Chapter 1: A War Disguised as Flirtation
The air on the terrace tasted like expensive champagne and manufactured ozone. Below the cliff, the city was a nest of smudged gold lights, but up here, the only real thing was the chill of the marble underfoot. The rest was a stage set. The jasmine scent was piped through hidden vents. The waterfall cascading into the infinity pool was on a recirculating pump. And the aurora writhing across the black velvet sky above the mountains? A stunning, impossible hologram, projected from towers along the ridge. Guests murmured in awe anyway, holding up their phones.
Frankenstein watched them with a smile that cost him nothing. In his perfectly tailored midnight blue suit, he was another beautiful part of the display. The manager of Ye Ran High School, the charming fundraiser, the impeccable host. He accepted a flute from a passing waiter, his fingers not quite touching the man’s sleeve, his thanks a model of gracious efficiency.
“They believe the illusion because they want to,” a voice said beside him. It was dry, unhurried, cutting through the murmur of the crowd.
He turned. The woman was small, a full head shorter than him, but she held her space like a general. Her platinum hair was a sharp, surgical crop against the deep emerald of her tailored jacket. Her eyes, the same startling green, didn’t look at the fake sky. They were fixed on him, dissecting.
“Ms. Tice,” Frankenstein said, his smile deepening into something more genuine, more playful. “Kali. I was wondering if you’d hide all evening.”
“My grandmother donated a wing. Hiding wasn’t an option.” Kali Tice took a slow sip of her whiskey, neat. “I find these events to be a parade of predictable conversations. Until now.”
“Oh? And what’s unpredictable about me?”
“Everything.” She let the word hang. “The way you move. You don’t walk through the crowd, you… partition it. Effortlessly. The way you listen. You’re hearing three conversations at once, and the security feed from the kitchen. Your smile is perfect, and it never reaches your eyes. You’re the most real thing here, and you’re working harder than the hologram projectors.”
Frankenstein felt a rare, genuine thrill. It had been decades since someone’s first glance had peeled back so many layers. “You’re very observant.”
“It’s how I made my first million. Seeing what others miss.” She stepped closer, the scent of her perfume—bergamot and something metallic—cutting through the jasmine. “So. Frankenstein. Just the one name? Like a rock star. Or a hired gun.”
“Like a man who finds one name sufficient,” he replied, his gaze flicking over her shoulder. Takeo stood motionless near the terrace doors, a tall, silent silhouette with long purple hair tied back. His presence was a low hum in Frankenstein’s awareness. “And you? Kali Tice. Sounds like a verb. To tice. To lure, to provoke.”
“Is it working?”
“Perhaps.”
Across the terrace, seated in a wrought-iron throne of a chair, Mrs. Eleanor Abernathy tapped her ebony cane lightly on the marble. Her eyes, sharp as flint behind old-fashioned spectacles, missed nothing. Takeo, sensing her gaze, drifted silently to her side.
“Those two,” Eleanor whispered, not taking her eyes off her granddaughter and the enigmatic school manager. “They will either destroy each other or set the world on fire.” A faint, wrinkled smile touched her lips. “And frankly, Takeo, I’d pay to see either.”
Takeo said nothing. He simply watched his master, his body coiled with a readiness only Frankenstein would understand.
“My grandmother trusts you,” Kali was saying, circling Frankenstein slowly. “Eleanor Abernathy trusts a blood test and prenuptial agreements. Never people. Yet she speaks of you like a lost nephew. How did a high school administrator earn that?”
“Perhaps I helped with a donation receipt once,” Frankenstein demurred, watching her orbit him.
“Don’t bullshit me.” Her laugh was short, a crack of sound. “It’s beneath you. I’ve seen your school’s financials. It’s a fortress. Impenetrable. You’ve got more black-box budget lines than a defense contractor. What are you really running there?”
Frankenstein’s playful expression didn’t waver, but the temperature in his eyes dropped a degree. “A school, Ms. Tice. We teach algebra. The classics. The importance of discipline.”
“And the rooftop fencing? The subterranean facilities on the blueprints that don’t officially exist? The fact that your ‘faculty’ have the posture and alertness of special forces?” She finished her whiskey. “You’re not a headmaster. You’re a commander.”
He moved then, so fast it was just a shift of shadow, closing the distance between them. He didn’t touch her, but his presence was suddenly immense, a wall of focused intent. The polite chatter of the terrace faded into a dull buzz. For the first time, Kali’s composure flickered, a quick intake of breath.
“Curiosity,” Frankenstein murmured, his voice now a low, intimate instrument, “is a commendable trait. In a student. In a business rival, it can be a liability. Why are you poking the hornet’s nest, Kali?”
She recovered instantly, leaning up into his space, unflinching. “Because I’m bored. Because I’ve bought companies and broken men and it’s all become a bit trivial. You…” she searched his face, “…you don’t look trivial. You look like a locked door. And I’ve never found a lock I couldn’t pick.”
His laugh was a soft, surprised sound. He leaned back, the oppressive weight of his attention lifting as suddenly as it had descended. “A refreshing change from the usual requests for fundraising tips.”
“I’m not here for tips.” She pulled a slim, matte black card from her jacket and held it up between two fingers. It had no name, just a twelve-digit number. “My private line. When you decide to stop playing administrator and have a real conversation.”
She turned to go, then glanced back. “And Frankenstein? The aurora is beautiful. But it’s a lie. I prefer real things. Remember that.”
He took the card, his fingers brushing hers. A static charge, small and sharp, passed between them. He watched her walk away, a small, decisive figure weaving through the gullible crowd.
Takeo materialized at his elbow. “Sir. She is… perceptive.”
“Dangerously so,” Frankenstein agreed, his eyes still on the spot where she’d disappeared. He flexed his fingers, the ghost of that electric contact still there. “Have the car brought around. We’re done here.”
“A problem?”
“A variable.” Frankenstein’s polished mask was back, seamless and perfect. He looked up at the shimmering, fake aurora, its colors washing over his deceptively young face. “Eleanor has thrown a very interesting wrench into the works. Tell the projection team to shut it off in five minutes. Let the guests see the real stars for a change. It might be good for them.”
As they walked toward the exit, the terrace still humming with oblivious chatter, Frankenstein slipped the black card into his pocket. It felt like a fuse. He couldn’t tell yet what it was connected to.