Chapter 48 The Only King

Lower Manhattan. Freezing rain lashed against the bulletproof glass.

A convoy of black Rolls-Royce Phantoms tore through the storm, skidding to a stop outside the Empire State Building’s top-floor banquet hall.

Inside, darkness. The partition rose.

Alexander’s thick neck bore the restless dark-gold veins that curled beneath the skin, twitching like a living threat.

Vivienne leaned back against the leather chair, eyelids lowered.

Her bare left hand lifted, cold and pale, pressing against his throbbing carotid.

Fingertips traced the tense veins downward, pressing hard.

Heat collided with ice.

The living vines shrank instantly, retreating deep into the recesses of his tailored suit.

He swallowed heavily, every breath measured.

He did not dare look up.

He let her control him.

The car door opened.

High boots splashed through puddled reflections.

The two-meter-tall male frame, draped in a dark-patterned bespoke suit, pressed the fragile woman close, shielding her completely.

Media flashes cut through the rain, yet no sound escaped.

The heavy carved doors swung open, revealing the banquet hall.

The chatter ceased.

Air seemed to thicken.

The socialites froze mid-breath, eyes locked on the entrance.

Alexander gave them nothing. His shadow swallowed the room.

He walked to the golden nanmu chair at the head of the table.

His thick hands grasped the backrest and pulled it open, guiding Vivienne into her seat with meticulous care.

A mutant beast capable of tearing armor with bare hands now moved with lethal precision.

The tension between micro-actions and sheer size pressed down on the crowd.

The Rothschild patriarch tapped his knuckles impatiently.

A crimson cocktail slid down the velvet tablecloth, stopping beside Alexander.

A glowing pathogen sigil had been carved into the base of the glass, pulsing with eerie green light.

He stepped on a hidden trigger plate. Ultrahigh-pressure infrasonic emitters activated, slicing the air with inaudible waves.

“Last line of defense for the Lazarus family… all down to a dog?”

Cigar smoke swirled around the patriarch.

“Nothing but a disposable tool with no sense of pain. Wearing a suit doesn’t make him fit for the main table.”

The crowd trembled.

They waited for the beast to lose control, for Lazarus to be ridiculed globally.

The low-frequency waves tore at his brainstem, but he didn’t flinch.

He remembered her words in the dressing room: You don’t dare touch me.

He could not, would not, soil her.

Not a finger moved.

Slowly, he lifted his head.

Blood-red eyes, restrained by pathological control, scanned the far end of the table.

A feral magnetic field radiated outward.

The crystal chandelier vibrated violently.

Bones cracked.

The patriarch’s wrist bent painfully.

The cocktail tipped, spilling corrosive liquid over his freshly pressed tie.

Screams filled the hall.

The nobles overturned plates, retreating in panic.

No one dared meet Alexander’s gaze.

Vivienne’s left hand slipped into the dead space beneath the table.

Cold, pale fingers pressed against his thigh, tracing the tense fabric.

Their hands intertwined.

The pulse from ten fingers locked together transmitted a synchronized wave beneath the table.

Alexander’s force constricted around her, yet he obeyed, channeling his energy precisely.

The final command: Vivienne’s right hand smashed the terminal onto the crystal centerpiece.

No words.

The Zero Protocol key bypassed every firewall.

Control seized.

On the massive screen, red curves froze, then collapsed.

Accounts plunged. Stocks crashed. Assets evaporated.

The hall went silent as the digital avalanche wiped everything clean.

Old money crumpled to their knees.

Some tore their ties, crying.

All cameras focused on Vivienne’s slender figure.

She didn’t glance at the fallen patriarch.

Her gaze locked on Alexander.

“Who gave you the illusion he is just a tool?”

Her voice, low but decisive, struck every nerve.

“He is not an asset. He is not a weapon. He is the only man this family will ever have.”

The global dark-net feed froze for three seconds.

Every guard, every veteran, every barrel aligned in absolute loyalty.

In the private space beneath the table, Alexander’s pathologically restrained frenzy became his strength.

The world outside became irrelevant.

The Lazarus heir and his queen ruled completely.

Three hundred meters beneath Manhattan, a lead-lined bunker flickered in cold light.

A hidden elder typed a thirty-six-character red code.

“Conventional termination failed. Initiate Damocles.”

Seven kilometers below the sea, the mother cell’s green glow leapt violently.

Tsunami warning blared.

The forbidden weapon’s authorization crept silently toward 99%.