The Beggar in the Lobby Was the Supreme King

Standing before the imposing glass facade of the Mosaic Tower, Ethan Smith felt a lump form in his throat. This skyscraper was more than just a testament to corporate dominance; it was the house his eldest sister, Iris Smith, had built. Memories of his childhood flashed through his mind—blurred images of a warm home, the scent of vanilla, and the gentle hand of his sister guiding him through the world. Now, after fifteen years of blood, shadows, and the weight of an empire on his shoulders, he was finally home. He adjusted his worn, nondescript jacket and stepped into the lobby of the Mosaic Corporation. "Excuse me," Ethan said, approaching the polished marble reception desk. He offered a small, hopeful smile to the young woman behind the counter. "I’m looking for your Chairwoman. Please tell her Ethan Smith is here to see her." The receptionist didn't offer a smile in return. Instead, she looked up from her computer, her eyes sweeping over his dusty boots and faded clothes with palpable disdain. "Did you say your name is Ethan Smith?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Since the day this company was founded, you are exactly the 108th 'Ethan Smith' to walk through those doors." Before he could respond, she pressed a button under the desk and shouted, "Security! We have another fraud in the lobby. Get him out of here!" In recent years, the Mosaic Corporation had become a legend in Ambershire. It had transformed from an obscure, third-tier business into the undisputed titan of Veridian. Much of this meteoric rise was attributed to its leader, Iris Smith. Not only was she a brilliant strategist, but she was also renowned as a woman of ethereal beauty—a "pure jade" whom the wealthy socialites of the province dreamed of possessing. Because Iris remained unmarried and had publicly declared that she would wed whoever found her long-lost younger brother, the lobby of the Mosaic Tower had become a magnet for grifters and con artists. Ethan stood there, momentarily stunned. He, the Supreme King of the Hall of Supreme, the man whose name caused world leaders to tremble, was being treated like a common beggar in his own sister's lobby. If he chose to speak but a single word, the ten thousand Guards of Supreme would descend upon this city like a storm. He could level this entire district in seconds, reducing the Mosaic Tower to a pile of smoldering rubble. But this was his sister’s dream, and he was not here as a conqueror; he was here as a brother. Nearly a dozen security guards swarmed the lobby. Ethan didn't waste time arguing. With a subtle movement—a blur of speed that the human eye could barely register—he slipped past the guards and stepped into an elevator just as the doors slid shut. Ethan had been an orphan, raised by his foster father along with seven older sisters. At the age of five, he had been snatched away by human traffickers, thrust into a world where life was cheap and mercy was a death sentence. It had taken fifteen years of "l*****g blood from the blade" to rise to the rank of the Supreme King. He had returned to Ambershire with a singular vow: he would tear the human trafficking organizations of this world out by the roots. He stepped out on the executive floor and approached the heavy oak doors of the Chairwoman’s office. Knock. Knock. Knock. "Come in," a voice called out—lazy, melodic, and hauntingly familiar. Ethan felt a jolt of electricity. It was the voice of a celestial being. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. A woman sat behind a massive desk, her silhouette framed by the sprawling city view. She was focused on a computer screen, her fingers moving gracefully as she worked on a fashion design. When he was abducted at five, Iris had been ten. Now, at twenty-five, she had matured into a woman of breathtaking elegance. Her skin was as pale as the finest porcelain, living up to her name—Iris Smith, the woman whose "skin was like snow." She was dressed in a sharp, British-style white suit that emphasized her slender, professional frame. She looked every bit the noble heiress—high-born, untouchable, and peerlessly beautiful. "Which department are you from?" she asked without looking up. "And what is so urgent?" "Iris," Ethan said, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m Ethan. I’m finally home." He expected a cry of joy. Instead, he got a roar of fury. "Another one?!" Iris slammed her hands onto the desk, standing up with a fiery gaze. "You’re the 108th person to use that name today. Do you think I’m a fool?" She lunged across the desk, her dainty fist aimed straight for his nose. Ethan tilted his head an inch, letting the blow whistle past his ear. She followed up with a sharp kick from her high heels—a move clearly intended to end any chance of him ever having children. Ethan reached out, gently catching her ankle mid-air, and set her leg back down with practiced ease. "Iris, it’s really me," he insisted. "Do you remember when I was five? We used to play 'Palace.' I was always the Supreme King, you were my Queen, and the other six sisters were the royal consorts. And I remember how much all of you loved ice cream. Every day after you got home from school, I would run to the store to buy a giant bag of it for everyone." Iris froze. Her eyes locked onto his. She stepped forward, grabbed his collar, and yanked the fabric down his back. There, nestled between his shoulder blades, was a dark, distinct Dragon Birthmark. The floodgates of her memory swung open. The cold, aloof CEO