Chapter 2

Shadows in the Crowd

The charity event was in full swing. The venue gleamed under cascading fairy lights, the sleek Obsidian Logic banners fluttering with corporate pride. The tech stations, built for interactive learning, were crowded with children and their enthusiastic guides. It was a picture of calculated joy, all carefully engineered to impress — sponsors, media, and perhaps the man who built this empire.

And then… he arrived.

Lucius Adrian — the name that carried weight, fear, and a certain cold fascination across every hallway in the company. He stepped into the venue dressed in a sharp black three-piece suit, a charcoal-grey silk tie pressed perfectly against a crisp white shirt. His jet-black hair was slicked back with precision, eyes shielded behind thin-rimmed glasses that did nothing to soften his expression. His presence alone quieted the room for a moment — not out of admiration, but awe laced with caution. The man looked like he belonged to the shadows of skyscrapers, not the warmth of charity events.

Beside him walked a small figure.

Elian.

The boy looked like a shadow of his father. Dressed in a soft grey pullover and black trousers, his tiny polished shoes clicked faintly on the marble floor. He gripped the sleeve of his own jacket tightly, shoulders slightly hunched as his wide eyes scanned the crowd. He didn’t speak, just followed his father’s long strides in silence. His skin was pale, his hair tousled, and his lips pressed into a line too serious for a four-year-old. His tiny hands trembled slightly, overwhelmed by the noise, lights, and strangers.

Adrian's POV:

Lucius barely spared the bustling scene a glance. These events were for appearances — carefully curated distractions. But bringing Elian today was a mistake. He noticed the boy shrinking beside him. Too many people. Too much stimulation.

He turned to his PA with a curt nod. “Take him to the reserved lounge upstairs. He’ll be fine with his tablet.”

No argument. No warmth. Just an instruction, clinical and short.

Elian’s POV

The reserved lounge was quiet — too quiet.

Elian sat alone on the deep velvet couch, his tiny frame barely sinking into the plush cushions. The tablet rested on his lap, its lock screen glowing faintly, but he hadn’t touched it since the door shut behind the assistant. He heard the low buzz of adults murmuring outside, mingled with distant laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the faint beat of happy music seeping in through the walls.

But here, it was still.

Too still.

He shifted, restless, then peeked toward the door. Through a narrow gap between the thick velvet curtains, he could just make out a sliver of the hallway. The warm colors outside felt like a different world — one he wasn’t allowed in.

His heart ached a little.

The PA — a tall man in a fitted blazer and glasses — stood just outside, tapping frantically at a tablet with one hand while holding his phone with the other. “Yes, Mr. Lucius is already inside… No, the press will not have access to the child. He’s under supervision—” The man’s tone was clipped, his attention consumed.

Elian watched carefully.

The assistant’s back was half-turned to the room. His voice had the same sharp edge his father used when talking to people who didn’t move fast enough.

No one was looking at Elian.

No one was watching.

He glanced at the tablet again, then gently slid it to the side. A quiet thump as it touched the couch cushion. His breath caught.

He stood — slowly, carefully — his socked feet making no sound on the thick carpet. His little hands reached out to the door, fingers trembling slightly. The gold handle felt cold and heavier than expected.

He paused. One second. Two.

The assistant was now pacing in front of the door, completely engrossed in his call. “No, " I said, confirming the sound check with media relations. What do you mean the mic isn’t—"

Elian turned the handle.

He didn’t open it all the way — just enough to squeeze through. Like a ghost. Like a whisper of wind.

And just like that, he was in the hallway.

His pulse thudded in his ears, louder than the music below. For a moment, he feared someone would shout his name. But nothing came. No footsteps. No gasps. No one stopped him.

He pressed his back to the wall, breathing softly. Then he tiptoed down the corridor, eyes wide and alert. His father’s voice echoed in his memory like a locked vault: “Be still. Be quiet. Be good.”

But he wasn’t being good right now. He was being curious.

