The Reborn Young Master's Guide to Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse BL-Chapter 12: Step Twelve: Dress Sharp, Hide Sharper Intentions
Because survival means smiling through your teeth.
Two weeks later, Brad, Cain, Rene, and the triplets arrived at the Winters Corporation Charity Gala.
Master Greyson and Lady Greyson were currently abroad for their aniversary, leaving the high stakes invitation to their children to deal with.
The Greyson siblings had never seen a gala quite as grand as this.
Crystal chandeliers hung like suspended stars, their light fracturing into thousands of glittering shards that danced across the polished marble floor.
The ballroom was a cathedral of opulence with red velvet drapes pooled at the windows, golden sconces lined the walls, and the murmur of the city’s elite filled the air like a thick perfume.
Asher Greyson stepped into the room, the tailored black suit he wore fitting his taller, muscular frame like a second skin.
The fabric clung in all the right places of his broad shoulders and narrow waist.
The sharp cut of the lapels made half the room forget how to breathe.
His red eyes, bright and electric beneath the shadow of his lashes, scanned the crowd with practiced calm.
This was no ordinary gala.
It was a battlefield draped in silk and satin, where every smile masked a blade and every toast hid a trap.
Asher felt the weight of their gazes, curious, hostile, grudgingly admiring.
Whispers followed his path like a low tide of secrets.
The same whispers that, a month ago, would have been laughter.
But tonight, he was no longer the youngest Greyson, the outsider to be ignored or mocked.
He was something different.
Someone to be reckoned with.
The sharp scent of expensive cologne and floral bouquets filled his nostrils as he made his way through the crowd.
Eyes flicked toward him, but no one dared to approach, not after spotting the sapphire blue emblem stitched discreetly into the lapel of his black suit.
That sigil, refined and unmistakable, belonged to the Winter Corporation, the most powerful military conglomerate in the Capital.
It wasn’t just a design.
It was a declaration.
A warning.
That emblem said: I belong to someone dangerous.
And yet Asher had made a choice tonight.
He arrived not with Caspian, despite the Guildmaster’s subtle demand that they appear together as partners but with his brothers, James and Kieran.
A calculated move.
Because walking in on the arm of the Winter heir would’ve screamed alliance, vulnerability... and possible interest.
And Asher wasn’t ready to give the wolves that kind of bait.
He wanted the room to see where his blood loyalty still stood.
To be reminded that while he might wear Winter’s mark tonight, he still bore the Greyson name, and that name, for better or worse, had power in these walls.
Even if he planned to burn it down eventually.
His older siblings, James and Kieran, flanked him, their calm confidence a shield against the undercurrents of malice swirling in the room.
They moved like a united front, an unspoken alliance forged in the furnace of their fractured family.
Yet, despite the apparent solidarity, tension crackled beneath the surface.
Rene Greyson, their half-sister and the so-called ’golden child,’ had already left them at the entrance a while ago to stand near the center of the ballroom, the very picture of icy elegance.
Her brown hair was pulled back in a high pony tail, her red eyes sharp and assessing as she caught sight of Asher.
A slow, poisonous smile curved her lips.
Asher’s footsteps faltered for the briefest moment before he squared his shoulders and met her gaze.
"Nice borrowed clothes," Rene said sweetly, her voice a gentle purr laced with something sharper beneath the surface.
Before he could respond, James stepped forward, his voice low and steady. "Borrowed or not, they fit better than your lies."
Kieran’s hand rested lightly on Asher’s arm, a silent show of support.
Rene’s smile never wavered, but the slight narrowing of her eyes betrayed the calculating cruelty beneath her charming mask.
She tilted her head, the epitome of innocence, yet the poison in her words lingered like a hidden blade.
The moment passed, but the electric charge lingered, a reminder that this war of wills was far from over.
Asher’s eyes swept the room again, and then he saw him.
Caspian Winters.
The Young General and the future Ice Emperor.
Standing near the marble staircase, his posture was regal as his cold silver-blue eyes scanned the room with detached precision.
Their gazes locked.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the space between them: charged, dangerous, and undeniably magnetic.
Caspian’s eyes darkened, flickering with something raw and unspoken.
A memory, perhaps.
A fragment of a dream.
Lightning crackling through a storm-ravaged sky.
Blood.
A boy screaming his name, desperate and broken.
Caspian shook his head slightly, as if trying to dispel the vision.
It was gone—or was it?
Asher, aware of the gaze, slowly smirked before lifting his wine up to gulp it down.
Putting the cup down, he made his way over to Caspian.
Caspian also approached him before abruptly stopping before this familiar boy.
"I’m Caspian. I heard my grandfather played his games to bring you here."
Asher gave a small smile.
"You have one cunning grandfather."
Caspian nodded.
"I have to go but if you need me, come find me." With that, Asher brushed past him with the faintest smirk.
Caspian blinked, his expression unreadable.
Asher disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind a trail of questions and a flicker of recognition.
The gala continued, the orchestra playing a haunting waltz that wrapped around the guests like a silk noose.
Asher moved through the room, exchanging polite words with the city’s elite, all while calculating every glance, every smile, every hidden agenda.
The stakes were high.
Trust was a luxury no one could afford.
Yet in this glittering cage, two predators circled each other, bound by memories neither fully understood but both instinctively felt.
Asher adjusted the cuff of his shirt and allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction.
Tonight, he was no longer the hunted.
Tonight, he was a force to be reckoned with.
But survival meant more than power.
It meant control.
And the game was only just beginning.
