Smiling Poisons
"Alright then, let’s shake hands after you wash up," Thalia said with a bright smile, lifting one jeweled hand and gesturing them inward. "Let’s go inside and chat over so food."
Her laugh rolled through the marble foyer like oil over water.
Warm.
Sticky.
False.
Julian D’Aurelius smiled politely.
Bianca De Dominicis smiled too.
But beneath that elegance, both were already reading the room.
Crystal chandeliers spilled molten gold over the polished floor.
Soft piano music drifted from sowhere unseen.
Everything looked luxurious.
Everything slled expensive.
And sohow—
everything felt wrong.
Thalia walked ahead, her heavy steps oddly eager.
She couldn’t wait to help Lucas push his plan forward.
According to his arrangent, soone would tamper with the drinks soon during the eting.
As long as they drank the spiked drinks—even a sip—
their bodies would lose control.
Completely.
Lucas’s target was Bianca.
And as for Julian...
Thalia’s little eyes glead.
She would follow the plan.
And make Julian her prey.
Her tongue passed across painted lips.
Predatory.
Hungry.
Bianca noticed.
Her expression did not change.
But inside—
(Disgusting.)
Julian rely thought:
(If this woman looks at one more ti like that, I’m jumping through a window.)
They were led into a private dining hall layered with carved screens and dark sandalwood furniture.
A banquet had already been prepared.
Too elaborate for a simple business discussion.
That alone was suspicious.
Julian’s golden eyes narrowed for half a breath.
Then elsewhere— high above in a suite overlooking the hotel—
Lucas stood beside a wall of glass where the city glimred below in molten threads of gold and white.
A half-finished glass of red wine rested in his hand.
He had been staring at the lights without seeing them.
Thinking.
Calculating.
Waiting.
Then the door opened softly.
A subordinate entered, head lowered.
"Young Master Lucas..."
The man hesitated.
Lucas did not turn.
"Well?"
The subordinate swallowed.
"Julian has arrived."
Silence.
The wine glass paused halfway to Lucas’s lips.
For the first ti since morning—
a flicker moved in his blue eyes.
Unease.
The room seed to grow colder.
"Again..." Lucas murmured.
The word was almost inaudible.
He finally turned.
His expression remained composed.
But his fingers around the crystal had tightened.
Thinking of Julian...
a hint of apprehension flashed through him.
That man’s strength was unpredictable.
He appeared ordinary.
Too ordinary.
No aura.
No pressure.
No obvious cultivation that should have made him a threat.
And yet—
Lucas’s shoulder seed to ache at the mory.
That punch.
He could still feel it.
Not just the force.
The humiliation.
His jaw hardened.
"Do you know what I hate most?" Lucas suddenly asked.
The subordinate froze.
"Young Master?"
Lucas slowly set down the wine.
He looked at his own hand as if rembering sothing unpleasant.
"I hate things I cannot asure."
His gaze lifted.
"That man..."
A pause.
"He feels ordinary enough to mock."
Then his voice lowered.
"And dangerous enough to kill kings."
The subordinate dared not answer.
Lucas let out a dry laugh.
"Ridiculous, isn’t it?"
He moved back toward the table.
Poured more wine.
His caution was not born from timidity.
It was born from surviving.
Once—
he had gambled and lost.
Once was enough.
Unless necessary—
he would avoid confronting Julian directly.
But one day...
When he stepped into Gold Realm.
That would be the day Julian died.
He whispered almost like a prayer,
"Survive until then."
The subordinate heard it.
Did not dare react.
Then—
Snap.
Lucas’s fingers cracked through the air.
Sharp.
Imdiate.
Four figures who had been waiting in silence erged forward as if summoned from shadow.
mbers of the Scythe Division.
Silent.
Disciplined.
Dangerous.
"Young Master Lucas."
Their voices rged.
Lucas looked at them the way a man might inspect knives.
Useful until broken.
"Prepare yourselves," he said.
One of the four stepped forward.
"The original plan?"
Lucas nodded.
"Yes."
He took a sip of wine.
"Make sure the drinks are spiked."
Another operative asked, "Enough to incapacitate?"
Lucas smirked.
"Enough to blur judgnt."
He walked past them slowly.
"And when Bianca is taken away..."
He paused.
A thin smile touched his face.
"Put on a good show."
One man grinned.
"A staged violation scandal?"
Lucas’s eyes turned glacial.
The grin died instantly.
Then Lucas spoke.
"But make sure no one lays a finger on her."
The room went still.
Even his own n seed surprised.
Lucas’s tone sharpened.
"Did you misunderstand ?"
"No, Young Master."
He stepped closer.
Close enough his voice was almost a whisper.
"Fear her.
Frighten her.
Shake her.
Make her think she has fallen into hell..."
His eyes narrowed.
"But touch?"
His voice beca ice.
"No."
Like Evan before him, Lucas could not tolerate another touching a woman he considered his prize.
Even staged corruption had limits.
One operative lowered his head.
"Understood."
Lucas studied them.
Then said quietly,
"Possession is not shared."
A dangerous line.
The n exchanged no glances.
None were foolish enough.
Lucas resud,
"And that man Julian is here too."
Now a crueler smile bent his lips.
"If he falls for it..."
He swirled the wine.
"Arrange a few ugly won for him to enjoy."
One subordinate blinked.
Another almost smiled.
Lucas caught it.
His gaze sharpened.
"Amused?"
The smile vanished.
"No, Young Master."
Lucas continued.
"Take photographs."
He spoke as if discussing weather.
"Compromising ones."
Another operative asked,
"And then?"
Lucas’s blue eyes glimred.
"Post them online."
He leaned against the table.
"Destroy the righteous man first."
His smile widened.
"People forgive murder."
A pause.
"They rarely forgive disgrace."
The room was silent.
Even the n who served him felt a chill.
Lucas lifted two fingers.
A slicing motion.
"Once he’s exhausted..."
"Finish him off."
The words fell like execution.
One operative asked carefully,
"You believe the four of us are sufficient?"
Lucas looked at him.
Long.
Unblinking.
Then—
"If I believed he were ordinary..."
He stepped forward.
"I would send one."
A beat.
"I am sending four."
That answer said everything.
He wanted Julian dead.
But death alone was too rciful.
He wanted humiliation first.
Disgrace.
Then a corpse.
That was art.
Of course—
Lucas had no intention of acting personally.
Julian carried a strange aura.
An uncertainty.
And Lucas hated uncertainty.
Let others test the blade.
Let others bleed.
This danger would be borne by his loyal subordinates.
To die for him—
that, in Lucas’s mind, was their highest honor.
One of the Scythe mbers suddenly asked,
"And if he sees through the trap?"
Lucas smiled.
That smile was sohow worse than anger.
"Then you improvise."
"And if he kills us?"
Lucas took another sip.
"Then I have learned sothing valuable."
The man lowered his head.
There was no outrage.
Only obedience.
Because that was Lucas.
Even loyalty was disposable.
"Understood, Young Master Lucas."
Again all four replied in unison.
Lucas gave a lazy wave.
"Go."
They vanished from the suite.
The door shut.
Silence returned.
Heavy.
Lucas stood alone.
Then slowly lifted the wine again.
But before drinking—
he murmured into the glass,
"Julian..."
His reflection stared back from the dark red surface.
A predator studying another predator.
He rembered that punch.
That impossible calm in Julian’s eyes.
And for a brief mont—
just a brief one—
Lucas wondered whether he had made a mistake.
Then pride buried the thought.
His lips curved.
Cold.
"Let’s see whether luck saves you twice."
He drank.
Outside the suite windows,
city lights flickered below like a kingdom waiting to burn.
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