"It's a surprise your so-called Emperor agreed to meet us," Rowen muttered, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorframe of the conference room. His tone dripped with mockery.
Thayer, standing stiffly beside him, replied without hesitation. "Our Emperor takes responsibility for what happened. The stakeholders asked for answers, and he intends to provide them."
A smirk tugged at Rowen's lips. "Then I expect a very good explanation. Tell me—will that useless CEO of yours bother to show up?"
"Our Emperor will speak with you himself," Thayer said evenly. "He holds himself accountable."
Rowen gave a short, sharp laugh. "Accountable? Or covering for incompetence? From here it looks like your new CEO is nothing more than a polished ornament."
Thayer's jaw tightened. "Our Emperor values Mr. Virellians Capa—"
But Rowen rolled his eyes, already pushing the door open. "Save the loyalty speech." He strode inside with Robin close at his heels.
Thayer followed, irritation simmering beneath his composed expression. Arrogant to the bone, he thought, forcing his pace steady.
Inside, the atmosphere was thick with unease. The long table was lined with Nexus's partners and stakeholders, their faces tense, eyes sharp with expectation. But all attention inevitably drifted toward the head of the room.
A high-backed chair stood there, turned away from them. One hand rested on its arm, pale against the dark leather. At the end of the sleeve, a small pin glinted—the sigil of Raventhorne.
That single emblem was enough to remind them all who sat there. The Emperor.
And still, he had not moved.
The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive. No one dared move.
Then the hand on the armrest shifted, fingers drumming once before going still. The faint rustle of fabric followed, as though he had straightened in his seat.
He did not turn. He didn't need to.
Even from behind, his presence filled the room—measured, unhurried, absolute. The Raventhorne sigil at his sleeve caught the light, a quiet reminder of power more dangerous than raised voices or threats.
A ripple of unease passed through the table. Several stakeholders lowered their gazes; one cleared his throat nervously. Rowen's smirk faltered for the briefest second before he masked it with a scoff.
Thayer stood a fraction straighter, every nerve on edge.
And then, Nyxen spoke. His voice was calm, almost too calm, carrying across the room with effortless command.
"You demanded answers," he said. "So hear them. From me alone."
The words landed heavier than any outburst could have.
"You agreed to meet us, but you won't even face us?" Rowen sneered, eyes fixed on the high-backed chair turned away from the table.
A rasped voice answered, calm yet edged with command. "The fact that I agreed to meet you at all is more than you deserve."
Rowen's smirk widened. "Still arrogant, even after what happened? You owe us an explanation. Your negligence nearly put everyone at risk—"
"Mr. Virellian."
The single name cut through his words like a blade. The voice was quiet, but it rolled across the room like thunder. The entire table fell silent. Several of the partners froze in their seats, as though the sound itself had rooted them in place.
"You seem… very invested in the incident," the Emperor continued, still not turning to face them. "Almost as if you and your companions had something to do with it."
Gasps broke the silence. Dozens of eyes shifted toward Rowen at once, suspicion hardening in their gazes.
Rowen shot to his feet, face flushed. "What the hell are you saying?" His voice cracked with outrage. He looked around the table, but the room had already turned on him. Condemnation gleamed in their eyes, subtle but sharp, as if they had been waiting for someone to blame.
"You can't honestly believe I—" He stopped himself, forced a bitter laugh, and straightened his coat as if brushing off the weight of their stares. "Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous."
The Emperor's voice came again, smooth this time, almost amused. "Calm yourself, Mr. Virellian. I didn't say it was you. I only observed how defensive you seem. That alone is… interesting."
A ripple of unease traveled across the table. Rowen clenched his fists but bit back a retort.
The Emperor continued, voice steady and unhurried. "Nexus accepts full responsibility for what happened. We are already tracing the cause, and I promise the one behind it will face consequences."
One of the stakeholders leaned forward. "We only hope you succeed. That surge felt targeted. If Nexus's system cannot protect us, then we are not safe at all."
"Of course," the Emperor replied, his hand tightening on the armrest. "We will not rest until the matter is resolved." For a moment, his tone darkened, heavy with something unspoken—his own thoughts lingering on Riven's compromise.
Then, more composed: "As compensation, Nexus will cover all medical expenses."
Murmurs stirred around the table, some relieved, others dissatisfied.
Rowen let out a short laugh, cold and derisive. "That's it? A few medical bills? I think your rookie CEO should be the one making a public apology. His incompetence is why we're in this mess."
He leaned back in his chair, a smirk returning. "Imagine that—the mighty Emperor hiring an unknown nobody to run a global IT giant. Ever since he took over, Nexus has been stumbling. Surely even you can see that."
The words lingered in the air, heavy and deliberate, as every eye flicked once more toward the Emperor's still-turned chair.
Nyxen's eyes narrowed at Rowen's words. He understood perfectly what the man was trying to do—poison the room against Riven, turn doubt into open mistrust.
His voice cut through the silence, low and rasped. "You sound jealous, Rowen. Jealous that your little brother chose to work for me… instead of standing at your side."
Rowen stiffened. "What?" The word burst from him, raw and incredulous.
All around the table, heads turned. The revelation was no secret, but it was rarely spoken aloud: Riven, the youngest of the Virellians, the heir once whispered to succeed Lucien himself, was serving their rival. His absence for five years had been a mystery, his return even more so. Now he sat at the helm of Nexus, the very company that had shattered Paragon.
Nyxen's voice held the faintest curl of amusement. "Don't worry. Nexus takes good care of him. He's a valuable asset—more valuable here than he ever was with you."
Rowen's jaw tightened, but the damage was done. Suspicion hung heavy in the air, the stakeholders' eyes gleaming with quiet judgment.
Nyxen leaned back. "Thayer."
The secretary stepped forward at once, bent close to listen, then straightened and faced the room with practiced composure.
"We'll be docking in a few minutes," Thayer announced. "Thank you for attending the Nexus anniversary gathering. The Emperor has nothing further to add. You'll be updated on the investigation's outcome. Our escorts will see you safely out."
As he spoke, the doors opened and suited men entered, guiding the partners and clients toward the exit. No one protested. The Emperor's silence was final.
Once the last of them had left and guards stationed themselves outside the doors, Nyxen finally rose. His voice dropped. "How's Lior?"
"Still asleep," Thayer replied. "Should I wake him?"
"Yes. Take him to Riven."
Thayer hesitated. "About the scent signature…"
Nyxen stopped mid-step but did not look back.
"It reads like an S-class. Stronger, even. That may be why—"
"I know," Nyxen said flatly. "Which is why the suppression system must be upgraded. He was the target."
"You have an idea who—"
"Not yet." The answer was curt, final.
He left the conference room and stepped into the adjoining chamber. When he emerged again, the Emperor was gone. In his place stood Eli, the quiet beta IT specialist—another mask for the man no one dared face.