2025-09-02 17:22:24Vincent stepped back slowly, his legs weak, but he forced himself to move, afraid of Evan’s strength.
"Is this all there is to this conflict?" "How boring, it ended too quickly! I still wanted to see that mysterious man's power!"The comments from clients and employees gathered around only made Vincent burn hotter. Instead of staying silent, he snapped at everyone.
"Shut up! Don’t you all have jobs to do?! Get back to work! Disperse!"Vincent glared at everyone, forcing them to scatter. Meanwhile, Evan just stood there, arms crossed, wearing a mocking smile.
"Come on, Vincent! Are you going to let me meet your boss now?!" Evan asked.Without answering, still consumed by fear, Vincent ran away from Evan.
But after just a few meters, he was stopped by a man around his age, dressed in a dark blue suit with neatly parted hair. "Ah! Luther!" Vincent gasped, looking behind him at two men—martial arts experts from the company."What’s all this commotion?" Luther asked. His eyes then turned to Evan, prompting a cold smile from him.
"Long time no see! Where’s your boss who loves breaking promises?" Evan asked loudly.Luther tilted his head up and slowly walked toward Evan.
The two clearly recognized each other. Luther knew Evan had been scapegoated for a rape case actually committed by Darian Voss against a finance staff member."Ah, Evan S. Caleum. What does the 'S' stand for? Still don’t know to this day. Is it for 'Shit'?"
"Cut the crap, Luther. I don’t want to add to the number of victims already fallen. Where is Darian Voss?!"A tense silence fell between them. Only the cold glares exchanged by Evan and Luther remained.
Meanwhile, fear filled the eyes of Evan and the two receptionists who were still forced to witness this terrifying confrontation.Seeing Luther remain silent made Evan chuckle. He casually turned to leave, but Luther shoved him.
"Where do you think you’re going?! You think you’re important enough to meet Mr. Voss?! You don’t even deserve to set foot in this place, rapist!" "Come on, Luther, you know what really happened that night. Stop lying to yourself!" Evan shot back. "Of course I remember. What happened was, you got thrown in jail by Mr. Voss, and I’ll make sure it happens again today!"Evan clapped his hands and laughed loudly. Luther clenched his fists, irritated by the mockery.
"Fine, say what you want to say! I just want to know—have you fulfilled the promise Darian Voss made?"Now it was Luther who laughed at Evan’s question.
"You’re ridiculous! How could you possibly have the confidence to ask about a deal with a chairman from one of this city’s most noble families?!"Evan raised an eyebrow and gave Luther a scornful look.
"You know, Evan? That deal only happened because you were once the son-in-law of the LaRue family—which, honestly, still doesn’t compare to the Voss family. Your intelligence as a tax staff member at one of the Voss subsidiaries was the only valuable thing that got you close to Mr. Voss!""Okay. And?" Evan asked.
"You were used for your intelligence and…" Luther leaned in and whispered, “…to find out about the LaRue family’s hidden valuable asset that they never even realized they had.” "What the fuck is that?!" Evan growled. "Not your business! Take him down!"Luther ordered the two men who had come with him. Without hesitation, they charged at Evan.
Evan stood tall and calm as the two men ran toward him, fists ready.
"Go! Smash that bastard’s face in!" Vincent shouted eagerly, hoping his enemy would be beaten down like the security guards earlier.Unfortunately for Vincent and Luther, their glee vanished in an instant when Evan easily leapt up and struck the two men with powerful kicks and punches.
The two martial artists were thrown across the hall, slamming into a pillar before collapsing unconscious—just like the guards.
"What the fuck! How did he do that? That’s impossible..." Vincent muttered.Luther was frozen, pale with shock, as Evan approached him.
"I just proved to you how easily I took those two down, didn’t I? Now I’m not here to chat—I want to see your fucking boss!"Luther looked to Vincent, who now had his head bowed in fear, then looked back at Evan and said, "Mr. Voss has been out of town on business for the past two days."
But that answer didn’t satisfy Evan. Already pissed off from being hassled by Darian’s people, he grabbed Luther’s collar and effortlessly lifted him.
"Oh my God, Luther!" Vincent screamed.Evan’s fierce glare sent Vincent running in terror.
"Please, Ev—Evan! Put me down!" "I won’t hesitate to throw you across this room! Just tell me where Darian is!"Evan’s grip tightened, making Luther struggle to breathe. He hit at Evan’s arms, but Evan slammed him to the ground instead.
"Argh! Fuck!" Luther cried.He looked around, making sure no one else saw, humiliated and furious at how his pride had been crushed.
Luckily, no one else had dared stick around to witness the brawl after Vincent had kicked them out. Still, his screams were more than enough for the two receptionists nearby to fully grasp how terrified Luther truly was."Evan! I swear, I’m telling the truth—Mr. Voss has been out of town on business for the past two days," Luther stammered.
Evan smirked and yanked Luther back to his feet.
His eyes were cold and piercing, terrifying Luther. One thing was clear—Evan no longer had the same harmless aura he once did. He used to be just a tax officer who came here twice to help with Darian’s finances. The third time, it had been a setup."Tell Darian Voss that I, Evan, am back from prison and I want to see him! He must apologize to me and fulfill the deal he broke. He has to take responsibility! I’ll wait three days. If nothing happens by then, I’ll make sure the entire Voss family is destroyed!"
A punch landed squarely on Luther’s face, and his body was thrown back to the floor by Evan.
Luther could only lie there, silently enduring the pain, watching as Evan walked away, heading for the exit.
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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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