The city never slept.
Neon lights spilled across wet pavement, reflecting ambition, greed, and quiet desperation in equal measure. Towering above it all stood the Helios Tower, a blade of glass cutting through the clouds, home to the most feared name in business.
Lucien Vale.
At twenty-eight, Lucien had everything—wealth beyond comprehension, influence that bent governments, and a reputation that made seasoned executives sweat through tailored suits. His company dominated biotech, energy, and occult research sectors the public didn't even know existed.
To the world, he was a visionary CEO.
Behind closed doors, he was something else entirely.
Lucien stood at the floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse office, swirling a glass of dark liquor he hadn't tasted. His crimson eyes reflected faintly in the glass, glowing just enough to remind him what he truly was.
Not human.
Not anymore.
"Another shipment failed," his assistant, Rowan, said carefully from behind him. "The artifact destabilized during transport. Two casualties."
Lucien didn't turn.
"Replace them."
Rowan hesitated. "The board is asking if we should slow down the expansion of the Arcane Division."
Lucien's fingers tightened around the glass.
"No."
One word. Absolute.
Rowan swallowed. "Yes, sir."
The occult research division was Lucien's obsession. Not for profit.
For survival.
A curse ran through his bloodline—ancient, hungry, and slowly devouring him from the inside. Every failed experiment meant time slipping through his fingers.
He could feel it now.
The ache in his bones.
The whisper at the back of his skull.
Feed.
Lucien crushed the glass in his hand. Shards bit into his skin, blood sliding down his knuckles. The wound sealed itself seconds later.
"Leave," he said.
Rowan didn't argue.
Silence reclaimed the office.
Lucien exhaled slowly, jaw tight.
Immortality had stripped the world of color.
Food tasted like ash. Pleasure felt dull. People blurred together into meaningless shapes.
Everything was empty.
Until him.
Lucien didn't know the boy's name yet.
He only knew the feeling.
It had happened three nights ago.
Lucien had gone undercover to inspect one of his lower-tier clubs—an ordinary place by human standards. Loud music. Cheap alcohol. Sweaty bodies grinding together.
Disgusting.
He was about to leave when someone collided into his chest hard enough to make several heads turn.
"Shit—sorry—"
The voice had been warm.
Alive.
Lucien looked down.
The boy wasn't striking in the way models were.
No perfect angles.
No artificial beauty.
Just… real.
Messy black hair falling into dark eyes. Hoodie two sizes too big. Lips parted in embarrassment.
"I wasn't looking," the boy said quickly. "My fault."
Lucien should have walked away.
Instead, something inside him snarled awake.
The world sharpened.
Sound deepened.
Scent exploded.
The boy smelled like rain and citrus and something deeper.
Something wrong.
Something impossible.
Lucien stared.
The boy frowned. "Uh… are you okay?"
Lucien had never felt hunger like that before.
Not for blood.
Not for power.
For him.
"I'm fine," Lucien said coldly.
The boy rolled his eyes. "Great. Then stop staring like you're about to murder me."
That had almost made Lucien smile.
Almost.
"Watch where you're going," Lucien said.
"Watch where you're standing."
Silence stretched.
Electric.
Hostile.
The boy scoffed. "Whatever, rich asshole."
And walked away.
Lucien had stood there long after.
That was three nights ago.
Since then, Lucien hadn't slept.
He had searched surveillance footage across the city.
Facial recognition.
Thermal scans.
Magical resonance mapping.
Nothing.
The boy didn't exist in any database.
Which was impossible.
Lucien's fingers drummed against his desk.
"I will find you," he murmured.
The curse inside him stirred.
For the first time in centuries…
It felt afraid.
And Lucien Vale had the terrifying realization that the ordinary boy who dared to insult him might be the only thing standing between him and oblivion.