Lucas left Carla and Zoya at their apartment, the weight of the evening lingering like a fog he couldn't shake. The air still felt wrong—heavy, oppressive, like a memory he couldn't place. The raven from earlier haunted his thoughts, its black pearl eyes too knowing, too strange. He'd never seen a bird like that, yet it felt familiar, as if it had been watching him his whole life, waiting for something. His mind churned, replaying the day—the coffee shop, the argument, Carla's hand in his. It was too much, a swirl of emotions that left him dizzy. He trudged back to his small off-campus room, a cramped space with peeling paint and a single window overlooking the street. The walls felt closer tonight, the air stale, as if the room itself was holding its breath.
He sank onto his bed, the springs creaking under his weight, and stared at the ceiling. The buzzing in his head wouldn't stop—a mix of unease and exhaustion. That raven. The storm in the air. The way Carla's laugh had felt like a lifeline. It all tangled together, a knot he couldn't unravel. He closed his eyes, willing sleep to come, but his phone buzzed sharply, slicing through the quiet. The screen lit up with a name: _Arthur Grim_. His father. Lucas's stomach tightened. Arthur was a titan, a multi-millionaire who owned Grim Enterprises, a sprawling empire of construction, real estate, and factories. His name was synonymous with power, his face on billboards and in boardrooms. But Lucas had always kept his distance from that world, its glitter and greed a stark contrast to the quiet life he craved. Wealth didn't move him; it never had. Still, he answered the call, his voice low. "Dad?"
Arthur's voice was steady, commanding, the kind that brooked no argument. "Lucas, I know you don't like these events—parties, networking, all of it. But this one's important. For the business. For us. You need to be here." His tone softened slightly, a rare concession. "I need you here, son." Lucas sighed, rubbing his temple. He hated these gatherings—rooms full of fake smiles and calculated handshakes—but he couldn't say no. Not to his father, not when Arthur's voice carried that rare hint of vulnerability. "I'll be there," Lucas said, his words heavy with resignation. Arthur's relief was palpable, even through the phone. "Good. There's a black Mercedes-Benz S-Class waiting outside your place. Everything's arranged. Just get in and come to the party."
Lucas glanced out the window, and sure enough, a sleek black Mercedes gleamed under the streetlight, its curves catching the dim glow like a predator in wait. He didn't question how his father knew exactly where to send the car—Arthur always knew. Lucas opened his closet, pulling out the tailored black suit he kept for occasions like this. It was Armani, a gift from his father, crisp and perfectly fitted, though he rarely wore it. He dressed quickly, the fabric cool against his skin, and caught his reflection in the mirror. The suit sharpened his features, made his broad shoulders and lean frame stand out, but his eyes—those tired, hazel eyes—betrayed the weight he carried. He ran a hand through his dark hair, trying to tame it, and headed outside.
The Mercedes's door opened as he approached, a female bodyguard stepping out to greet him. She was striking—tall, with sharp cheekbones and jet-black hair pulled into a tight bun. Her suit was as immaculate as his, her posture all business, but her dark eyes held a quiet intensity that made Lucas pause. "Mr. Grim," she said, her voice smooth but firm. "I'm Elena. I'll be escorting you tonight." Lucas nodded, sliding into the backseat. The car smelled of leather and polish, the kind of luxury that felt suffocating. As they drove, Elena's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, watching him with a professional detachment that still felt like scrutiny.
They arrived at the venue, a sprawling estate perched on the cliffs overlooking the Pacific, its golden lights spilling into the night like a beacon of excess. The mansion was a masterpiece of glass and stone, its floor-to-ceiling windows reflecting the ocean's restless waves. Marble columns flanked the entrance, and a massive chandelier hung in the foyer, its crystals scattering light like a galaxy trapped in glass. Exotic cars lined the driveway—Lamborghinis, Ferraris, a Rolls-Royce Phantom gleaming like a polished jewel. The air buzzed with wealth, power, and ambition, a world Lucas had always avoided but could never fully escape.
