Ethan Vale stood before the stained-glass doors of the Grand Crystal Hotel, staring at his reflection for a moment. Three years ago, at this very spot, he had walked in wearing a cheap, borrowed suit, only to end up holding a rag and cleaning wine spills off the tables. Tonight, the doors were not opened by a common attendant, but by two high commanders of the city guard who bowed so low their foreheads nearly touched the floor. "Ethan... this feels like a nightmare for those who hate you," Clara whispered, gripping Ethan’s arm. Her silk gown rustled softly against the red carpet. Her stride was much steadier now, bolstered by the infinite support of her husband’s strong arm. "It's not a dream, Clara. It is simply history being set back on its rightful course," Ethan replied flatly. As the
