CHAPTER 257: CHAPTER 257: 63 FLOOR

Elias was in hell.

Not a metaphor. Not an exaggeration. A handcrafted, gold-gilded, silence-padded hell scented faintly of bergamot, glass polish, and generational expectations.

A few feet away, a crown sat on a pedestal under a spotlight like it was waiting for a sacrifice. Beside it, the first of three massive wardrobe racks gleamed with custom tailoring tags, embroidery samples, and fabric rolls that probably cost more per meter than his university tuition had per year.

And at the center of it all, seated like the patient architect of his unraveling, was Ego Numen.

Slightly shorter than Victor. Same sharp jawline. Same deep black hair that didn’t dare go grey. Same crimson eyes that looked through you like they were reading your quarterly performance report in real time. And unlike Victor, he was not a god.

But Elias had never met anyone more frighteningly divine in presence.

He looked like a man who hadn’t failed since the century turned and hadn’t forgiven a mistake since the one before it.

Elias stood frozen just inside the private suite of the Numen Corp’s executive floor, wondering for the thirteenth time how exactly this had become his life. His hands were still cold from the elevator. His jaw was still clenched from the way Ashwin had almost hauled him in like cargo. And his pride was still smarting from the betrayal.

Because Ruo had known. She’d known exactly what kind of meeting this would be, and she’d sent him a laughing emoji and a wine glass when he asked if she was attending.

And Victor?

Victor had committed war crimes.

He had the audacity, the gall, and the strategic brilliance to delegate this to him. Had texted Ego with the words: Elias is sharp, stylish, and understands presentation. Let him make the selections. He knows what I like.

Elias was going to stab him with something decorative.

He was going to find the most gilded letter opener in the Numen archive and stab him with it. Symbolically. Elegantly.

If he survived this.

"Tea?" Ego offered, gesturing toward the untouched porcelain set on the low glass table.

"No, thank you," Elias said, too polite to say ’I know better.’

Ego hummed softly, a sound that held the weight of dynasties. He set his own teacup down meticulously. "I understand this is... not your ideal way to spend a Friday morning."

Elias stared at him. "You made me sign an NDA before I even saw the sash options."

"There’s a lot of proprietary embroidery involved."

"Is there also classified tulle?"

Ego’s smile flickered into existence and vanished again. "You’re the first of my children’s partners who has accepted a full political ceremony. I intend to make it flawless."

"Accept is a hard word," Elias said, exhaling as he finally sank into one of the absurdly expensive chairs. The leather sighed beneath him like even it knew he didn’t belong here. "More like... imposed."

He glanced at the racks again. One of them had what looked like a ceremonial sash with Numen Engineering Division stitched in thread so fine it might have been spider silk. God, if there was a company dress code for weddings, he was seconds away from being assigned a quarterly KPI.

"Fine," he muttered. "I will cooperate."

Ego smiled again.

It wasn’t even malicious. That’s what made it worse. It was the smile of a man who had won a negotiation he hadn’t realized was happening.

Elias straightened, his spine going stiff. "But," he said clearly, "no mantles, capes, crowns, or headpieces. No floor-length ceremonial jackets with your son’s face embroidered on the back."

Ego tilted his head slightly, like a hawk watching something flap too loudly before it died.

Elias pushed on. "Nothing ridiculous, royal. Business casual. Normal wedding."

Ego folded his hands over his knee. "Define normal."

Elias stared. "You have four children and not a single one has explained this to you?"

"They’ve all refused public ceremonies." Ego’s tone was level. Unbothered. "Ruo said she’d rather climb into an active reactor core. Samael broke off his engagement the moment I sent a design team. And Victor, well," he made a small, dismissive gesture, "delegated to you."

"I noticed," Elias said, teeth very slightly clenched. "He also signed off on a cake design without telling me."

"It’s a modest cake," Ego offered.

"It’s seven tiers and shaped like a tower."

"Symbolism," Ego said, with no trace of irony. "Stability. Legacy."

Elias inhaled slowly through his nose, as if steadying himself for exposure to an industrial solvent. "Business casual. That’s my only line. That and no personal branding."

"I can assure you..."

"I saw a cufflink with the Numen logo on it," Elias said.

Ego didn’t blink. "It’s tasteful."

"It lights up when rotated."

"A feature, not a flaw."

Elias pinched the bridge of his nose. "Victor’s going to pay for this. You know that, right?"

Ego’s smile softened by a fraction. "He won’t. But you can make him believe he is, if it helps."

There was a pause. A long, cold, exquisite pause.

Elias let his hand drop. "You’re the devil."

"I’m an executive."

"Same thing."

They stared at each other, the silence heavy with something unspoken, mutual recognition, perhaps, or the slow, dawning understanding that neither of them was going to yield.

Ego nodded once. "I will instruct the tailors to prepare options in charcoal, navy, and pearl gray. No mantles. No embroidery above the wrist or below the collarbone."

"Add: no brocade, no feathers, no hidden voice activators."

"...Compromise," Ego said mildly.

"Survival," Elias replied, standing up.

A soft knock interrupted them. One of the assistants entered, wheeling in a final set of prototype suits. Elias didn’t move. He just watched as the woman placed three boxes in a neat row and bowed before exiting.

The top box gleamed.

Elias narrowed his eyes. "Is that velvet?"

"No," Ego said.

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"It’s armored velvet."

Elias turned and walked to the window. "I am going to jump out of this building."

"You’re on the 63rd floor," Ego offered helpfully.

"Exactly."