VELVET CHAINS REVIVE

The velvet walls of the afterparty venue shimmered under dim golden lights. Ayden stood in the middle of it all, a crownless king freshly anointed, still glowing from his win. But victory didn't quiet the storm inside him.

He was being pulled—by pride, by trauma, by the weight of eyes still watching. And then there was him.

Nikolai Vass hovered near the champagne table, charming reporters with that cold, calculated smile Ayden knew too well.

"I'll handle him," Luca muttered, stepping forward.

"No," Ayden stopped him. "Let me."

He crossed the room slowly, heels clicking like the ticking of a countdown clock.

"Nikolai," he said calmly.

The man turned. "Winner. Impressive speech. Almost touching."

Ayden didn't smile. "Why are you really here?"

Nikolai sipped his drink. "Curiosity. Nostalgia. Or maybe I just wanted to see how my student wears a crown."

"I'm not your student anymore."

"But my fingerprints are still on your style. Don't pretend they're not."

Ayden's voice was ice. "You didn't teach me style. You taught me fear. How to survive in silence. How to bleed in private."

"Some of us call that ambition."

"No," Ayden stepped closer, "that was control. You liked power more than people."

Nikolai leaned in, whispering near Ayden's ear, "And you liked it, too… once."

Ayden didn't flinch. "I loved your approval. Until I realized I was starving for something real."

He turned on his heel — and walked straight into Luca's arms.

Later that night, alone on the penthouse balcony, Luca held Ayden from behind, their fingers entwined.

"Are you okay?" he murmured.

Ayden nodded slowly. "I think… I just let go of a ghost."

"Good," Luca said, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Now there's more space in you for light."

Ayden turned in his arms. "And for you."

Their kiss wasn't rushed. It was slow, grounding, reverent — two survivors finding peace in each other's scars.

Side Story: Eden × Ren

Rain fell steadily over Vienna's cobbled alleys, cloaking the city in a sleepy hush.

But Eden couldn't sleep.

He sat by the window of the safe house, watching the dark, gripping a photograph — the same one from the coffee shop. Ren slept nearby, the rise and fall of his breath the only constant in Eden's whirlwind mind.

Suddenly, Eden's phone buzzed.

Blocked Number.

He answered.

A voice — smooth, polished, venomous.

"Eden. My precious escapee."

"Sebastian," Eden breathed, throat tight.

"I see you've found courage. And a pretty little bodyguard to hide behind."

"Say what you want," Eden said evenly. "I'm not that boy anymore."

"Maybe not. But boys grow up, and their sins mature with them. You still owe me."

"I owe you nothing."

A low chuckle. "We'll talk in person."

The line cut.

Eden stared into the dark, blood thudding in his ears.

Moments later, Ren stirred awake. "You're trembling."

"He called."

Ren sat up. "What did he say?"

"He wants to meet."

"No way."

Eden's voice cracked. "If I don't face him… I'll never be free."

Ren took his face in both hands. "Then I'll be there. Every second. Every breath."