[PROLOGUE] Emerald Green and Poison
Sotheby’s Auction House， New York.
Three Years Later.
The gavel hit the podium like a gunshot.“Sold! For fifty million dollars!“
But Damon Sterling didn't hear it.
The King of Wall Street， a man who built skyscrapers to hide from the sun， was standing in the middle of the aisle， trembling. His eyes， usually cold shards of obsidian， were bloodshot and wild， fixed on the woman standing near the velvet exit curtains.
She wore emerald green. The dress clung to her like a second skin—backless， dangerous， and utterly breathtaking.
“Serena?“ The name tore out of his throat， raw and jagged.
The crowd went silent. Whispers hissed through the room like gas leaks. The Damon Sterling， losing his composure?
He didn't care. He shoved past a Senator and a Tech Mogul， knocking over a tray of champagne flutes. Glass shattered. He sprinted toward her， desperation radiating off him in waves.
He caught her wrist just as she reached the door.
“Serena! It’s you. You’re… you’re alive?!“
His grip was iron， but his hand was shaking. He looked at her like a starving man looks at a feast he knows is poisoned.
The woman turned slowly. Her face was the one that haunted his nightmares. The same porcelain skin， the same cat-like eyes， but the softness was gone. In its place was a diamond-hard polish that could cut glass.
She didn't speak. She didn't need to.
Because two small figures stepped out from behind the folds of her emerald gown.
The boy， no older than three， wore a miniature tuxedo. He had Damon’s dark hair and， terrifyingly， Damon’s icy glare. He raised his plastic auction paddle and smacked Damon hard on the leg.
Thwack.
“Let go，“ the boy commanded. His voice was cold， precise.“Mom， who is this rude man?“
Damon froze. The breath left his lungs.
Then， a giggle.
The girl， a tiny angel in white， peeked out. She pointed a chubby finger right at Damon’s face.
“Look， Atlas!“ she chirped.“It’s the dummy uncle from the TV! The one who cries and says，'I lost my melody.'“
Damon felt his knees turn to water.
He looked at the two miniature faces. The boy， fierce and protective. The girl， joyful and mocking.
His pride shattered on the floor of Sotheby’s.
Serena flicked her wrist， breaking his grip effortlessly. She adjusted her diamond necklace， looking at him with bored amusement.
“Mr. Sterling，“ she purred， her voice a mix of velvet and venom.“Let me introduce you.“
She placed a hand on the boy’s head.“This is Atlas.“
She smoothed the girl’s hair.“And this is Aria.“
She leaned in close. He could smell her perfume—wild rose and rain. The scent of the ghost he had mourned.
“You remember your vow， don't you， Damon?“ she whispered， her red lips curving into a smile that didn't reach her eyes.“You said you were the Titan. You said you would hold up the world for me. You said I was your only Aria.“
Damon choked back a sob.“Serena， please—“
“Atlas holds my world now，“ she interrupted， gesturing to her son.“And Aria fills the silence you left behind.“
She took a step back， sweeping her gaze over him like he was a bad investment.
“You see? I kept the names. I just changed the man.“
The silence in the auction house was deafening.
Damon Sterling， the man who never bowed to anyone， looked at the woman he loved and the children he never knew existed.
His legs gave out.
Thud.
He dropped to his knees right there on the Persian rug， clutching the hem of her emerald dress， his head bowed in absolute， crushing defeat.
