriage years ago. I’m only here to fulfil that agreement. When can we register it?” Emily blinked, stunned by his audacity. “You must be joking. You expect me to believe you’re my fiancé just because you say so?” Another round of laughter erupted behind Jack. “Someone call the mental ward. This guy’s having a fantasy episode.” “This is rich. Literally.” “I bet he walked in here for free food and now thinks he’s marrying into billions!” Emily took a step down, her face hardening. “I’m going to ask you one last time to leave. Stop spreading lies. This is my company’s event, and I won’t have you embarrass me further.” Jack reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and calmly unfolded a document. “This isn’t a lie.” He held up a yellowed piece of paper, its corners aged, but the ink still bold. “This is the contract signed by your grandfather and mine.” The laughter died instantly. Emily’s brows drew together as she hesitated. Robert, the family’s head butler, stepped forward to snatch the paper, but Jack pulled it back. “I’d prefer she sees it herself.” Emily descended the last few stairs, eyeing the paper warily. Slowly, she took it from him. Her fingers trembled slightly as she scanned the names at the bottom. Grandfather’s signature. It was unmistakable. She had heard faint whispers of an old engagement—something arranged in the past—but she had never seen proof. Never thought it could be real. Still, her eyes flicked back to Jack. Plain black shirt. Washed-out jeans. No watch. No designer shoes. He looked like someone who took the bus to a job interview and didn’t get it. Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Even if this is real,” she said coldly, “you think a piece of paper means you’re qualified to be my husband?” The crowd regained its voice. “That contract’s got to be fake.” “Even if it’s real, he looks like he’s been living in a garage!” “Maybe he printed it at a library and forged the signature.” Near her side, Ryan Brooks stepped forward. His sharp suit and confident smirk made him look like a typical trust-fund heir. “Emily, I’ll handle this.” He turned toward Jack. “Listen, pal. You’ve made your joke. Now get out before I make you regret walking in.” Jack didn’t budge. Ryan’s smile faded. He snapped his fingers. Two bodyguards moved toward Jack, grabbing his arms. “I suggest you let go,” Jack said softly. The guards scoffed and started dragging him toward the doors. “I have proof,” Jack called out. “I came here with respect. This isn’t nonsense.” “Wait!” Emily’s voice rang out across the hall. The guards paused, glancing at her. Emily stepped closer, still holding the paper. Her eyes were fixed on the signature, her brows furrowed. “Let him go,” she said. “I want to hear what he has to say.” “But Miss—” Ryan began. “I said let him go.” Jack adjusted his sleeve as the guards released him. Emily stared at the document again. There it was—clear, official, undeniable. Her grandfather’s signature, next to the name of a man she had never known. She turned to Jack, sceptical but curious. “Where have you been all these years?” Jack’s expression didn’t change. “Traveling. Working. Waiting.” “Waiting?” she asked. “For this moment.” More murmurs spread through the crowd. “He’s insane.” “This is straight out of a drama show.” “Does he think she’ll accept him just like that?” Then came two familiar voices. “Emily!” Michael and Patricia Wilson walked in through the ballroom doors. Emily’s parents looked around at the frozen crowd, then their eyes fell on Jack. “What is going on here?” Michael demanded. Patricia’s gaze swept from Jack’s clothes to the document in Emily’s hand. “What’s that?” Emily handed her the paper. Patricia scanned it—and her face twisted with offence. “You dare come here with this?” She snapped at Jack. “This must be a forgery. You think you can worm your way into our family with some ancient nonsense?” “It’s real,” Jack said. “You’re not good enough for our daughter,” Patricia barked. “This is absurd. You think wearing cheap clothes and flashing paper makes you worthy?” Jack stood straight. “Your opinion doesn’t change what’s written.” The room buzzed again. “He’s so shameless!” “Deluded.” “Someone escorted him out already!” But Jack didn’t flinch. Not at the insults. Not at all disdainful. Not even when Patricia took a step closer, finger pointing. “You’ll never be part of this family.” Jack looked at them all—the crowd that mocked him, the woman who doubted him, the parents who dismissed him—and replied, calm as ever: “You’ll regret this.”
