The train slid into Lancaster Central Station with a smooth hiss, metal wheels whispering secrets across polished tracks. Beneath the dazzling glass arch of the platform, a pair of figures stepped onto the concrete in silence—him in black, her in red.
Alex Virell adjusted the cuff of his coat, his dark eyes scanning the crowd like a wolf in a ballroom. His posture was relaxed, yet calculating. Black gloves, tailored coat, not a strand of hair out of place. He moved like someone who already owned the city—just hadn't told it yet.
Lia Virell walked beside him, heels tapping confidently on the marble tiles. Her red dress flowed with elegance, but there was steel beneath the silk. The way eyes followed her—men and women both—was something she had learned to control, not just endure. Her smile was disarming. Her presence, unforgettable.
The crowd flowed around them, indifferent. Lancaster was used to strangers. But these two weren't just passing through.
They had arrived to take over.
"Smells like rot under perfume" Alex muttered, gazing at the towering skyline outside the station glass. Neon lights flickered in the distance, fighting the golden hue of the setting sun.
Lia twirled her sunglasses in her hand. "Mmm. Sounds like my kind of party."
He turned to her. "We stick to the plan?"
She nodded, her tone turning sharper. "I rise. You descend."
Alex smirked, his first real expression in hours. "As always."
They exited together, then split—no dramatic goodbye, no flair. Just a nod.
Lia disappeared into a sleek car waiting at the curb, one she'd "borrowed" through flirtation and falsified connections. She had appointments already—gallery galas, fashion shows, charity auctions. She'd already built her identity before stepping off the train.
Alex, meanwhile, walked. Past crowds, alleyways, cameras. He disappeared like smoke into the city's underbelly—toward the warehouses, clubs, and streets where power didn't come with a title, but with blood.
Underground, a name was whispered—a new player in the ring, quiet and unassuming. They said he was already speaking with brokers and fighters. No one knew who he was. Yet.
Above, an invitation circled high society—a charming heiress from overseas, beautiful and wealthy, stirring gossip wherever she walked. She had drinks with a mayor's son last night, and dinner with a media tycoon tomorrow.
Lancaster didn't know it yet. But the city had just been split in two.
And each half now belonged to a Virell.