As he stepped out of the car, three men in black suits appeared, their movements synchronized, their faces unreadable. Bodyguards, clearly, though Lucas hadn't asked for them. They flanked him, silent shadows, and he said nothing, though their presence made his skin prickle. The crowd outside parted as he approached the entrance, their eyes locking onto him. Lucas Grim, son of Arthur Grim, wasn't just a name—he was a symbol. His charm, his quiet intensity, and the deals he'd helped his father close had made him a figure of fascination. Whispers followed him, a low hum of admiration and curiosity.
"God, he's even better-looking in person," a woman in a sequined gown murmured to her friend, her voice carrying as Lucas passed. "And young to have that kind of influence," her friend replied, sipping champagne. "They say he sealed the downtown redevelopment deal single-handedly. Kid's got his father's brain and his mother's looks." Lucas kept his eyes forward, his jaw tight. Reporters hovered near the entrance, their cameras flashing, their questions sharp and eager. "Mr. Grim, any comment on the new factory expansion?" one shouted. "Is it true you're taking over Grim Enterprises soon?" another pressed. Elena and the bodyguards formed a barrier, guiding him through the throng with practiced efficiency. "No questions tonight," Elena said, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade.
Inside, the main hall was a spectacle of opulence. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light across polished marble floors, and waiterings, their diamonds sparkling in the soft glow. Waiters in crisp white shirts wove through the crowd, offering flutes of champagne and delicate hors d'oeuvres. The air smelled of expensive perfume and aged whiskey, and a string quartet played softly in the corner, their music a velvet backdrop to the chatter of the elite. Men in tailored suits and women in designer gowns mingled, their laughter polished, their gestures calculated. This was Arthur Grim's world—a chessboard of power moves and alliances—and Lucas was a reluctant pawn.
He scanned the room, spotting his father near the center, surrounded by a cluster of suits, his silver hair catching the light as he laughed, his presence commanding the space. Arthur was a king here, and Lucas, whether he liked it or not, was his heir. Eyes followed him as he moved through the crowd, their gazes heavy with expectation. He was no stranger to this attention—his reputation preceded him. At twenty-two, he'd already proven himself, stepping in to negotiate deals when his father's temper frayed or his schedule overflowed. The redevelopment project downtown, a multi-billion-dollar venture, had been his triumph, his calm reasoning swaying skeptical investors where Arthur's bluster had failed. "He's the future of Grim Enterprises," a man in a navy blazer said nearby, his voice low but clear. "Charming, sharp, and he doesn't flaunt it like his old man. That's rare." Lucas ignored the comment, his focus on finding a quiet corner to escape the spotlight.
But there was no escape. A woman in a red dress, a reporter's badge pinned discreetly to her clutch, slipped past the bodyguards, her smile sharp. "Lucas, just one question—how does it feel to be the golden boy of Grim Enterprises?" she asked, her recorder poised. Elena stepped forward, but Lucas raised a hand, stopping her. He forced a smile, the one he'd perfected for moments like this. "I'm just here to support my father," he said, his voice smooth but distant. "The company's success is a team effort." It was a practiced line, deflecting without lying, and it worked—she nodded, satisfied, and moved on.
Lucas found a spot near a tall window, the ocean's dark expanse visible beyond the glass. The room felt too warm, the voices too loud. He sipped a glass of water, avoiding the champagne, and let his thoughts drift back to Carla. Her laugh, her hand in his, the way she'd stood by him in the classroom. She was his anchor, the one real thing in a world of facades. But that raven, that strange pressure in the air—it lingered in his mind, a quiet warning he couldn't shake. The party swirled around him, a glittering cage, and he stood at its edge, caught between duty and the pull of something deeper, something he couldn't yet name.
The quartet shifted to a slower piece, its notes heavy with melancholy, and Lucas felt the weight of the night settle deeper into his bones. He was here for his father, for the business, but he didn't belong. Not really. The raven's eyes flashed in his memory, and for a moment, he swore he heard its low, guttural caw over the music, a sound that wasn't there but felt all too real.