Skyscrapers and Starlight – The Dragon’s Daughter
By Lea von Löwenstein
Chapter 16: The Gala’s Game
Part 1: Opening Moves
The Drake Tower ballroom floated above Manhattan like a crystal palace, its panoramic windows reflecting the city’s lights like scattered diamonds. Two hundred of the world’s most powerful people mingled beneath chandeliers worth more than most suburban homes.
Alexandra sat in her carefully chosen corner, a queen observing her court. Her Alexander McQueen gown, the colour of midnight storms, pooled around her like liquid shadow. Marcus’s arm draped casually across the back of her chair, his Tom Ford tuxedo and those ever-present jade cufflinks marking him as both warrior and consort.
The main doors opened with practiced ceremony, and her lips curved slightly as James Harrison strutted in, Victoria Blackwood draped across his arm like last season’s accessory. The girl, Alexandra noted – wore a dress that screamed new money and desperation.
“Well,” Marcus murmured against her ear, “someone’s trying rather hard tonight.”
“Mmm.” Alexandra sipped her champagne. “That’s what, the third girlfriend this month?”
“Fourth,” he corrected softly. “Though this one seems to be struggling with her shoes.”
Indeed, the girl tottered precariously on Louboutins she clearly hadn’t mastered, while James scanned the room with the desperate energy of a man trying to prove his relevance.
Then he saw them.
The blood drained from his face so quickly it was almost comical. His companion, noticing his distress, followed his gaze and promptly dropped her clutch.
“Darling,” Alexandra purred, never taking her eyes off the spectacle, “I believe the game is about to begin.”
The crystal chandeliers cast diamond patterns across the ballroom as James Harrison gathered what remained of his courage, steering his unsteady companion toward Alexandra’s corner.
“You,” he snarled, trying to tower over their seated forms. “You have no right to be here. This is a private event for actual business leaders.”
Alexandra took another leisurely sip of champagne, her smile pure silk. “James, darling. Still struggling with guest lists, I see.”
Victoria tugged at James’s sleeve with confusion in her voice. “Baby, maybe we should—”
“No!” His voice carried just enough to draw attention from nearby groups. “This… this nobody has been playing games long enough. Security!”
Marcus’s soft chuckle held genuine amusement. “Really, James? Again?”
“I don’t know how you got past the door,” James continued, colour rising in his face, “but this ends now. This is a serious business event, not some playground for pretend consultants and their… arrangements.”
Alexandra finally looked up, her eyes holding the same expression Chen Wei-Ming wore before corporate executions. “Arrangements?”
“Everyone knows how you trapped Marcus,” he spat. “What kind of… services you must have—”
“James.” Marcus’s voice could have frozen flame. “Consider your next words very carefully.”
The growing crowd around them held their collective breath.
The Drake Tower ballroom’s atmosphere crackled with tension as Alexandra rose with fluid grace, her McQueen gown flowing like storm clouds. Marcus remained seated, watching the scene unfold with dangerous amusement.
“Services?” Her voice carried just enough to reach the growing audience. “How fascinating. Do elaborate, James. Tell everyone exactly what kind of… services you think secured my marriage.”
Victoria tugged harder at his sleeve. “James, maybe we shouldn’t—”
“Shut up!” He shrugged her off, alcohol and wounded pride overwhelming his judgment. “Everyone knows you’re nothing but a gold-digging consultant who—”
“Who owns the majority shares in Harrison Industries?” Alexandra’s smile was lethal. “Or perhaps you meant the consultant who just acquired your Hamptons estate at bankruptcy auction?”
The crowd’s whispers grew louder. Someone near the back actually gasped.
“You’re lying,” James wobbled slightly. “You can’t… You’re nobody!”
“Nobody?” Marcus finally stood, his movement as fluid as a predator’s, those jade cufflinks catching the light like green fire. His hand found the small of Alexandra’s back, a gesture both protective and possessive. “Interesting theory. Though I must say, for a nobody, my wife seems to own an awful lot of your former assets.”
James’s face went from red to grey as the implications sank in. His companion, showing more survival instinct than her date, began slowly backing away.
“You…” James sputtered, “You can’t…”
“Can’t what?” Alexandra’s smile promised delicious retribution. “Perhaps you’d like to check the latest ownership records of Le Ciel? Or shall we discuss the rather interesting board meeting scheduled for Monday?”
Part 2: The Stage is Set
The crackle of tension in Drake Tower’s ballroom dissolved as Wei appeared at the podium, his presence commanding immediate attention. His perfectly tailored Savile Row suit and impassive expression gave nothing away as he tapped the microphone once.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” his voice carried effortlessly across the room. “If you would kindly take your places, the signing ceremony will commence shortly.”
Alexandra’s lips curved slightly as she watched James Harrison try to process this interruption of his tirade. Wei’s eyes swept over the scene without a flicker of recognition.
“Mr. Harrison,” Wei continued, his tone professionally bland. “As representative of Harrison Global’s interests, your presence is required on stage.”
James straightened his jacket with shaking hands, trying to salvage some dignity. “Of course. I was just—”
“Now, Mr. Harrison.” Wei’s voice could have frozen champagne. “Time is rather precious in matters of… corporate transition.”
