CHAPTER 267: CHAPTER 267: THE ENGAGEMENT GALA

The door opened.

The sound outside hit first: flashes, polite shouting, and the hum of drones overhead, all swallowed by the velvet ropes and security lines. Elias stepped out into the chaos with the calm of someone who had done this before and hated every second of it.

Victor followed a breath behind, hand at the small of his back with his usual possessiveness. A silent shield wrapped in blood-red silk and black obsidian trim.

Ashwin closed the car door with more care than necessary. No creak, no thud. Just a quiet click, like a promise sealed.

The cameras surged forward as if smelling the story.

"Clarke–Numen!"

"Victor! Elias! Can we get one facing left... thank you!"

"Elias, how far along are you now?"

"Is it true you rejected the central board’s invitation to join the finance council?"

"What does the color mean? Is it mourning or marketing?"

Elias ignored them all.

He didn’t smile and didn’t blink toward the flashes. He just walked, chin lifted, spine straight, the perfect counterweight to Victor’s lethal elegance. His tailored gray ensemble gleamed under the exterior lights, catching metallic threads in the trim, drawing attention to the line of his shoulders and the hand he’d deliberately rested on the curve of his stomach.

The bump was subtle. Barely noticeable unless someone was looking for it. But that didn’t stop the cameras from capturing it in cruel, pinpoint detail.

He heard the click of zoom lenses like gunfire.

Victor’s presence remained constant, a heat at his back. He didn’t wave, didn’t speak. He looked at the crowd the way a storm studies a city, unmoved, already calculating the damage.

The two of them reached the main entrance arch together.

There was a moment, just one, where the lights dimmed slightly and the automated scanners reset. A breath of pause before the system identified them and the gala doors slid open with ceremony-coded precision.

Inside, everything was gold and silver and strategic decadence.

Numen aesthetics.

The kind that whispered power instead of shouting it. Polished marble in tones of ash and quartz. Carved crown moldings. Live projections across the domed ceiling of market feeds, constellation maps, and archived Clarke patents, all spinning in elegant rotation as if to say: "this is yours now."

"Welcome," said a voice from the stairwell, too smooth to be anything but planned.

Ego Numen.

Victor’s father descended like gravity wrapped in a cloth-of-night designer suit, two security personnel flanking him like punctuation marks. He didn’t stop walking until he was three steps from them, gaze sweeping over Elias like he was another acquisition. Or maybe a wildfire.

"Late," Ego said, his voice smooth as ever, his eyes glinting with something unreadable.

"We were deciding how much damage to cause," Elias replied evenly, without breaking stride.

Victor didn’t even twitch. But the corners of his mouth shifted, just a little, as if he approved.

Ego’s attention lingered on Elias, then dipped to the hand resting over his abdomen.

He smiled just enough to set off every internal alarm Elias had.

"Congratulations," Ego said, voice rich with implication. "The future arrives on time, after all."

Elias tilted his head. "Did you want credit for that?"

"No," Ego replied, and there was a flicker of dry amusement in his tone. "I wanted to see how you’d wear it."

Elias didn’t blink. "And?"

"You look expensive," Ego said, stepping aside with the kind of grace that came from never needing to ask for space. "And dangerous. Good."

Victor moved with him as Elias stepped forward, both of them brushing past Ego without breaking formation.

"Try not to start any fires before the first toast," Ego added.

"I make no promises," Elias murmured, just loud enough for him to hear.

The grand staircase loomed ahead, sweeping up toward the ballroom like a throne in motion.

Victor offered his arm. Elias hesitated only a second before taking it.

The music swelled.

And together, under a canopy of glittering light and curated expectations, the heir of Clarke and the heir of Numen ascended the steps.

The ballroom was already full. Dense with tailored ambition, with portfolios stitched into silks and alliances poured into crystal flutes. Light curved down from the high chandeliers in cold ribbons, reflecting off platinum cuffs and regulation smiles.

Elias walked at Victor’s side like he belonged there. Like he hadn’t just found out he was technically a CEO and legally a legacy hours ago. His heels made no sound on the marble, and the tailored weight of his outfit didn’t slip. Not once.

He only paused when Victor slowed.

Across the ballroom, near the champagne arch and beneath a bloom of white-lit projections, stood Ruo.

She was in full Numen black, sheer in places and layered in others. The neckline dipped enough to annoy traditionalists and impress the rest. Beside her, just slightly in front, which meant she’d let him be, was Samael. Tall, unreadable, and black-eyed. Numen blood and marketing myth, just like his brother.

Ruo was smiling. That was the real threat.

She moved first, taking two steps forward with her glass held just loosely enough to suggest she hadn’t planned this. Which was a lie.

"Darling," Ruo said, stopping just short of them. Her eyes flicked to Elias, then to Victor, and then back again with obvious amusement. "You clean up so well it’s offensive."

Elias didn’t rise to it. "You look like you came to kill someone."

Ruo’s smile sharpened. "Same thing."

Samael finally extended a hand, and Elias took it because he wasn’t about to start a family civil war over politeness. The man’s grip was steady and formal.

"Congratulations," Samael said. His voice was deeper than Victor’s, quieter than Ego’s, and perfectly calm. "The Empire will talk about this for years."

"That’s what I’m afraid of," Elias muttered.

Victor’s nod to his brother was barely there. But it was returned.

Ruo stepped closer, ignoring the men entirely. "Have you eaten?"

Elias blinked. "What?"

"You look like you’re about to pass out," she said, taking his arm and already leading him sideways. "Don’t be stupid. You’re carrying the next heir and half the stock value of this room."

Elias gave Victor a quick glance, and Victor, traitor that he was, gave a faint nod. Permission.

So Elias let Ruo drag him toward the refreshment table, only pausing when she leaned in and whispered, "Ego hasn’t stopped smiling since you walked in. I’d run if I were you."

"I’m not scared of him," Elias replied.

"I am," she said lightly, plucking a canapé from the silver tray. "And I’m smarter than you."

Before Elias could reply, the atmosphere shifted again.

The entrance flared.

Connor arrived.