The War God’s Return

Chapter 7: Wedding of Betrayal

The Peninsula Hotel stood like a monument to wealth and power, its white marble facade gleaming in the morning sun. Red carpets cascaded down the entrance steps. Luxury vehicles lined the circular driveway, each one worth more than most people earned in a lifetime.

The wedding of Rostella Baker and Preson Baldwin. The event of the season.

"My Lord, the security is extensive," Serena observed quietly as our car pulled to a stop several blocks away. "At least fifty guards, multiple checkpoints, facial recognition at the entrance."

"I noticed." I studied the building through the tinted window. "Wait here with the squad. I'm going in alone."

"My Lord—"

"If I need you, I'll signal." I met her concerned gaze. "Trust me, Serena."

She bowed her head reluctantly. "As you command, War God."

I slipped out of the vehicle and melted into the crowd of guests making their way toward the hotel. The guards checked invitations meticulously, but guards only see what they expect to see. A slight adjustment in posture, a confident stride, and I was just another well-dressed guest among hundreds.

The main hall was obscene in its opulence. Crystal chandeliers dripped from vaulted ceilings. Gold leaf decorated every surface. Massive flower arrangements—each one probably costing thousands—lined the walls. A stage had been erected at the far end, draped in white silk and more flowers.

This was what my family's blood had purchased. This grotesque display of stolen wealth.

I found a position near the back, partially concealed by one of the towering floral displays. Guests milled about, their conversations a dull roar of congratulations and social maneuvering. I recognized many faces—business leaders, political figures, members of prominent families. All here to witness Rostella Baker's triumph.

"Damian?"

The voice cut through my thoughts like a rusty blade. I turned slowly.

A woman stood there, her face vaguely familiar beneath too much makeup. Her designer dress hugged curves that hadn't existed when we were younger. Behind her, a small group of people—three women and two men—all staring at me with expressions ranging from shock to barely concealed glee.

"Damian Reynolds?" the woman repeated, her voice rising. "Is that really you?"

Memory supplied a name: Amelia Mancini. We'd been in the same class years ago. She'd always been jealous, petty, desperate for attention she never quite received.

"Amelia." I kept my voice neutral.

"Oh my god, it IS you!" She turned to her companions with theatrical amazement. "Everyone, look! It's Damian Reynolds! The Reynolds family heir—or should I say, the former heir?"

They gathered closer, a pack of hyenas scenting weakness.

"Wow, Damian," one of the men said with mock sympathy. "Long time no see. We heard about your family's... troubles."

"Troubles?" Amelia laughed, sharp and cruel. "Is that what we're calling it? The Reynolds family went completely bankrupt! Destroyed! They lost everything!" She circled me slowly, eyes scanning my clothes with obvious disdain. "Though I have to say, you're looking... surprisingly decent. Did you rent that suit for today?"

"What are you doing here, Damian?" another woman asked, her voice dripping with false concern. "This is Rostella's wedding. Surely you're not here to cause problems? That would be so pathetic."

"I heard the Reynolds family went bankrupt and everyone died," the second man added, not even trying to hide his satisfaction. "Guess we were wrong about the 'everyone' part. One survivor. How tragic."

Amelia stepped closer, invading my space. "Let me guess—you're here to beg Rostella for money, aren't you? That's why you crashed her wedding. You're hoping she'll take pity on her pathetic ex-fiancé and throw you some scraps."

"That's so embarrassing," one of the women stage-whispered. "He really has no shame."

"Remember how he used to act in school?" Amelia continued, her voice carrying to nearby guests who were starting to notice the commotion. "So arrogant. So superior. Always throwing his family's wealth around like it made him special. And now look at him—a beggar at his ex-fiancée's wedding to a better man."

"Rostella definitely traded up," the first man agreed. "Preson Baldwin is a B-ranked family heir. The Baldwin family is powerful, influential, wealthy beyond measure. What was Damian again? Oh right—nothing. Nobody from a dead family."

I remained silent, watching them perform their little show.

