Chapter 1: The South Korean Silence
Part 1: The World Business Awards Night
Current Time: March 23, 2026 Monday, 8:00 PM KST
The air inside the custom-built Fortuna-Adler Sky-Yacht was rich with the scent of aged leather and absolute victory. Outside the panoramic windows, the Korean peninsula was a vast, glittering carpet of city lights, a landscape of economic domination that belonged, tonight, to them.
Celestt Fortuna Adler reclined on the ivory leather bench, her eyes closed, but her mind sharply awake. She wasn't just wealthy; she was the architect of the Fortuna conglomerate, the woman who had merged old-world industrial might with the digital age, creating a behemoth that dominated three continents.
A low thrum resonated through the cabin floor, the jet easing into its smooth descent toward the private landing deck of Seoul's Imperial Crown Hotel.
"NEWS FLASH: Harry and Celestt, the most successful couple of 2026." a digital headline scrolled across the large display screen embedded in the wall. The Subtitle: The first quarter of 2026 has spoken. The Fortuna-Adler is the top-billed conglomerate in the world.
Celestt allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. It wasn't about the money, but the win.
She turned her attention to her husband, Harry. He was across the cabin, bathed in the soft, recessed light, handsome in a way that had charmed the world for twenty years. He is the Adler, the perfect counterweight to her Fortuna intensity. He was currently reviewing a glossy financial report, his jaw set in an expression of studious dedication.
"How's Hugo?" Celestt asked, her voice clear and melodic, cutting through the silence.
Harry didn't look up immediately. He sighed, a sound that could be interpreted as either fond amusement or mild exasperation.
"He's thirty-four, love. TheAnesthesiologist slash Supermodel." Harry finally said, dropping the report onto the cushion beside him. "He's probably perfecting a smokey eye while saving a life somewhere. He'll be there. He always surprises us."
Celestt didn't press. Hugo was the one delicate nerve in the titanium armor of their life. Their only son was a prodigy of contradictions. The man who could hold a heart steady under a scalpel and then walk a Milan runway.
She moved from the bench to the back of the cabin, toward the luxurious, vast, and comfy queen-sized bed. It was an extravagant feature, reserved for those who viewed transatlantic flights as a mere extension of their living room.
Just forty-five minutes before we have to be 'on.' I'll conserve the energy for the cameras. She closed her eyes, practicing the exact tilt of her head she would use when accepting the award.
Meanwhile, Harry pulled his personal satellite phone from an inner pocket. The screen shielded by his hand, he quickly typed a message to a secure contact. "Are we all ready?"
He waited a fraction of a second, his gaze fixed on the quiet figure of his wife. The confirmation ping came almost immediately. Adevilish smirk ghosted across his lips, fleeting and sharp, gone before the light could catch it. It was the face of a man who had already won the whole game.
Part 2: The Eyeliner and the Lie
The Sky-Yacht made a near-silent landing on the jet deck high above the Imperial Crown Hotel. This wasn't just a hotel; it was a conjugal property, a testament to the combined power of the two families, and the venue for tonight's World Business Awards.
They werenever jet-lagged. Wealthy people, the kind who owned their altitude, used specialized travel protocols to eliminate the very concept of jet lag. They stepped onto the deck, vibrant and ready for the media glare.
But Celestt didn't wait. She adjusted the skirt of her pristine white gown and started moving toward the hotel entrance with the focused energy of a CEO who considered punctuality a divine law. She left Harry to follow her, a man simply keeping pace with his destiny.
"I need to be early, Harry! The press will be frantic!" she called back, already reaching the elevator bank that led down to the residential lofts.
Harry simply shook his head with a placid, indulgent smile for the two security guards. "My wife, always the master of the clock."
On the44th floor, there were only two loft units. One was the opulent, duplex penthouse belonging to Celestt and Harry. The other was the sleek, modern residence of their one and only son, Hugo.
Inside the latter, Hugo Adler was meticulously applying a subtle winged eyeliner in his vanity room. His suit was a midnight blue velvet that screamed 'effortless' while concealing a hundred hours of tailoring.
He text to someone.
Hugo to "DaddyTop":DaddyTop, did you receive on where I'll be after this press?
He needed a secure confirmation. The details of his weekend rendezvous, his true life, had to be separate from his public persona tonight.
