The event was a trendous success. People loved how Zyair walked the ramp in an amazing costu, looking mysterious and making a powerful statent.
Returning to the changing rooms Zyair changed into black slacks and a white dress shirt. He kept the mask on and was doing the buttons of his cuffs when Montague Kincaid entered the room. A beaming smile decorated his face as he took hold of his son’s shoulders and gushed.
"The dia is buzzing with coverage of our event. Sponsors are beyond pleased and offers and orders have started to fly in. I am so very proud of you, my son. Your accomplishnts speak of their own. It’s not long before you will step into my shoes and take this company to new heights."
Montague’s health had been deteriorating and he knew it wouldn’t be long before his son would have to take the reins of the company. Zyair slightly shook his head and closed his unfathomable blue eyes before slowly opening them again, he said.
"Dad, this is your company and I only wish to run it by your side. This is our success, not mine."
Mr. Montague’s smile broadened, the pride he felt for his son possessed no parallels. The older man hugged Zyair and he stiffened for a second. For a long ti now he didn’t like being embraced but he let his father do it.
As both n separated, Montague asked.
"So Doran Blackthorn is here for the business deal. B-Couture has seemingly been going through a rough patch. Do you intend to lend a helping hand?"
Sothing clenched inside Zyair at the ntion of that man’s na. Tightening his jaw he took a deep breath to calm himself before answering his father.
"Yes, but just to ruin him but slowly and it won’t be long when his company will be under us," the sinister gleam in his eyes spoke volus.
"Ah! Doran is a very shrewd man. His father was my biggest competitor and Doran is a carbon copy of him. A little too smart than that old weasel I must say. Be careful in your dealings with him," Montague knew Zyair had so personal vendetta with the man but how deep it ran was incomprehensible to him.
"I will be, he won’t even see what hit him. Let’s see if he accepts my proposal today. I am going to offer him a deal he can’t refuse," Zyair spoke in that deep guttural voice of his, that bereft look in his eyes spoke volus of so rembrances of the past.
"I can’t wait to see how you handle this, let’s head over to the conference room," Montague proposed.
"You go ahead Dad, I will join you soon," he calmly replied and saw his father leave. Once the door closed, he took out the pendant of a one-winged angel and wrapped it around his well-defined neck.
Twirling it between his fingers he pressed it once to his covered lips and said a silent prayer. He then tucked it away under his shirt, veiled from the world.
Giving himself one final look in the mirror, he let his fingers smoothen out his silky hair and he left for the conference room. The 17-year-old boy who had been working with him as an intern for the past year was waiting for him just outside. Seeing his boss the boy quickly straightened up from his leaning position and fell into the step with him. His eyes carried so much reverence for the man with the mask.
"Took your sweet ti."
"Perfection always takes ti," he side-eyed the boy who held so much promise.
"You killed it on the ramp today. I still think you should have done Dabi’s costu, would have pulled more audience. People love a good villain," he remarked, swiping up on his tablet and checking different stats.
"There is always next year, Lawrence. Learn to have patience. Once you learn this trait and master it, you will master everything else," Zyair offered him another valuable lesson and Lawrence made a ntal note to rember it.
"I will try but no promises. You know how I can get," Lawrence flashed him his toothy smile.
"And now to teach you another business trick. How to make soone a fool without telling them you are going to make them one." Lawrence’s eyes flashed with excitent at the words of his boss.
"That will be one valuable lesson." They turned towards the conference hall.
Several staff mbers passed by them, offering congratulations. Everyone was in a cheerful mood today. The dia had been kept at bay as their dia manager handled all the dia talks. Zyair was not fond of them, they always tried to pry into his personal life. But so far had failed miserably. No one knew who the man was under the mask.
Reaching the glass door of the Conference Hall, Lawrence threw it open and Zyair confidently walked inside.
Three n were seated in comfortable chairs around the oval marble table. Montague Kincaid was in the head position. Doran and his friend Caleb sat on the left side of Montague.
Caleb scrambled out of his seat, seeing Zyair approach.
"Mr. Zyair, it’s a pleasure," Caleb was a bit taken aback by the powerful presence this man exuded.
"Likewise, have a seat Mr. Caleb," Zyair’s voice had a velvety touch and yet the razor-sharp edge to it wasn’t missed by Doran.
He kept rooted in his seat staring at the man that had risen to where Doran had aspired to. Giving each other only a curt nod Zyair purposefully sat opposite him. Clearly unperturbed by Doran’s deliberate lack of social gracelessness.
A silent tug-of-war comnced between both n as none of them made any effort to lower their gaze. Doran kept a blank expression but his cold stare tried to unsettle Zyair, unaware that nothing could faze this man anymore. He had seen and faced much more than anyone could imagine.
"Let’s begin," Zyair finally broke the awkward silence and comnced the eting.
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