Alexandra settled back into her corner seat, Marcus’s hand warm on her shoulder as they watched James stumble toward the stage. His companion had already melted into the crowd, leaving him alone under the crystal chandeliers.
“Your father’s assistant,” Marcus murmured against her ear, “has impeccable timing.”
“Mmm.” She sipped her champagne. “Though I believe the real performance is about to begin.”
The Drake Tower ballroom hummed with anticipation as Wei orchestrated the ceremony with precision. At the center of the stage, a glass cube housed the contract folders, lit from within like precious artifacts.
“Distinguished guests,” Wei’s voice carried the perfect blend of authority and deference. “Tonight marks a pivotal moment in global finance. The merger of Harrison Global with Drake Industries represents not merely a business transaction, but a vision of the future.”
James Harrison shifted uncomfortably under the crystal chandeliers, his earlier bravado diminishing with each passing moment. The empty chair beside him seemed to mock his solitary status on stage.
“Before we proceed to the signing,” Wei continued, “Mr. Harrison will share his perspective on this historic partnership.”
Alexandra’s fingers tightened slightly on her champagne flute as James approached the podium. Marcus’s hand found hers, his jade cufflinks catching the light like a silent promise.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” James began, his voice carrying a slight tremor. “This merger represents… represents the culmination of…”
He faltered, catching Alexandra’s measured gaze from her corner throne. The knowledge that she sat there, watching his moment of triumph turn to ash, seemed to steal his rehearsed words.
Wei stepped smoothly forward. “Perhaps we should proceed with the technical overview before the formal signing?”
The glass cube containing the contracts gleamed under the spotlights, holding secrets only three people in the room truly understood.
Part 3: The Serpent’s Pen
The Drake Tower ballroom held its collective breath as James Harrison reached into his Tom Ford jacket, producing a Montblanc Prince Regent – a hundred-thousand-dollar pen that screamed both desperation and hubris.
“Shall we proceed?” he asked Wei, attempting to reclaim some semblance of control. The pen caught the chandelier light, its diamonds creating tiny rainbows across the stage.
Wei regarded the ostentatious display with the same expression one might give a child’s crayon drawing. “Indeed, Mr. Harrison. Though perhaps we should address the matter of—”
“The signing,” James interrupted, his smile brittle. “That’s what everyone’s here for, isn’t it? To witness… history.” His eyes darted to Alexandra’s corner, seeking reaction.
She merely sipped her champagne, the picture of elegant indifference.
Wei’s expression remained perfectly neutral as he moved toward the glass cube. The contract folders inside seemed to pulse under the spotlights, their weight far beyond mere paper and ink.
“Mr. Harrison,” Wei’s voice carried just enough emphasis to draw attention, “are you quite certain you wish to proceed… now?”
James uncapped the Montblanc with theatrical flourish. “Of course. Unless there’s some reason we shouldn’t?”
Wei checked his Patek Philippe with deliberate precision. “Well, regarding the timing—”
The crystal chandeliers cast prismatic shadows across the stage as Wei reached for the glass cube. James Harrison stood poised with his Montblanc Prince Regent, its diamonds catching light like frozen tears.
Then Wei’s phone buzzed.
The subtle vibration seemed to echo through the ballroom’s anticipatory silence. Wei paused, his hand hovering over the cube’s release mechanism, and withdrew his phone with elegant precision.
From her corner throne, Alexandra watched the choreography unfold exactly as planned. Marcus’s thumb traced slow circles on her wrist, counting down.
Wei studied his screen with the same expression he might use to examine a particularly interesting tax document. “Ah.”
“Is there a problem?” James’s voice carried a note of desperate irritation, the Montblanc trembling slightly in his grip.
“Not a problem, precisely.” Wei tucked his phone away with methodical care. “Rather, a directive from the CEO.”
The ballroom’s atmosphere shifted like mercury.
“What directive?” James’s knuckles whitened around his hundred-thousand-dollar pen.
Wei straightened his already impeccable tie. “The signing ceremony is postponed. Fourteen days.”
The Drake Tower ballroom erupted like a champagne bottle under pressure.
“Postponed?” James Harrison’s voice cracked like thin ice. “You can’t just—”
“The CEO’s orders are quite clear,” Wei replied, his tone suggesting he was discussing the weather. “Fourteen days hence.”
The Montblanc Prince Regent clattered against the stage as James’s composure finally shattered. “This is sabotage! You have no right to—”
“I have every right,” Wei corrected mildly, “as directed by the CEO.”
The audience dissolved into chaos. Banking titans pulled out phones, hedge fund managers huddled in corners, and somewhere in the back, a glass shattered against marble.
“Who?” James’s face had gone from red to purple. “Who ordered this? I demand to know who—”
But his demands fell on empty air. In their corner throne, where Alexandra and Marcus had sat moments before, only two champagne flutes remained – one empty, one still half-full, like a silent toast to chaos.
The couple themselves were already in the private elevator, Alexandra’s McQueen gown whispering against Marcus’s tuxedo as she leaned into him.
“Fourteen days,” she murmured against his collar, feeling his silent laughter.
“Poor James,” Marcus replied, adjusting his jade cufflinks. “He never did learn to read the fine print.”
Above them, the ballroom’s chandelier light caught the glass cube, still sealed, still holding secrets that would wait exactly fourteen more days to shatter an empire.