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Michael Wilson sneered. “Regret? Son, the only thing I regret is allowing a man like you to breathe the same air as us.” His wife, Patricia, stepped beside him, her expression twisted with disdain. “You think throwing around some dusty old contract makes you a part of this family? Look at yourself—your suit looks borrowed, your shoes have creases, and your name carries no weight.” Laughter rippled through the wealthy guests again. Murmurs floated like poison in the air. “Who does he think he is?” “Probably borrowed that contract off the internet.” “Pathetic. He must be delusional.” Jack stood straight, his face unreadable. He had endured worse. He wasn’t here for their approval. He was here for honour. Jack’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t flinch. The marriage contract in his hand wasn’t just a piece of paper. It was a legacy. A promise between two men—his grandfather and George Wilson—made in a time of desperation and trust. And if they had known who he really was—what
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I don’t need your money.”Jack Parker’s voice was calm, quiet, but firm—too composed for someone who had just been humiliated in front of a hall full of people.He stood tall, hands loosely at his sides, eyes unreadable as he faced Emily Wilson.Emily's eyebrows twitched in irritation.She had expected tears, shouting, even desperate begging.But not this—never this arrogant composure."Are you serious right now?"She snapped, folding her arms."You think walking away like some noble hero makes you look strong? You came here with nothing, and now you're leaving with even less. Do you think you’re too good for a million dollars?"Before Jack could answer, the heavy oak doors of the ballroom swung open with a sudden creak.The room fell silent.A gasp rippled through the crowd as three figures stepped into the golden light of the New Year celebration—William Thompson, Sarah Thompson, and Daniel Thompson.The Thompsons.The most powerful family in Harmonfield.Emily’s eyes widened.The w
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The ballroom froze in a collective inhale. William Thompson's words—"we'll make both the Brooks family and the Wilsons disappear"—hung in the air like a vapor of ice.Michael Wilson's knees gave way. He sank into a nearby chair, his face ashen, eyes unfocused. Patricia clutched her husband's shoulder, her knuckles white with tension. Emily stood motionless, her crimson dress suddenly feeling too tight, too warm, too visible."I—I don't understand," Michael finally managed, his voice a raspy whisper. "What have we done to deserve this?"William Thompson's steel-blue eyes narrowed. "You've insulted a man worth ten of you, Wilson."The guests began to shift uncomfortably, exchanging glances and subtle nods. Like animals sensing a storm, they began migrating away from the Wilsons, gravitating toward Jack's side of the room.A woman who had laughed at Jack's clothes just minutes earlier now edged closer to him, her smile unnaturally bright. "Mr. Parker, I'm Victoria Chambers. My husband ru
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Sarah Thompson's eyes never left Jack's face as she stepped closer, her presence commanding the attention of everyone in the ballroom. The crystal chandeliers cast golden light across her features, highlighting the determination in her gaze."Jack," she said, her voice clear and unwavering, "I want you to be my boyfriend."The words hung in the air for a heartbeat before the room erupted into gasps and whispers. Wine glasses froze halfway to lips. Conversations died mid-sentence. Even the jazz quartet in the corner missed a note, the saxophone trailing off into silence."Did she just—?" "Sarah Thompson? THE Sarah Thompson?" "Is this actually happening?"Emily Wilson felt her world tilt sideways. The crimson dress she wore suddenly felt too tight, too hot, too visible. Her cheeks burned with a mixture of humiliation and disbelief. Just minutes ago, she had dismissed Jack as beneath her—and now Sarah Thompson, CEO of the Thompson Group and arguably the most powerful woman in Harmonfield
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Ryan Brooks noticed Emily's gaze lingering on the window long after the Thompson cars had disappeared into the night. Her fingers gripped the champagne flute too tightly, her knuckles white against the crystal."Don't look so worried," Ryan said, stepping closer. His cheek still bore the red mark of Jack's hand, but his confidence had returned—bolstered by alcohol and anger. "The Eastvale Project isn't lost yet."Emily turned to him, her eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"Ryan smiled, straightening his tie with practiced casualness. "My father had a meeting with Olivia West last week. From Alphacrest Group."Emily's breath caught. "Olivia West? You're not serious.""Dead serious," Ryan replied, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "They're considering a ten-billion-dollar stake in the project. And my father wants to give the Wilson family thirty percent of our share."The name Olivia West sent a ripple of excitement through Emily. Everyone in Harmonfield's business circles knew her s
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Jack arrived at the Wilson Group building during their extravagant New Year's Eve party.The place was all glitter and gleam—champagne towers, white marble floors shining like mirrors, and chandeliers that looked like they'd cost more than a small house.Luxury cars lined the valet like a showroom of excess.The guests, draped in designer gowns and custom-tailored suits, mingled beneath cascading curtains of gold and silver.Jack, in contrast, wore a plain black coat, dark jeans, and well-worn boots.The doorman raised an eyebrow at first, scanning him from head to toe.But Jack gave a nod so calm, so assured, it confused him."Invitation, sir?"The doorman asked, hesitating.Jack smiled faintly."Not on me. But I’m expected."There was something about his tone—low, measured, almost too polite—that made the man step aside."Of course, sir. Happy New Year."Jack inclined his head.“Likewise.”Inside, the party was a swirl of champagne flutes and superficial laughter.A jazz band played
