2025-09-04 02:37:25Helena had just stepped out of the car when Vivianne arrived. Her once calm gaze instantly turned sharp, blazing with anger as she glared at Vivianne.
Helena approached her, pausing only to stroke her granddaughter’s head.
“I don’t know what you mean, Grandma,” Vivianne replied softly.
“I’ll take it as you being in denial, and this is your way of forgetting that foolish man. There are only two hours left until the event begins, and a special guest will be coming—especially for you! You must get ready at once,” Helena said.
She linked arms with Vivianne, but the young woman—the granddaughter she once cherished most—immediately shoved her off.
Vivianne’s voice trembled, her eyes brimming with tears. Her heart was torn, conflicted, yet she still loved Evan deeply and hoped that her husband would later give her the best answer she longed for.
Helena stepped closer, wearing a smile of false compassion, as though she sympathized. But instead of comfort, she landed a slap across Vivianne’s face.
She shoved Vivianne roughly, nearly sending her granddaughter tumbling to the ground. But before she could fall, a man—none other than Gideon—caught her swiftly.
Gideon smiled broadly, then shifted his gaze toward Helena. “What’s going on, Grandma? Why did you push Vivianne?”
“I was simply venting my frustration at the foolish choices she’s made! She’s also been disrespectful to you and Selene, hasn’t she?!”
“I don’t mind what happened earlier at the boutique. Vivianne did nothing wrong. The only one who deserves your anger is that ex-convict.”
At those words, Vivianne immediately pulled her shoulder away from Gideon’s grasp. Her gesture of discomfort didn’t go unnoticed, prompting Gideon to try another tactic.
Vivianne let out a long sigh, said nothing, and walked away from the two of them. Disgust and frustration weighed heavily on her. She couldn’t wait to see Evan tonight. Her resolve to defend her marriage only grew stronger, and her doubts about Evan’s honesty began to fade.
She slammed her bedroom door shut, letting her tears fall freely.
Vivianne threw herself onto the bed, grabbed a pillow, and pressed it over her face as she screamed.
She got up, opened her closet, and found a brown dress with a scandalously low neckline.
Vivianne yanked the dress from the hanger, threw it to the floor in fury, and collapsed back onto the bed in sorrow. Her heart was restless. As the hour of the event drew near, she still couldn’t shake the dark thoughts swarming her mind. Nausea rose within her—what if Evan didn’t come?
“Vivianne, are you ready?!”
It wasn’t her grandmother or parents who stood there, but Selene. The woman wore a sinister grin, eyes gleaming with vengeance.
Selene’s scorn shifted into a wide smile as she gently patted Vivianne’s shoulder, pretending intimacy.
“I came to fetch you, and also to apologize for how poorly I treated you back at the boutique. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”
Vivianne shoved her hand away and answered sharply.
“I understand your anger. Yes, I went too far—but you must know, it’s only because I care about you, Vivianne. After all, you deserve the very best. Darian Voss is the greatest gift Grandma Helena could ever give you!”
Selene’s words shook Vivianne’s heart. She stared at her in disbelief.
She quickly pushed the thought aside and pressed Selene further.
“I went with your mother earlier to meet his secretary. He sent a beautiful cake for tonight’s introduction—just for you! You’re going to marry him! You’ll finally be free from Evan’s shadow! The Voss family is magnificent, Vivianne!” Selene exclaimed, her eyes sparkling.
Hearing this, Vivianne hurried down the stairs, dread filling her chest. All she wanted now was to speak with her grandmother and parents, to stop this event at once.
“Vivianne! You’re so slow!”
“Grandma, you must listen to me! I don’t want to marry Darian Voss!”
Helena squeezed her granddaughter’s hand and whispered, “Don’t speak nonsense, Vivianne! I don’t want to hear any excuses. Now go meet Darian—he’s waiting in the dining hall!”
“But Grandma, I don’t—”
Vivianne’s words were cut off by a voice. Evan had arrived, impeccably dressed.
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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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