Chapter 4: The 18th Birthday
Kian Fenix stood before the floor-to-ceiling window of his penthouse, his piercing blue eyes—laced with a hint of red—fixed on the city that sprawled beneath him. The world, vast and ever-changing, seemed to have no place for him. He could have had it all, the empire, the title, the wealth—everything. But he didn't want it. He never had.
The world was about to celebrate something they thought mattered—his 18th birthday. For most people, turning 18 marked the moment they stepped into adulthood, a time for new beginnings. But for Kian, it meant nothing. His age was just a number, and yet, to the world, it was everything. It signified the end of his minor status, the beginning of a new chapter, but Kian had no interest in playing along.
Despite his indifference, his family had made it clear that this birthday would not pass unnoticed. To them, it was a milestone, one that would set the stage for a future Kian had no desire for. His father, Victor Fenix, had already begun the preparations, as if Kian's acceptance of the throne was imminent. Kian, however, wasn't the least bit moved by the grandeur of the occasion.
Victor Fenix, the sixth most powerful man in the world, had always been a shadow of his true self in Kian's eyes. He was a man who built an empire on scandals and deceit, a man whose affairs were as numerous as his failures. Despite all of this, he had somehow managed to maintain his grip on power, his influence unshaken, thanks in no small part to the genius of his wife, Kian's mother, who had once been the second most powerful woman in the world.
But now she lay in a coma, her mind silent, her body motionless, as her husband continued his charade, pretending that everything was fine. Kian had never forgiven his father for his infidelity, even if he understood the complexities of their bond. Victor's love for his mother, though emotionally and mentally true, did nothing to soothe the bitterness Kian felt. It was the principle of it. Kian's father had broken something sacred, something that could never be repaired.
As the days passed, Kian spent his time in the sterile, quiet hospital room, beside his mother's bed. Her once-vibrant face, now pale and still, was a constant reminder of the person he had lost. His mother had been a woman of unmatched brilliance, the world's second strongest person, a visionary in AI, codes, and physics. She had built systems, equations, and algorithms that had changed the course of industries. But now, she lay silent, unable to respond, unable to even acknowledge the son who so desperately sought to feel her warmth again.
Kian's appearance was a striking mirror of hers. His hair—blonde, with touches of gold, black, and white—fell perfectly around his face, and his sharp features, sculpted from the same genetic blueprint as his mother's, made him an almost ethereal figure. His blue eyes, tinged with a subtle red hue, held a quiet power, the kind that didn't demand attention but drew it nonetheless. He looked every bit the part of someone who could rule the world, and yet, he didn't care. Not for the throne, not for the empire. He simply wanted his mother back.
His father, on the other hand, could not be more different. Victor was an aging man whose once-powerful physique had long since faded. His features were rough, his skin marred by age, and his expression often wore the weight of the countless scandals he had buried over the years. The only reason any of his illegitimate children were even remotely good-looking was because they inherited their mothers' genes, not his.
Kian had never been able to look at his father without feeling a deep sense of disconnect. There was no warmth in Victor's eyes when he looked at him, only a sense of ownership—a subtle reminder that Kian was, after all, his son, the heir to his throne. But Kian didn't care about titles or expectations. He didn't care about his father's legacy. He cared about the woman who had given him life, who had raised him with love and warmth, and now—lay silent and broken.
Despite all of this, Kian knew the world would never stop watching him. They would follow every move, analyze every word, and expect him to step into the role he had been born into. The fact that he was turning 18 only added fuel to the fire. Headlines were already being written about his future, the possibilities of what this birthday would bring.
Headline 1: "Kian Fenix Turns 18: A New Era for the Fenix Empire?"
Headline 2: "The Quiet Prince: Kian Fenix, the 17-Year-Old Who Could Change the World"
Comment 1: "I've seen him in person. No one is as perfect as Kian. He's destined for greatness—just wait and watch."
Comment 2: "The Fenix empire is just a shadow of what it could be with Kian at the helm. Too bad he's not interested."
Comment 3: "Kian is everything Dmitri isn't. Smart, poised, and already surpassing his father. But will he take the throne? We'll see."
Kian never bothered to read the articles. He didn't need to. The world could talk all it wanted, but it would never understand. They would never understand him, the quiet boy who spent his days by his mother's side, talking to her even though he knew she could never answer. They didn't know the pain of losing someone so integral to their existence, someone whose absence left a hole no empire or title could ever fill.
But despite his indifference, Kian knew the expectations would continue. His 18th birthday, despite all the effort to make it a grand affair, would pass in a blur. His family, especially his father, would make sure of that. They would pretend as if everything was normal, as if Kian's reluctance to take up the mantle of leadership didn't matter. But Kian knew the truth—none of it mattered.
He was not the heir, anyway.
For now, he would remain the shadow—the one who controlled everything from behind the scenes, the one who didn't need a title to rule.