Before he could get a reply, a whirlwind of white silk and diamond earrings burst into his living space. The door to his loft unit, a heavy slab of African walnut, had been thrown open without a knock.
Celestt rushed in, her eyes bright. "Where's my Hugo?" she shouted, a playful, high-energy declaration of maternal ownership.
Hugo paused, the fine brush frozen just above his lashes. He slowly lowered his hand, his eyes rolling heavenward inside the large mirror. Just one more moment of peace.
He sighed and stepped out of the vanity room. "Mom, we're kind of late," he said, injecting a weary tone into his voice. "It's already eight in the evening; the press should be disappointed. Shall we not go and just enjoy Seoul, South Korea?"
Celestt closed the distance in two strides, her energy a palpable force field. She enveloped him in a fierce, perfumed hug. "No, we're late, and I'm sure the media will wait for us..." She pulled back, tilting her head with a conspiratorial twinkle.
"...and... you love it, right? We will be there at ten without anyone noticing us?" She followed the question with a sudden tickle to the side tummy of her thirty-four-year-old son, a gesture rooted in deep affection and long habit.
Hugo managed a genuine laugh, the tension momentarily easing. "Ten, Mom. Like ghosts at a royal ball."
Part 3: The Shot and the Silence
The limousine, a sleek white beast, deposited them at the hotel's back entrance at precisely 09:14 PM. This was by design: avoid the initial crush, and make a dramatic, late entrance after the main awards were already underway.
Harry was already inside. He had used a separate service elevator and was seated at the Fortuna-Adler table, an oasis of stark white formalwear from head to toe in the opulent, dimly lit ballroom.
Hugo followed an usher to their table. He was about to sit in his chair, which was strategically two chairs away from his father, offering a respectful but definite space.
Harry leaned forward, his voice low. "Where's your queen? Did she wander off to adjust her hair?"
Hugo didn't answer right away. The familial tension was already thick. He simply shook his head, a gesture meaning I don't know, and frankly, I'm too tired to care.
At that exact moment, Celestt was completing her perfectly choreographed exit from the white limousine. She stood, radiant in her white dress, her wrist adorned with a silver watch that cost more than a small island, and her ears dripping with flawless diamond earrings.
She took one majestic step onto the pavement. After a few steps;
BANG!
The city's quiet vanished as a single, brutal shot cut through the air, sharp, loud, and utterly final. The bullet slammed into the ground just beside her left foot, sending a spray of asphalt shrapnel into the air.
Celestt is a woman of instant, decisive action. Not a woman who froze. She immediately pivoted, hiking her dress and running toward the nearest safety. The brightly lit entrance of the event venue.
Before she could take two full strides, a heavy, white carscreamed around the corner of the loading dock. It was aimed not to kill, but tobang her from her back. A sickening, dull, metallic thud that sent Celestt flying forward.
The sound reached the ballroom like a crack of thunder: gunshot and the echoes of screeching tires.
Hugo, Harry, and hundreds of the world's elite heard it. A collective, stunned silence fell over the tables, followed by a rush of confused murmurs.
Harry surged to his feet, overturning his chair with a loud scrape. Hugo was right behind him. They sprinted toward the back entrance, along with hotel security.
The scene outside was a nightmare rendered in the stark gleam of emergency lights. Celestt is on the ground.She lay still, crumpled a few feet from the rear bumper of the white car,which is now speeding away.Celestt's few drops of blood glistened, stark red against the grey asphalt.
The frantic scenarios erupted: police radioing static commands, ambulance sirens wailing in the distance, and two paramedics running with their stretcher toward the fallen mogul.
Harry reached the scene first. His breath caught, not in a scream, but a devastating, silent hitch. He clapped his hands over his mouth, not to prevent a shout, but to stifle the sound of his shock, his eyes wide and unblinking as he stared at the pool of red under his wife's head. He was a professional, even in his terror.
He spun around, grabbing Hugo. Not gently, but fiercely, amanly but careful grip on his son's chest. Harry pulled Hugo backward, away from the chaos, away from the scene, his eyes scanning the high points of the adjacent buildings.
"Move! Now!" Harry commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rasp. "They might circle back. Or there could be asniper."
He propelled Hugo, the boy's face a mask of horrified confusion, back toward the illusory safety of the brightly lit venue. They did not look back at the stretcher. They just walked inside the venue, disappearing from the brutal reality, leaving Celestt. And the truth, on the cold asphalt.