"You know what I always thought?" Amelia's eyes glittered with malice. "I always thought Rostella was too good for you. She was smart, beautiful, and ambitious. And you? You were just lucky to be born into money. You never earned anything. Never deserved anything." She smiled viciously. "Turns out I was right. She saw through you and found someone actually worthy of her."

"Absolutely," another woman chimed in. "Rostella was wise to leave you. She saw the writing on the wall—the Reynolds family was going nowhere. But the Baldwin family? They're ascending. In a few years, they'll be A-ranked, maybe even S-ranked!"

"Do you even have an invitation, Damian?" Amelia demanded suddenly. "Because I don't remember seeing your name on the guest list. Actually, I'm certain you weren't invited. Which means—" Her voice rose triumphantly. "—you're trespassing! You crashed a private event! Security!"

Several guards turned their attention toward us.

"This man doesn't belong here!" Amelia pointed at me like I was a criminal. "He's an uninvited guest! He's probably here to steal something or cause trouble! Someone throw him out!"

The guards approached, hands moving toward their weapons.

"Please come with us, sir," the lead guard said firmly. "If you don't have an invitation—"

"He doesn't!" Amelia interrupted shrilly. "I know for a fact he doesn't! Rostella would never invite her bankrupt ex-fiancé to her wedding! That would be insane!"

"Sir, we need to escort you out," the guard repeated, reaching for my arm.

I moved.

The guard's hand never made contact. I deflected his grip, stepped inside his guard, and struck. Not hard enough to cause permanent damage—just enough. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he hit the marble floor.

The second guard reacted faster, his hand going for his radio. I was faster. Three strikes—solar plexus, temple, pressure point on the neck. He dropped beside his colleague.

Amelia screamed. "He's attacking the guards! He's insane! Someone stop him!"

Two of my former classmates—the men who'd been mocking me moments ago—rushed forward with more courage than sense.

"You crazy bastard!" one shouted. "You think you can just—"

I sidestepped his clumsy charge and struck the back of his knee. He went down hard. His friend swung a wild punch that I caught easily, twisting his wrist until he yelped and collapsed.

The whole encounter took perhaps ten seconds.

Amelia and the other women had backed away, their screams filling the hall. Other guests were turning now, conversations dying as they realized something was happening.

"You're a monster!" Amelia shrieked. "A violent monster! Someone call the police! Call more security!"

Footsteps thundered from multiple directions. More guards, alerted by the commotion.

And then a new voice cut through the chaos—cold, authoritative, dripping with contempt.

"What is the meaning of this disturbance?"

A man emerged from the crowd. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing an expensive suit that screamed military precision. His face was hard, scarred, the face of someone who'd seen violence and dealt with it in equal measure. He carried himself with the confidence of a man accustomed to command.

Behind him, more guards formed a wall of muscle and weapons.

"Mr. Ridge!" Amelia rushed toward him. "Thank god you're here! This madman attacked the guards! He's trespassing! He's—"

"Silence," Ridge said, not looking at her. His eyes were fixed on me, assessing, calculating. "You. State your name and purpose."

"Damian Reynolds," I said calmly. "I'm here for the wedding."

Something flickered in Ridge’s expression—recognition, perhaps. "The Reynolds family. I thought that bloodline was extinct."

"Disappointed?"

His jaw tightened. "You have no invitation. You've assaulted security personnel. You're disrupting an event by joining two prominent families." He took a step forward, and the air seemed to grow heavier. "You're insulting the dignity of both the Baker family and the Baldwin family. That is unacceptable."

"Dignity?" I smiled, and it felt like ice spreading across my face. "Trash families like the Bakers and Baldwins aren't worthy to speak of dignity in front of me."

The entire hall fell silent.

Stone's expression darkened into something murderous. "What did you say?"

"You heard me." I met his gaze without flinching. "They're trash. Parasites who built their power on betrayal and murder. And you—" I gestured at him dismissively. "—you're just another dog protecting his masters."

Ridge’s hand moved toward his weapon. Around us, at least twenty guards raised their guns.

"Last chance," Ridge growled. "Leave now, or we will remove you. Permanently."

I didn't move. Didn't blink.

"Your choice," I said quietly. "But I'm not leaving until I see the bride."