The moment Nova stepped into the ballroom, the world turned cold. The glittering chandeliers and the sea of elite faces instantly blurred into a suffocating gray haze. His focus locked onto a single, quiet corner where a group of figures stood.

They were so hauntingly familiar that a black shadow seemed to descend over his consciousness. He stood paralyzed, his mind warring with itself—was this a cruel trick of his trauma, or was he staring at a brutal reality? His feet felt heavy, rooted to the marble floor like lead. His throat felt parched, as if the very air had turned to ash.

Right there stood the man whose voice he had been aching to hear for days.

Rivert.

Even though Nova's heart had been aching to see Rivert, he couldn't believe they were reuniting like this. I'd been dying to see him again, but I never wanted it to happen like this. He couldn't even dismiss the sight as a hallucination..."

But it wasn't Rivert who had caused Nova's heart to stutter. It was the man standing beside him—a figure whose presence was a reality too harsh to ignore. Meanwhile, Agent Dohyeon, standing right next to Nova, remained oblivious to the shifting world. He was lost in his own thoughts, scanning the ballroom's grandeur for his uncle—the only reason he had agreed to step into this event.

Without delay, Nova's voice cracked through the silence. "Hyung, I need to go to the restroom."

"Huh?" Dohyeon looked at him, startled. They had barely crossed the threshold, and Nova was already seeking an exit. But seeing the phantom-like paleness of Nova's face, Dohyeon didn't press him; he simply signaled a bellboy to lead Nova toward the facilities.

"I don't understand the rush," Dohyeon muttered under his breath. "Whatever. I'll go find my uncle in the meantime." With that, the agent vanished into the crowd, beginning his hunt.

On the other side of the hall, Rivert's eyes also snagged on a familiar face. For a heartbeat, his breath hitched. He watched as Agent Dohyeon scurried through the elite crowd like a stray rat, his frantic movements drawing more attention than a covert operative should ever permit.

Rivert stole a sharp, sideways glance at Oh Jin-wook to see if the Chairman had noticed the intruder. But the Chairman and Madam Park were too deeply entrenched in their toxic gossip to care. Rivert scanned the room once more, and suddenly, his eyes collided with Dohyeon's.

The second they locked eyes, Dohyeon snapped his head away. He looked left, then right, then back at Rivert with a forced, brittle smile before turning away again. He was concealing his face so desperately it looked as if he had kidnapped a billionaire's daughter and the entire family was chasing him with bats.

Despite the internal panic, professionalism took over. Why are you here? Dohyeon's eyes demanded.

I'm with him, Rivert signaled, a subtle, lethal tilt of his head toward the Chairman.

Motherfucker, what are you doing? Rivert's eyes fired back. He flashed a hidden middle finger beneath the line of his tailored jacket. Dohyeon replied with the same crude gesture, signaling Rivert to meet him in the shadowed corner.

Fuck. Exactly what I feared, Rivert thought. I thought no one would recognize me, but I've gone and jinxed it. He adjusted the lapels of his suit, smoothing out the rising tension. Then came the professional lie—the specialty of every undercover agent.

"Sir, I think something is wrong with the perimeter. I'm going to check on it," Rivert whispered into Oh Jin-wook's ear. The Chairman, distracted by his own ego, gave a dismissive wave.

Permission granted. Rivert turned and began to walk toward the corner that was about to become reunion of two best friends.

The moment Rivert took his leave, the massive ballroom doors groaned open once more. Every guest turned their gaze toward the entrance. Two of the most formidable figures in the corporate underworld had arrived: Ivan Mikhailov Kang, the CEO of Valkris Corporation, and the Executive Director, Jihoon.

Tonight's gala now felt like a stage meticulously prepared for Valkris. With three of the corporation's titans under one roof, the atmosphere shifted. It wasn't just prestige they brought; it was an aura that bordered on the divine. Over the last eight years, these two had carved their names into the hierarchy with blood and brilliance.

Jihoon entered first. He looked like a masterpiece—a delicate, porcelain statue of such exquisite beauty that it felt it belonged only in the high halls of a museum. Behind him followed Ivan. If Jihoon was the art, Ivan was the predator guarding it. He scanned the crowd not as guests, but as a fish market, weighing each soul by its utility or its price.

The crowd parted instinctively, like water before a blade. But the one most affected was Oh Jin-wook. Ignoring Ivan's lethal presence, the Chairman's eyes locked onto Jihoon with an intensity that bordered on hunger.

"It has been a long time, Chairman," Jihoon said, extending his hand with a practiced, graceful smile.

Ivan, however, looked far from pleased. If Jihoon hadn't spent the car ride reminding him to behave, the ticking time bomb that was Ivan Mikhailov would have detonated the moment he crossed the threshold.

"I will meet the Chairman. You will not interfere," Jihoon's earlier warning echoed in his mind. Ivan's gaze remained fixed on Jin-wook—eyes that looked ready to tear the older man apart. Meanwhile, Jin-wook stared at Jihoon as if he were a beautiful doll he was dying to possess.

"Oh my, my child Ivan... you're here too?" Jin-wook said, his tone dripping with a mocking taunt. "I barely noticed you. Perhaps my eyes simply couldn't handle your handsomeness."

"It's no trouble, Chairman," Ivan replied with a chillingly thin smile. "It is only natural for eyesight to fail with age. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

Oh Jin-wook's jaw clenched; Ivan's remark had found its mark.

Beside them, Miss Park sensed the rising toxicity and bowed out. Only a fool would stand between two colliding bulls.

"We should find a private place to talk," Jihoon suggested, turning his head slightly. "Honey... would you mind if I had a private conversation with the Chairman for a moment?"

In an instant, Ivan's "Hunter" mask slipped. His expression darkened with possessive reality. Sensing the shift, Jihoon quickly reached out and took Ivan's hand, squeezing his fist gently.

"Please?" Jihoon added, his eyes searching Ivan's with a soft, calculated plea.

Ivan let out a heavy breath, slowly releasing the tension in his hand. He straightened his collar, his voice returning to its lethal rasp. "You really know how to convince me. Fifteen minutes. This might be my Master's order, but I am the one who decides the time."

Without another word, Ivan turned his back on the Chairman and began walking toward the restroom, his silhouette cutting through the crowd like a knife.