Chapter 3 The mask beneath

Ivan had never liked loud spaces. As an introvert who thrived on control, he was used to crafting his environment-a world where silence and order reigned. Sitting in the luxury of his penthouse office the next day, far away from the energy of the concert, he felt more himself. The only sound was the soft hum of the city outside, and Ivan's fingers tapping quietly on his keyboard as he worked through his latest business acquisitions.

But something felt off.

Atticus Monroe.

The name kept echoing in his mind, as did the brief moments they had shared at the bar the night before. Atticus was everything Ivan normally despised-loud, flashy, and unpredictable. Yet there was something else there. Something dark and dangerous beneath the surface that intrigued him, even if he wouldn't admit it.

Ivan leaned back in his chair, staring out over the city skyline, the lights twinkling below like the embers of a fire. He knew people like Atticus, or at least he thought he did. People who wore their emotions on their sleeve, who didn't play by the rules of control and silence. Ivan had always been the opposite-calculated, deliberate. And ruthless, when necessary.

What most people didn't know was that Ivan had a reputation for being more than just a businessman. In the corporate world, Ivan was known as a "silent killer"-someone who moved through the ranks of power without drawing attention, destroying his competition with a quiet efficiency. He never raised his voice. Never made a scene. His enemies simply disappeared, crushed under the weight of his relentless ambition.

But Atticus... Ivan didn't know how to handle someone like him.

---

Meanwhile, Atticus was back in his chaotic world, but the electricity of last night's encounter with Ivan hadn't worn off. He sat sprawled on the plush couch in his suite, his mind buzzing, replaying every moment. Ivan Laurent was a different kind of challenge. Controlled, reserved, and maddeningly difficult to read.

Atticus loved a good puzzle.

He laughed to himself, running a hand through his messy, dark hair. "I wonder how long it'll take to break that icy facade."

Jaxon was busy handling calls on the other side of the room but paused to glance over. "What are you plotting now?"

Atticus smirked, the glint in his eyes dangerously playful. "Nothing too serious. Just thinking about that billionaire we met last night. Ivan Laurent."

Jaxon rolled his eyes. "Oh, that guy. He barely spoke two words to you. What's so interesting about him?"

Atticus sat up, crossing his legs, his fingers drumming lightly on his knee. "It's because he barely spoke that he's interesting. He's hiding something. I can feel it."

"And you, being the psycho you are, love digging up people's secrets," Jaxon said, half-joking, but he knew Atticus well enough to know there was truth in his words.

Atticus shrugged, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "What can I say? I like breaking people. Especially the ones who think they're untouchable."

And that was the difference between Atticus and most people-where others saw walls, Atticus saw doors waiting to be kicked open. He was an extrovert with a chaotic energy that no one could ever quite contain. His career as a K-pop star had put him on a pedestal, but even the fans who adored him had no idea just how deep his madness ran. He thrived on control in his own way-by creating chaos and bending people to his will.

That was his art, as much as his music.

---

Later that evening, Atticus found himself pacing his suite again, thoughts of Ivan refusing to leave his mind. His phone buzzed on the coffee table, pulling him from his thoughts. It was a text from Jaxon.

We're invited to a private event tomorrow. High-end crowd, business elites. Ivan will be there.

Atticus's lips curled into a devilish smile. Perfect.

Count me in.

---

The event the next night was as glamorous and exclusive as they came-held at a sleek penthouse with panoramic views of the city, filled with the most powerful people from industries ranging from tech to entertainment. Atticus arrived fashionably late, as always, drawing eyes the moment he stepped through the door. He wore a black leather jacket over a crisp white shirt, his signature dark eyeliner accentuating his sharp features. He looked every bit the rockstar, standing out among the sea of polished businessmen and their glamorous dates.

It didn't take long for him to spot Ivan, standing near the window, his sharp suit perfectly tailored as always. Ivan was in conversation with a few other high-powered figures, his face as unreadable as ever. But Atticus could feel the tension in the air, the way Ivan's eyes briefly flickered toward him as he entered the room.

Atticus didn't approach him immediately. No, he liked to let the anticipation build. Instead, he drifted through the crowd, making small talk with a few other guests, letting the night unfold naturally. He could feel Ivan's eyes on him every so often, and it thrilled him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Atticus made his way toward Ivan, catching his eye with a mischievous grin. "Ivan," he greeted, his voice smooth as silk. "Fancy seeing you here."

Ivan turned, his expression cool but guarded. "Atticus. I didn't take you for the type to attend these kinds of events."

Atticus smirked, stepping closer. "Oh, I'm full of surprises. And I thought I'd see what kind of circles you run in."

There was a moment of silence as they sized each other up. The energy between them was charged, like the air before a storm.

Ivan's gaze was steady, his voice low and measured. "You're playing a dangerous game."

Atticus's grin widened. "I'm not afraid of danger."

Their eyes locked, and for the first time, Ivan felt a flicker of something unfamiliar. Atticus was different. He wasn't intimidated by Ivan's power, nor was he impressed by it. Instead, he seemed drawn to it-tempted by it.

Atticus leaned in slightly, his voice a whisper meant only for Ivan. "You think you've got it all figured out, don't you? But I bet there's a lot more to you than meets the eye."

Ivan's jaw clenched, his hands tightening around his drink. He had spent years mastering control, building walls to protect himself. But Atticus was getting under his skin. The pop star's boldness, his unpredictability-it was disarming.

"I don't play games, Atticus," Ivan said, his voice firm but laced with a warning.

Atticus chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "That's the problem, Ivan. Maybe it's time you started."

Ivan didn't respond, but the tension between them was palpable. Atticus thrived in chaos, but Ivan lived for control. They were opposites in every way, yet something was drawing them together-something dangerous and dark, like the pull of gravity toward a black hole.

And as they stood there, the world around them fading into the background, both of them knew that this was only the beginning.