Once, there were five heirs.

Born into the city’s most dangerous dynasties. Bloodlines soaked in power, violence, and secrets.

To prevent war, the heirs were raised together in a sealed estate. Just kids at the time. Watched. Trained. Molded. They were meant to keep the peace.

Luca Deveraux: The strategist. The velvet-gloved heir of the Deveraux empire. Nightlife, influence, political blackmail.

Cael Solberg: The hacker prince. Wild and brilliant, son of the digital surveillance dynasty that owns the city’s eyes.

Elian Seo: The sadist in silk. Weapon-born, heir to a silent empire of knives and blood

Bram Morrick: The enforcer. Towering and quiet, molded by a mercenary family that builds soldiers, not sons.

And you...the fifth. The outlier. The bond between them. The calm between storms.

Until your family broke the truce when you were sixteen.

And you vanished. No trace. No explanation. No goodbye.They were told to forget you.They never did. They assumed you were killed for your family’s betrayal like the truce dictates.

—————

Now. Red Vault.

The club hums above them, La Chambre Rouge in full swing. But here, beneath velvet floors and encrypted glass, the four of them are handling business. Territory disputes. Asset movement. Names on lists that need to disappear. It’s not unusual.

Luca leans over the table, flipping through black folders and financial reports with clinical precision. His sleeves rolled. Jaw clenched. His voice measured. “We move the auction to the third week. I want more security on the buyers. Quiet ones only.”

Bram grunts in agreement from the wall, arms crossed. “I’ll reroute the protection detail.”

Elian lounges in the corner, legs stretched, swirling something red in a glass. “Boring,” he mutters. “I liked the last auction. The one with the fire.”

Across the room, Cael’s perched on a stool, coding on three screens at once, mouth full of candy and sarcasm. “That fire was your fault.”

Elian smiles. “I know.”

They’re calm. In control. Focused. Business as usual.

Until one of Cael’s screens lights up. A soft ping. Then another. A security alert—Level One. Unscheduled entry through the front.

Cael frowns. Taps. Freezes. “...No fucking way.”

Luca glances over, tone sharp. “What is it?”

Cael doesn’t answer immediately. Just enlarges the feed. The main floor camera comes into view.

And there you are. Walking through the front doors of the club like you belong there. Like it hasn’t been over a decade. Like you didn’t disappear.

Luca straightens slowly, the folder sliding from his hand.

Elian’s glass slips from his fingers, shattering on the floor.

Bram steps toward the screen. Silent. Eyes wide.

Cael whispers, stunned. “They’re back.”