I've lived in Noxford Heights long enough to know that nothing is ever what it seems. From the outside, this place is perfection—lush green lawns, mansions that look like they belong in a fairytale, and people who smile at you as though they have everything under control. But under the surface, it's a different story. It's a war zone. Quiet. Hidden. But a war all the same.

Two families rule this neighborhood, each one vying for control. The Blackthorns and the Vortexes. You've probably heard of them. They're the kind of families that make you believe the world revolves around them, like everyone else is just a pawn in their game. But what most people don't know is that their rivalry isn't just about money or status. It's darker than that. It's about power—real power—and a hunger for it that never seems to be satisfied.

Take Empress Blackthorn, for instance. Her name sounds like something out of a fantasy novel, doesn't it? But trust me, there's nothing fictional about her. She runs the Blackthorn family with a kind of cold grace that makes you question everything you know about loyalty. Her history is soaked in blood, literally. She's known for her secret rituals—blood sacrifices, family bonds that go beyond the physical. She's the kind of woman who gets what she wants, no matter the cost.

And then there's Noctis Vortex. You've probably seen him at one of those ridiculous gala events. He loves being in the spotlight, his charm dripping off him like honey. He doesn't need the shadows like the Blackthorns. He thrives in the public eye, playing the part of the perfect businessman, the one who's always shaking hands, cutting deals, making you think that his power is all just well-earned respect. But trust me, that's just a mask. Beneath that polished exterior, he's just as ruthless, if not more. And right now, he's got his sights set on showing the world exactly how much control he has over Noxford Heights.

Tonight, there's a gala at the Vortex mansion. A fancy affair, designed to make everyone in the neighborhood bow down and take notice. Noctis is hosting it himself, of course. It's his way of flexing—of reminding everyone that he's the man in charge. He's even invited the Blackthorns, a gesture that's more about proving a point than any kind of social grace. The two families haven't spoken face-to-face in years, but tonight, they'll meet in the same room, under the same roof.

I know what's coming. I can feel it in my bones.

I slip into the grand ballroom, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. I'm not supposed to be here, not really. I'm just an observer—one of those people who watch the game but never get to play. But even so, I can't tear my eyes away from the scene unfolding before me.

Noctis is at the center, as usual. His sharp suit fits him like a second skin, and his smile is wide enough to charm even the most jaded of cynics. He's surrounded by a group of sycophants, all eager to bask in his glory. But then, the doors open, and Empress Blackthorn steps inside. She doesn't smile. She doesn't need to. She commands attention the moment she enters a room. Her eyes scan the crowd with a calculated coolness, and I can see the way the air shifts when she walks through it. People step aside, clearing a path, like they know better than to be caught in her way.

The tension between the two families is palpable. It's almost electric. Noctis moves toward her with the kind of confidence that only comes from believing you're the king of your kingdom. Empress doesn't flinch. She doesn't even acknowledge the gesture at first. She's too busy scanning the room, measuring the players, calculating the risks.

And then, without warning, they're face-to-face. For a moment, the noise around them fades. It's just them—Noctis and Empress—locked in some silent, unspoken battle of wills. It's the kind of moment you don't forget, one that makes you wonder what kind of games they've been playing under the surface. It's like watching two predators sizing each other up, knowing that only one of them will walk away unscathed.

"Empress," Noctis says, his voice smooth, but there's a hint of something more dangerous underneath. "It's been too long."

She doesn't return the greeting. Instead, her lips curl into the faintest smile, the kind that says she knows exactly what he's thinking. "Is that so, Noctis? I hadn't noticed."

The words are polite, but the venom is clear. The underlying threat hangs in the air, thick and heavy.

I can't help but watch, transfixed. This isn't just a social event. This is the beginning of something. Something big. Something bloody.

Because in Noxford Heights, there's only one rule: if you're not at the top, you're in the way. And tonight, both families are sending a message. One will rise. One will fall.

And I'm caught right in the middle.