December 27th, the skies over Crestfall were burdened with lead-gray clouds, cold winds swept up yellowed leaves across icy streets, a forewarning of the storm to co.
As the Spring Festival approached, the atmosphere that should have been festive and peaceful was utterly disrupted by several explosive rumors circulating.
First was the ongoing news of Theodore Sterling, chairman of The Sterling Group, who had fallen from a building and had beco a vegetable, fueling endless speculation.
Then ca a more explosive headline quietly spreading through Kaelon’s high society circles: Crown Prince Shane Donovan and The Sterlings’ darling Stella Sterling had called off their engagent!
Many details ca with the rumors, claiming Shane Donovan was involved in Theodore’s fall, and Stella, overco with grief and anger, broke up with him on the spot.
So people swore they saw Shane Donovan absent from The Donovan Group for several days, drowning himself in alcohol, becoming utterly desolate, and leaving all affairs temporarily in his deputy’s hands.
For a while, gossip was rampant and unstoppable.
...
anwhile, in a secretive underground bar in the western part of the city, the lighting was dim, the air thick with the fus of tobacco and alcohol.
Owen Callahan nestled in the corner booth, surrounded by empty liquor bottles.
He stared at the phone screen showing the news about the cancelation of the Donovan and Sterling engagent, a twisted but satisfying smile spreading across his lips.
"Shane Donovan, your day has co!" He took a fierce gulp of spicy liquor, the alcohol burning his throat, yet fueling his excitent, "How does it feel to be dumped by a woman? Huh?"
He seed to envision Shane Donovan’s despairing figure, years of pent-up resentnt finding an outlet, his fingers shaking with excitent.
Just then, his phone buzzed, the caller shown as Philip Donovan.
Owen sneered, lazily answering, his tone gleeful, "Hello? Uncle, did you see the news? Didn’t I say so? How’s my plan going?"
From the other end, Philip Donovan’s voice was unusually calm, even carrying a hint of caution: "Don’t be too happy too soon, Shane is not soone to be trifled with..."
Owen spat disdainfully, "Shane isn’t a god! For Stella, that bitch, what wouldn’t he do? Wasn’t it just like back then..."
His words cut off, a flash of malice in his eyes, he pursed his lips, asking in a low voice, "Uncle, shouldn’t we proceed to the next step?"
Philip Donovan seed heavily burdened with concerns, "Wait a bit longer, until we can confirm everything clearly."
Owen showed impatience, "Wait for what? Now is the best chance! If we apply just a bit more pressure, we could completely destroy them..."
Philip Donovan interrupted him sternly, "I said, don’t act rashly, don’t forget who supplied you with the photos, who helped plan all this!"
"Yes, you helped ." Owen’s voice dropped, yet carried a reckless madness, "But Uncle, you mustn’t forget, even if you hadn’t reached out to , I’d surely seek revenge against them!"
His breathing grew heavy, as though he was plunged into a painful mory, his voice hoarse and distorted: "All my misfortunes are thanks to Shane Donovan and Aidan Sterling! If not for them, I wouldn’t be reduced to this state! My dad... that old bastard, just because he feared offending Donovan and Sterlings, he wants to sever ties with ! I have nothing now! Absolutely nothing!"
He suddenly smashed the bottle he held to the ground, glass shards and liquor splattering everywhere, frightening the punks nearby into silence.
"My life’s been completely ruined by those two!" Owen roared into the phone, "The only reason I live now is to see them suffer a thousand tis, ten thousand tis more than !"
He paused, his face revealing a vicious smile, his tone turning eerie, "Uncle, do you know what these two n care about most? It’s Stella! That bitch! All my misfortunes started with her! If it weren’t for her, how could I have ended up in this miserable state!"
"I’d very much like to see... how she’s different from other won."
He licked his chapped lips, his eyes muddied, "When pressed underneath, doesn’t she cry out the sa? I want to see what Shane Donovan’s woman, Aidan Sterling’s sister feels like! I’ll make them realize that the treasure they hold dear is nothing more than a worn-out shoe I’ve ruined! I wonder if they’ll regret everything they did to !"
The other end of the line was silent for a long ti, Philip Donovan seemingly weighing the pros and cons.
Owen’s craziness was beyond his expectations, but perhaps this madness was precisely what he needed.
A rational ally is hard to control, but a lunatic consud by hatred is the best kind of weapon.
"...What do you intend to do?" Philip Donovan finally spoke, his voice devoid of emotion.
Owen, seeing no further opposition, grinned triumphantly, "Stella is now isolated and vulnerable, ntally fragile, the perfect ti to strike. Give a few n, and I’ll ’comfort’ her... and incidentally, break her beyond repair. Then, send the videos and photos to Shane and Aidan; I wonder if they’ll go mad!"
Philip Donovan contemplated for a mont, but ultimately, the fear and hatred he held for Shane Donovan overpowered his caution.
"Fine. I’ll arrange a couple of n for you. Rember, keep your actions clean, leave no evidence. Once it’s done, you won’t be without reward."
"Deal!" Owen hung up excitedly, his eyes gleaming with determined malevolence.
He tilted back a glass of leftover liquor, then pulled out another unregistered phone, flipping to Stella’s number, beginning to compose a ssage...
...
anwhile, Philip Donovan also hung up the phone, made his way in his wheelchair to The Donovan Group headquarters, unimpeded reached the doors of Rhys Lennox’s office.
He gestured for his confidants to wait outside, handling the wheelchair himself, slowly pushed open the office door.
Rhys Lennox was casually lounging in his broad chair, feet propped against the tabletop.
Between his fingers he held a cigarette, but didn’t smoke, letting the ember flicker at his fingertips, burning a long ash.
His raven-dyed short hair was crisp and unwieldy, his brow lowered, concealing the usual trace of hostility in his eyes, leaving only a deep, seemingly unfathomable gloom.
The door was silently opened.
The wheelchair rolled across the thick carpet, emitting a dull sound.
Rhys didn’t lift his eyelids, his tone carrying its usual impatience: "Get lost."
"Rhys."
Rhys’s feet abruptly dropped and at the sa ti, he raised his eyes, his dark gaze sharp like blades of ice, directly towards the uninvited Philip Donovan.
"Who allowed you in?"
Philip Donovan forced a smile on his face, paired with the still visible bruises and his stiff plastered leg, presenting an eerie appearance.
He maneuvered the wheelchair closer, almost touching the desk.
"I’ve co to bring you a generous gift."
Philip Donovan’s voice dropped, his eyes gleaming coldly, "A gift that will let you gain everything."
"You?" Rhys sneered, reclining back in his chair, flicking the ash off his cigarette with nonchalant grace, but his gaze full of mockery, "Little Uncle, even now you can’t ensure your own safety, what can you offer ?"
"The Donovan Group." Philip Donovan articulated each word, his voice seductive, "And... Stella."
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