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The ballroom froze in a collective inhale. William Thompson's words—"we'll make both the Brooks family and the Wilsons disappear"—hung in the air like a vapor of ice.Michael Wilson's knees gave way. He sank into a nearby chair, his face ashen, eyes unfocused. Patricia clutched her husband's shoulder, her knuckles white with tension. Emily stood motionless, her crimson dress suddenly feeling too tight, too warm, too visible."I—I don't understand," Michael finally managed, his voice a raspy whisper. "What have we done to deserve this?"William Thompson's steel-blue eyes narrowed. "You've insulted a man worth ten of you, Wilson."The guests began to shift uncomfortably, exchanging glances and subtle nods. Like animals sensing a storm, they began migrating away from the Wilsons, gravitating toward Jack's side of the room.A woman who had laughed at Jack's clothes just minutes earlier now edged closer to him, her smile unnaturally bright. "Mr. Parker, I'm Victoria Chambers. My husband ru
Chapter 5
I don’t need your money.”Jack Parker’s voice was calm, quiet, but firm—too composed for someone who had just been humiliated in front of a hall full of people.He stood tall, hands loosely at his sides, eyes unreadable as he faced Emily Wilson.Emily's eyebrows twitched in irritation.She had expected tears, shouting, even desperate begging.But not this—never this arrogant composure."Are you serious right now?"She snapped, folding her arms."You think walking away like some noble hero makes you look strong? You came here with nothing, and now you're leaving with even less. Do you think you’re too good for a million dollars?"Before Jack could answer, the heavy oak doors of the ballroom swung open with a sudden creak.The room fell silent.A gasp rippled through the crowd as three figures stepped into the golden light of the New Year celebration—William Thompson, Sarah Thompson, and Daniel Thompson.The Thompsons.The most powerful family in Harmonfield.Emily’s eyes widened.The w
Chapter 4
Michael Wilson sneered. “Regret? Son, the only thing I regret is allowing a man like you to breathe the same air as us.” His wife, Patricia, stepped beside him, her expression twisted with disdain. “You think throwing around some dusty old contract makes you a part of this family? Look at yourself—your suit looks borrowed, your shoes have creases, and your name carries no weight.” Laughter rippled through the wealthy guests again. Murmurs floated like poison in the air. “Who does he think he is?” “Probably borrowed that contract off the internet.” “Pathetic. He must be delusional.” Jack stood straight, his face unreadable. He had endured worse. He wasn’t here for their approval. He was here for honour. Jack’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t flinch. The marriage contract in his hand wasn’t just a piece of paper. It was a legacy. A promise between two men—his grandfather and George Wilson—made in a time of desperation and trust. And if they had known who he really was—what
Chapter 3
All eyes turned toward the grand staircase at the far end of the hall.There, standing in a crimson dress that shimmered like firelight, was Emily Wilson."It's over."Someone muttered from the crowd, breaking the stunned silence.“His lie will soon be exposed because Miss Emily has arrived!”Whispered another guest, leaning toward her companion.“We’ll soon see livestock being dragged from this party.”A young man snorted, earning laughter from the group around him.Jack heard it all.The whispers.The sneers.The laughter.But he didn’t flinch.If that woman truly was Emily Wilson—his fiancée—then he needed to be certain.With steady steps, Jack pushed through the crowd, unfazed by the murmurs or the expensive perfumes that filled the air.He stopped just a few feet in front of the staircase, gazing up at the woman who had caused such a stir.“Are you Emily?”Jack asked, his voice calm and even.Emily’s heels clicked gently as she descended the steps, her expression unreadable.She
Chapter 2
Jack arrived at the Wilson Group building during their extravagant New Year's Eve party.The place was all glitter and gleam—champagne towers, white marble floors shining like mirrors, and chandeliers that looked like they'd cost more than a small house.Luxury cars lined the valet like a showroom of excess.The guests, draped in designer gowns and custom-tailored suits, mingled beneath cascading curtains of gold and silver.Jack, in contrast, wore a plain black coat, dark jeans, and well-worn boots.The doorman raised an eyebrow at first, scanning him from head to toe.But Jack gave a nod so calm, so assured, it confused him."Invitation, sir?"The doorman asked, hesitating.Jack smiled faintly."Not on me. But I’m expected."There was something about his tone—low, measured, almost too polite—that made the man step aside."Of course, sir. Happy New Year."Jack inclined his head.“Likewise.”Inside, the party was a swirl of champagne flutes and superficial laughter.A jazz band played
Chapter 1
Jack Parker didn’t hesitate as he zipped up the sleek, black duffel bag resting at the foot of his bed. The leather caught the light from the window, pale rays of morning slicing across the room like the calm before a storm. He fastened the last strap and turned, his dark green coat already draped over one arm, his movements precise and unhurried. "Draconia awaits," he murmured to himself, voice low but composed. Old Joe stood nearby in his eccentric glory, dressed in a purple kimono patterned with cranes. He sipped jasmine tea, surrounded by three impossibly beautiful women who lounged lazily across the plush divan as though they had all the time in the world. "You remember what I told you, boy?" Old Joe asked, not looking up. Jack nodded. "Yes. Don’t draw attention. Don’t start a war." Joe finally met his gaze, eyes glinting like fire under ash. “That dragon dagger—only draw it when necessary. And that card—” He tossed a leopard-print credit card toward Jack, who caught