The hallway opened up into a grand staircase. He stood at the top step, looking down at the sparkling lights below, at the crowd of people with shiny badges and big smiles. The smell of candy and cupcakes drifted up from the food stalls.

He didn’t want to sit in a room alone anymore.

Clutching the handrail for balance, Elian began to descend.

One step. Two steps.

He reached the last step and ducked behind a large potted plant as two servers walked by. They didn’t see him. He scurried along the edge of the wall, slipping through the crowd like a shadow, unnoticed — until the girl in the pink dress and glass heels bumped into him…

Elian had done it again.

Despite strict orders to stay inside the VIP lounge with the other children and their very expensive toys, the four-year-old had quietly slipped away the moment the PA got distracted by his phone.

Wandering the lavish hallway, Elian’s big, curious eyes landed on a pair of double doors slightly ajar. He peeked in.

A group of kids stood around a fancy table, all dressed in designer outfits that probably cost more than his entire toy collection. Among them was a girl, slightly older than him, with a lace dress and an expression that screamed superiority complex.

Elian stepped inside.

Bad move.

The girl wrinkled her nose the second she saw him. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she snapped, eyeing him like he was a bug on her cupcake. “You don’t even look like a VIP kid.”

Elian blinked.

“Are you lost? Or just dumb?” she added with a mean little laugh.

That was it.

Elian’s little heart squeezed. His chin wobbled. Without a word, he turned around and ran, tiny feet pattering across the shiny floors, down the hallway, past the waiters—and out the open door into the garden.

He dove under a thick hedge, crawled behind a few bushes, and sat down with a thump.

Tears slipped quietly down his cheeks.

Asher POV

Asher had officially had it.

He tugged at his too-tight collar, swearing the bowtie was trying to strangle him. The ballroom sparkled with gold decorations, people clinked glasses with fake smiles, and every third woman seemed to be trying to set their daughter up with a CEO’s son.

This wasn’t a charity event.

This was the Met Gala with better lighting.

He made his escape to the garden before someone asked him to hold a tray or network. He needed air. And silence.

The moment he stepped into the quiet, cool night air, he sighed dramatically.

“If I hear the words ‘luxury fundraiser’ one more time, I’m flipping a table.”

He wandered to a more secluded corner of the garden, rubbing his temples and muttering, “Note to self: Wear sneakers next time. Or better yet, fake food poisoning.”

Then he heard it.

A tiny, muffled sniffle.

Asher paused.

Another soft cry, coming from behind a hedge. He crouched, peeking through the leaves—and froze.

There, curled up like a little ball, was a teary-eyed boy, cheeks puffed, lips trembling, and the saddest eyes Asher had ever seen.

His heart squeezed.

The sarcasm vanished in an instant.

“Hey there, little guy…” he said gently, crouching down so he didn’t startle him. “Are you okay? Did you get lost?”

Elian didn’t answer. Just stared at him with wide, watery eyes like a silent kitten.

Asher softened his voice even more. “It’s alright. You’re safe now. I’m not gonna yell or anything.”

Still no response.

So Asher did what any desperate adult would do.

He pulled a wrapped mini chocolate bar from his pocket—leftovers from the catering staff’s tray.

“I come bearing peace offerings,” he whispered dramatically, holding the chocolate out like a magic key. “One bite of this and your problems disappear. Possibly your teeth too, but we’ll risk it.”

Elian blinked, eyes fixed on the chocolate.

No words. But he didn’t run either.

Progress.

Asher offered a crooked grin. “There we go. My name’s Asher, by the way. You don’t have to talk. Just know that I’m on your side, okay?”

Elian slowly, cautiously, reached for the chocolate.

Asher watched him take it with the delicacy of someone handling treasure.

He sat down next to the boy, careful not to get too close. “I needed a break from all the glitter and fake smiles too. You and me—we’re the rebels.”

And for the first time in hours, Asher smiled for real.

He had no idea that the little boy beside him wasn’t just any lost kid.

He was Elian Lucius.

Son of the very man who could fire him with a single glance.

But for now, none of that mattered.