vanished, replaced by a sister who had spent fifteen years mourning a ghost. Her eyes welled with tears, and she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. "It really is you... my little Ethan," she sobbed, her voice cracking. "It’s all my fault. I shouldn't have let you go out to buy that ice cream. I’ve spent every meal for fifteen years looking at your empty chair, wondering if you were cold, if you were hungry, or if you were even still alive." "It’s in the past, Iris," Ethan whispered, stroking her hair. "I’m here now. I’m safe." "You’re right," she said, pulling back and wiping her eyes, though she refused to let go of his hand. "But look at you... you must have suffered so much. Tell me, what do you do for a living now?" Ethan looked down at his clothes, a bashful expression crossing his face. "Actually, I just lost my job. I was hoping I could stay with you for a while. Maybe I could be your driver?" Iris smiled—a radiant, soul-stirring expression. "You’ll be my driver, then. But first, we are going to have the biggest feast this city has ever seen to celebrate your return." In her heart, she felt a pang of sorrow. She would have happily supported him for the rest of his life if he never worked a day again, but if he wanted the dignity of a job, she wouldn't refuse him. She took his hand and led him out of the office. The sight caused a localized earthquake within the company. "My god! The Ice Queen is holding a man's hand!" whispered a group of designers. "Who is that guy? He just stole the goddess of Ambershire!" Iris didn't care. She leaned in, clutching Ethan’s arm as if they were a devoted couple. As they stepped out of the Mosaic Tower, they were met by a man in a perfectly tailored suit. Victor Jordan, heir to the Jordan Corporation, stood there with a smug grin. "Iris Smith," Victor said, holding up an exquisite velvet box. "Look at what I’ve secured for you. This is the Lumina Necklace, one of only nine in the world. I spent $15 million to get this ninth piece just for you." He reached out, intending to drape the jewels around her neck. Ethan’s hand moved like a viper. He snatched the necklace out of the air and, without a second thought, tossed it into a nearby trash can. "That's a fake," Ethan said flatly. "The first Lumina Necklace belongs to the Queen of England. The second to the world's richest man. The third is with the Queen of Solinar. The others belong to the Queens of Eldoria, Krasnovia, Al-Rihal, and Aethelgard. The ninth one..." He reached into his tattered backpack and pulled out a shimmering, radiant box. "...belongs to me." He opened the box, revealing the genuine Lumina Necklace. Its glow was hypnotic, casting a seven-colored rainbow across the pavement that made the previous "jewel" look like cheap plastic. The employees of Mosaic Corporation gasped in unison. Victor Jordan’s face turned the color of a bruised plum. Seeing the intimacy between Iris and this "beggar," Victor's jealousy boiled over. "Who is this trash, Iris?" "He's my husband, Ethan Smith," Iris declared, her voice ringing with conviction. Ethan didn't correct her. A strange, warm spark of joy lit up his chest. "You little cockroach," Victor hissed at Ethan. "Iris is mine. You aren't fit to breathe the same air as her. You want money? Here." He pulled out a black bank card and threw it into the dirt. "There’s $75,000 on that card. Take it and disappear." He even stepped on the card, grinding it into the mud with his shoe. Ethan merely glanced at him. In that moment, Victor felt as though he were being stared at by a prehistoric predator. A primal chill raced from his heels to the crown of his head. Suddenly, Iris leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss onto Ethan's cheek. Ethan felt his face flush with heat. It was a clear provocation to Victor, who had spent three years trying to even touch Iris’s hand. "You 'stay at home' piece of trash!" Victor roared, losing all composure. "I’ll teach you what happens when you touch my woman!" He lunged forward, his left hand reaching for Ethan’s collar while his right swung for a heavy blow. Before he could connect, a woman in a sleek pink dress stepped out from a nearby tea shop. SLAP! The sound was like a gunshot. Catherine Jones didn't say a word as she delivered a backhand that sent Victor spinning. He hit the pavement face-first, two of his teeth skittering across the concrete as blood bloomed from his lip. Iris blinked in surprise. This woman was lethal. A small flicker of jealousy rose in her mind. Is my baby brother already taken? "Ethan... is she your girlfriend?" Iris asked, her voice slightly strained. "No, Iris," Ethan explained. "This is Catherine Jones. She's a bodyguard I hired." Iris exhaled in relief. If she was just an employee, that was fine. She didn't realize that Catherine was actually one of the Guards of the Earth from the Hall of Supreme. "Victor Jordan," Iris said, her voice turning back to ice. "I am not your woman. I never have been, and I never will be. Now get out of my sight." Victor scrambled to his feet, his eyes burning with hatred. He was a scion of a great house, a man of status. How could she choose this "white-faced" nobody over him? And to be beaten by a girl? "This isn't over," Victor spat, clutching his jaw as he retreated. "You’ll regret this, Iris. You’ll both regret this!" He disappeared into a nearby underground den, where he met with a scarred man. He slid a bank card across the table. "I want that kid's limbs broken. Every single one of them." The scarred man grinned. "Consider it done."