CHAPTER 4

I couldn't believe my ears.

My heart raced as I watched Lyon sit back with a cool, confident expression, his eyes scanning the room as if he were already prepared for what was coming.

"Wait, what did you say?" I stammered, my mind trying to wrap itself around the bizarre statement that just left his lips. "You're. the God of War?"

Lyon gave a half-smile, looking impervious to the rising tension in the room. "Yes, that's who I am."

The moment he uttered that, the whole room just seemed to freeze. The other guests at the table turned confusedly toward each other, while I sat there staring at him with utter disbelief.

"What?" Peter, a tall, serious-faced man that sat next to us, exploded into a laugh. "The God of War? Please, someone tell me this is a joke."

I looked over at Lyon. He didn't even flinch at the insult. Instead, he just took a slow sip from his glass, unbothered by the eyes that were now on him. But it didn't sit right with me. The arrogant man sitting next to me-was he really serious?

Lyon had just spent five years in a hellhole prison. This guy was hard to fathom as being anything other than a product of his own inflated ego.

One of my childhood friends, Ruth, leaned over the table to whisper to me, a hint of sarcasm lacing her voice. "So, Zoey, is this the man who's going to save the day now?" Her words were judgmental. "God of War? More like the king of drama."

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks. I wanted to defend Lyon, but how could I? His claim sounded absurd, especially considering the circumstances surrounding his release.

Across the room, Samuel's laughter boomed, echoing off the high ceilings of the elegant hotel ballroom. "Oh, please! God of War? Is that what we're calling this now?" He laughed so hard, I thought he might choke.

His wife, Melanie, chimed in with a snicker. "Oh my God, Zoey, you've outdone yourself. What a winner! A man who claims to be the God of War? Are you really buying into this nonsense?" Her eyes shone bright with mirth, and my patience began wearing thin.

My eyes fell to the floor; I wouldn't dare look at Lyon. It wasn't just the laughter that was stinging, it was embarrassment in general that started really crawling up my spine.

A voice cut through the mockery. "Zoey," Frank, Lyon's old acquaintance, said with a grimace. "You can't just let this slide. You need to get him in check."

I didn't know what to do. There was tension in the air, some unsaid thing between Lyon and the rest of the people at this table. It felt like a storm was brewing under the surface, and I wasn't sure if Lyon was capable of controlling it.

"Please," Melanie said, her voice as bitter as poison, "Don't tell me you're actually believing this fairy story. The God of War? He's nothing but a wash-up guy who thinks to charm us with his small-time act."

I began to retort when Lyon intervened, his voice cold and controlled. "That is enough. I have not come here for the sake of your ridicule."

And the room fell dead silent.

Lyon's eyes locked onto Samuel, who was still chuckling nervously, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"You think I'm here to entertain you?" Lyon's voice was sharp, a tinge of steel behind it. "I don't need your approval. I've lived through worse."

Samuel blinked, finally recognizing that Lyon wasn't playing around. The crowd was no longer amused.

My pulse was racing as I digested the aftermath of what had just occurred. Lyon wasn't just a bystander, and he had done something I never thought him capable of doing.

"God of War, huh?" Frank said, leaning back in his chair, clearly intrigued. "You've got guts to say something like that in front of all these people. But let's be real here, Lyon. If you're really that powerful, why are you here with us?"

Lyon turned his gaze to Frank, but there was no malice in his eyes, just a quiet intensity.

"Because," Lyon said slowly, "I'm not here to play games."

Samuel cleared his throat. "Well, I didn't expect this tonight. But there's a banquet tomorrow in North Hampton. Maybe that's the place to show us all just how much power you really have."

There was a moment of silence.

"Yeah," I said, my voice trembling just slightly. "A banquet. The one you're so proud of?"

Spite danced in Melanie's eyes. "Of course, Zoey. You'll be there, too, won't you? I'm sure Lyon will make another scene, like tonight."

I felt like she had jabbed at me just then, but I couldn't be bothered saying anything in response. I turned to Lyon; wordlessly, my face asked if he was ready for what awaited him at that banquet.

"Ah, there it is," Peter said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The God of War finally has something to prove."

Lyon didn't even flinch at Peter's words. "I don't need to prove anything," he said softly. "Tomorrow night, you'll understand."

The tension in the room was palpable, and I could feel it tightening around my chest. What was Lyon getting us into?

"Wait," Ruth interrupted, flickers of interest dancing in her eyes. "You have an invitation to this very private banquet, Lyon?"

Lyon nodded once. "I do."

And then, in the same instant, the doors to the ballroom opened, and a man in a suit came in, his rapid steps a sudden contrast to the quiet tension which had filled the room. It was Riley, the secretary from North Hampton.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice calm and professional as he walked straight toward us. "Mr. Lopez, I'm here with ten invitations to the North Hampton banquet tomorrow night. Please accept them on behalf of the God of War."

My jaw dropped.

"Ten?" Samuel's eyes nearly popped out of his skull. "Ten invitations?"

Everyone was silent, watching as Riley passed the cards around, his eyes darting from one person to another in the room. When he came to me, I could feel his eyes on me for a moment before he passed on.

The silence that followed was deafening. There was a strange feel in the air now-one that I couldn't exactly describe. Lyon had been invited by someone powerful, someone that respected him enough to send ten invites for this event.

I looked at him again and tried to read his face. There was something deeper behind his eyes, something I couldn't totally understand.

What's going on here?" Peter finally asked, the tension in his voice not masked.

But Lyon didn't answer. He simply smiled, as if he knew something the rest of us didn't.

And maybe-just maybe-he did.