Chapter 1 — The Doors Were Never Meant to Open
Chapter 1 — The Doors Were Never Meant to Open
The echo of the final steel barrier still lingered in the ballroom.
No one moved.
Even the musicians remained frozen, their instruments hanging uselessly in trembling hands.
The man standing before me—Damien Hawthorne—finally took a step backward.
His arrogance had vanished.
"What is this?"
His voice cracked.
"You can't do this!"
I tilted my head.
"Actually..."
"I already did."
Suddenly dozens of black-suited security officers emerged from hidden corridors surrounding the ballroom.
Not hotel security.
Private tactical operators.
Each wore the silver phoenix insignia.
Every weapon remained lowered.
But every eye was fixed on Damien.
Guests gasped.
One elderly senator whispered,
"...The Phoenix Guard."
A billionaire across the room nearly dropped his glass.
"No..."
"They only answer to one family."
Damien laughed nervously.
"This is ridiculous."
"My father owns this city."
One of the guards calmly replied,
"Not tonight."
The ballroom doors opened once more.
Everyone turned.
An elderly man walked inside wearing nothing more expensive than a charcoal-gray suit.
No jewelry.
No bodyguards beside him.
Yet every guard immediately stood at attention.
The room became silent.
Someone whispered,
"...Richard Sinclair."
Another guest went pale.
"The founder..."
"The man who owns Hawthorne Holdings..."
Damien frowned.
"My father does business with him."
The old man never even looked at Damien.
He walked directly toward me.
Then...
He gently brushed a strand of hair away from my bruised face.
"My little girl..."
"I'm sorry I arrived late."
The room stopped breathing.
Damien stared at me.
May you like
His lips slowly parted.
"Daughter...?"
