2025-09-02 17:21:29Just as the truck slammed into the front of their car, the driver-side door flung open—sending both of them flying out with force.
The red glow that had briefly lit the air vanished the moment their bodies hit the ground.Vivienne gasped, struggling to catch her breath and stay calm. Slowly, she lifted her head to examine her body. A soft, disbelieving smile crossed her lips—there wasn’t a single injury.
“It’s a miracle…” she whispered.She turned to her left and saw Evan lying unconscious not far from her.
“Evan! Evan!”Vivienne scrambled to her feet and rushed to him, tears streaming down her face.
There were no severe injuries on Evan’s body—just scrapes on his arms. But he was out cold.She gently patted his face, desperately trying to wake him.
“Evan! Wake up! Please!”A few cars had pulled over, and Vivienne waved frantically. “Please, someone help me—my husband!”
Her cry for help was quickly answered. An ambulance arrived and the paramedics rushed to Evan. They lifted him onto a stretcher and headed straight to the hospital.
Vivienne sat beside him in the ambulance, holding his hand as her tears kept falling.
“Please don’t die, Evan. Please…”Fear twisted inside her chest. She prayed over and over, begging the universe not to take him away.
Even when they arrived at the hospital and Evan was taken into surgery, anxiety gripped Vivienne like a vice. The next two hours felt like an eternity.
When the doors finally opened and the doctor walked out, Vivienne stopped breathing. He looked directly at her, and panic surged in her chest.
“Doctor… don’t tell me—”She froze as a nurse pushed a wheelchair out from behind the doctor.
Evan was sitting in it, smiling wide.“Evan… you…”
“Yes, he’s perfectly fine. All wounds have been cleaned, and there’s no internal damage. Mr. Evan is cleared to go home,” the doctor informed her.
“Thank you for your care,” Evan said as he stood up from the wheelchair. The doctor and nurse nodded and left them alone.
Seeing Evan healthy and vibrant filled Vivienne with relief. She let out a shaky breath, thinking to herself, Maybe I overreacted… but thank God, he’s okay.
“Thank you,” Evan said warmly.
“For what?”
“For worrying about me. The way you looked at me and stayed by my side… that proves there’s still love left.”
Evan stepped closer, arms out to hug her—but Vivienne instinctively pushed him away, scowling.
“Of course I was worried—we were in the same accident, and you protected me! I’m not heartless. But that doesn’t mean you can hug me like nothing happened! My heart is still broken from your confession!” she snapped.“I’ve told you the truth, Vivienne. I wasn’t lying.”
She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head in disbelief.
“You say you weren’t lying, but you gave two different answers! Which one should I believe, Evan? I can’t keep hurting like this. This marriage… has to end.”“No!” Evan immediately grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a quieter corner.
“Believe whatever you want,” Vivienne said coldly, yanking her hand away. “The divorce is already in motion.”
“Just let me say one thing. One offer,” Evan said, eyes locked on hers—serious, desperate, sincere.
Vivienne crossed her arms, her expression stone cold, but she allowed him to continue.
“Give me five days. I’ll prove I was framed by Darian Voss. I’ll show you the truth. If I fail—then I’ll accept whatever consequences you choose.”
Vivienne studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly.
“If you can’t prove it in five days—we divorce.”Her phone rang from inside her purse, cutting through the tension like a knife.
She frowned when she saw the caller ID: Grandma Helena.
Vivienne stepped away to answer.
“Yes, Grandma,” she said quietly.“Oh, thank God. I saw the crash on the news, and when I recognized your car, my heart nearly stopped! Is this how you plan to kill me, Vivienne?!”
“I’m sorry, Grandma. But we’re okay. Evan and I aren’t hurt—”
“What?!”
Grandma Helena’s shriek made Vivienne hold the phone away from her ear.
“Vivienne, have you lost your mind?! I suspected something the moment I saw that crash happened near the prison! You went to pick him up, didn’t you? You're still involved with that man—a convicted criminal!?"Vivienne turned to look at Evan, who was watching her silently. Her chest tightened.
She loved him.
Evan was her first love. She remembered how hard it was to convince him to marry her. His social status had always been a barrier, especially after his mother fell seriously ill. Vivienne’s parents had even triple-checked their accounts to make sure no money was being funneled to Evan.But she’d found ways to secretly support his mother’s treatment. She never once felt ashamed of Evan working at a regular company.
Her love for him had been real. Powerful.“You’re wrong about him,” she whispered into the phone. “I’ll explain later.”
“Excuse me? Are you defending him again?!” Helena snapped. “You should’ve divorced him the moment he got out! He’s a threat to the LaRue family’s reputation!”
Suddenly another voice came through the phone—it had been handed off. Vivienne exhaled sharply.
“Vivienne,” her mother, Nancy, said sternly, “if you care about this family, you’ll divorce Evan immediately. That man is a disgrace. You almost died in that crash because of him!”
“This is all a misunderstanding! He was framed!”
“Framed? You’re still clinging to that excuse? I don’t want to hear another word! Come home alone, Vivienne. Grandma’s calling a full family meeting tonight. Do not bring Evan.”
Before Vivienne could respond, the call ended.
She lowered the phone and stared ahead, anger and pain flashing in her eyes. Then she turned back toward Evan, her expression calm but determined.
“What happened?” Evan asked gently. “What did they say?”
Vivienne looked up at him.
“We need to find you something decent to wear,” she said. “Because tonight… you’re coming with me to the family gathering.”
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163
The first week of January brought a deep, steady rhythm to Villa Seraphine. The initial holiday quiet had seamlessly dissolved into a period of quiet productivity, where long-term plans were drafted, refined, and set into motion with the calm efficiency that defined the Caelis-LaRue household.High above the coastline, the sky over Saint-Tropez was a pale, icy blue, washed clean by the brisk mistral wind that blew across the peninsula. Sunlight spilled into the villa’s upper gallery, reflecting off polished marble floors and highlighting the rich textures of architectural linen, dark walnut, and brushed brass.Inside the gallery's private drafting wing, Leo sat at a wide, tilted oak table. At thirteen, his focus was unshakeable. A physical scale model of the Lyon Foundation's central library complex sat before him, illuminated by a warm balance lamp. He was using a fine scalpel to trim a strip of miniature timber veneer, fitting it carefully along the interior curve of the model’s upp
162
On the first morning of the new year, the sky above Saint-Tropez opened into a brilliant vault of pale turquoise. A light, crisp northern breeze swept down from the snow-capped Alps, carrying the sharp scent of mountain pine across the granite headlands to mingle with the clean, briny spray of the sea.At Villa Seraphine, the morning began not with the sharp ring of secure communications or the tense briefing of security personnel, but with the quiet, rhythmic crunch of gravel underfoot.Evan walked along the upper stone terrace, dressed in a thick dark navy cardigan over an open-collared white shirt. His dark eyes scanned the wide expanse of the Mediterranean—not looking for thermal signatures or unfamiliar vessels, but watching the way the pale golden sunlight danced across the tranquil, obsidian swells. His posture was broad, imposing, and entirely relaxed, the physical embodiment of a man who had secured his world so completely that nothing remained to threaten it.He paused near
161
A crisp alpine frost glittered on the stone balustrades of Villa Seraphine, while the Mediterranean below lay motionless, a vast sheet of pale sapphire reflecting the soft lavender and gold of the early winter dawn.Inside the villa’s primary conservatory, warmth radiated from a monumental hearth constructed of rough-hewn granite. Floor-to-ceiling glass arches offered an unobstructed panorama of the coastline, casting long, geometric patterns of golden light across the terracotta tile floor.Evan stood near the center archway, holding a porcelain cup of dark roasted coffee. Dressed in a dark charcoal cashmere sweater and tailored trousers, he watched the distant horizon where the sun was slowly lifting over the sea. His broad shoulders were relaxed, his posture easy and unhurried—the quiet, grounded presence of a man whose sanctuary was absolute.Beside him, Vivienne sat at a wide teak cutting table draped with swatches of heavy midnight-blue velvet and hand-woven Lyon silks. She wore
160
As the final days of December approached, an extraordinary tranquility settled over the estate. The morning sun rose over the Gulf of Saint-Tropez in a breathtaking wash of pale gold and liquid amber, clearing the thin morning haze off the water and warming the ancient stone terraces of Villa Seraphine.In the long, sun-drenched corridor connecting the private residential quarters to the design wing, the quiet rustle of silk and the soft hum of quiet activity created a comforting rhythm. The estate was entering its end-of-year period—not a time of frantic deadlines or urgent security measures, but a season of reflection, consolidation, and quiet celebration.Inside the spacious private study on the main floor, Evan sat behind a massive desk of reclaimed olive wood. The room was bathed in golden light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling arched windows that opened onto the lower orange groves. Dressed in a dark navy knit shirt with his sleeves pushed up, Evan was reviewing the final
159
The morning after Christmas broke over Saint-Tropez with a brilliant, golden stillness. The light dusting of snow that had blanketed the granite terraces the night before had melted under the early sun, leaving the cypress trees and ancient olive groves dripping with clear, crystalline water. The air was sharp, cold, and invigorated by the fresh alpine wind blowing gently off the distant mountain peaks.Inside the quiet sanctuary of the villa's private design gallery, morning light poured through the tall arched windows, illuminating the vast oak cutting tables, shelves of Lyon silk rolls, and framed architectural renderings that lined the whitewashed stone walls.Vivienne stood at the central work table wearing a dark grey cashmere dress, her hair swept up into an effortless, graceful knot. She was examining a series of hand-woven embroidery swatches destined for the upcoming spring foundation exhibition in Lucerne. Beside her, a silver pot of herbal tea steamed softly in the cool ro
158
Christmas Eve on the Côte d’Azur brought a rare, tranquil magic to Villa Seraphine. A soft, powdery dusting of snow—an uncommon gift from the northern winds sweeping off the Maritime Alps—lay lightly across the upper granite terraces, dusting the dark needles of the stone pines and outlining the stone balustrades in clean white lace.Far below, the Mediterranean remained a deep, motionless indigo, reflecting the pale silver glow of a full moon that hung high in a cloudless, star-dusted sky.Inside the grand living room, the atmosphere was bathed in a deep, welcoming warmth. A massive fire of seasoned olive logs crackled inside the stone hearth, sending showers of golden sparks up the chimney and filling the room with the fragrance of burning wood, dry fir branches, and sweet cinnamon.The floor-to-ceiling arched windows were left uncovered, allowing the moonlight to blend seamlessly with the warm amber glow of the room's iron chandeliers and table lamps.Evan stood by the hearth, look
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