2025-09-04 15:49:52Evan’s arrival brought different reactions to the faces of the three women before him. One was shocked, one was angry, and one was delighted.
Vivienne tried to approach Evan, but Helena immediately held her back.
“Don’t you dare go near Evan! Selene, take Vivienne to the dining room!” Helena barked sternly.
“Yes, Grandma Helena. Come on, Vivienne.”
Selene pulled at Vivienne’s arm, but the woman shook her off and ran toward Evan instead.
“Evan, please, you have to explain to my family that you are not guilty!” Vivienne pleaded, clinging to him.
“How dare you!” Helena yanked Vivienne’s hair, making her granddaughter scream loudly.
“Hey!”
Evan instinctively shouted at Helena, then pulled Vivienne tightly into his arms.
“Grandma, if you truly disapprove of my presence, then take it out on me! But please, do not use violence against Vivienne!”
“What is going on?!”
Evan turned toward the voice. When his eyes caught sight of the figure who had appeared, his whole body stiffened. His gaze widened, as though the world had stopped spinning. He had never imagined meeting the very person he was searching for here.
“Darian Voss!” Evan muttered.
His arch-enemy appeared, flanked by the other members of the LaRue family. His expression was calm, as if he had never committed the fatal mistake against Evan.
In disbelief, Evan asked Vivienne, who was still in his arms, “What’s happening? Why is he here?”
Darian approached slowly, clapping his hands, drawing Evan’s glare back to him.
Evan’s weakened hold on Vivienne was taken advantage of by Helena, who dragged her granddaughter away.
“Evan Caleum—heavens! You come out of prison not repentant, but causing new trouble. What are you doing with my future fiancé?!” Darian demanded firmly.
“No, Evan! I never knew him! I—”
“Enough!”
Helena’s shrill voice cut everyone off, her hand harshly covering Vivienne’s mouth.
“As the head of this family, I will make an important announcement! Starting today—you, foolish ex-convict who has disgraced the LaRue family—are no longer my granddaughter’s husband!”
Helena pointed straight at Evan as she released Vivienne’s mouth.
Evan’s eyes fell on his wife, who hung her head, sobbing uncontrollably.
“And allow me to add to that, Grandma Helena.”
Darian spoke with a calm tone, welcomed by Helena, who nodded proudly.
“Let me reintroduce myself to you, Evan—perhaps you’ve forgotten? I am your former boss, Darian Voss! Do you think it’s fitting for someone like you, who raped a woman, to stand beside a respected lady like Vivienne?"
He stood before Evan arrogantly. Evan clenched his fists but fought to restrain his rage.
He knew he was standing among madmen. Any wrong word or movement would only make things harder for Vivienne.
He tried to stay composed while facing the enemy he had been searching for all this time.
“I won’t say much. I only want to make it clear that I am the victim of Darian Voss’s cruelty. He is the one who raped that woman, and I was forced into a deal to take the blame—because I wanted to protect Vivienne.”
Evan’s words stunned everyone—everyone except Darian. He burst out laughing, slapping Evan’s shoulder mockingly.
“What kind of lunatic dares to slander someone? And your so-called slander is against your own former boss! Evan, you should be grateful you got out of prison without a scratch!” Darian barked.
“Yes, that’s right! A man like Darian would never do something so vile! The Voss family is an honorable family, respected by all!” Helena retorted.
“Really? From where I stand, the Voss family lives only in their own bubble. Ask leaders far more powerful than the Voss family—do they even know of their name?”
Evan’s reply made Darian’s smile twist into a sneer.
“How dare you say that! Do you want to lose your life?!” Darian snapped.
“Go ahead—if you truly think my words are lies and an insult. I fear no rapist born from a dishonorable family—a traitor of the lower class,” Evan shot back.
“Take that back or you’ll regret it, Evan!”
Darian jabbed his finger at Evan, but Evan stood unmoving. He merely shrugged with a mocking smile.
Darian swung his hand at Evan, but just like when he fought Darian’s men at the office, Evan blocked it swiftly.
“Argh!” Darian cried in pain, his arm trapped by Evan’s grip. As though he were made of paper, Evan hurled him effortlessly across the room, sending him crashing against the wall.
“Darian! how dare you, Evan! Call the police at once!”
Helena shouted to the others, who immediately scattered to carry out her orders, leaving only Darian, Helena, Selene, Vivienne, and Gideon in the living room.
Helena and Gideon helped Darian to his feet, while Selene held Vivienne tightly.
“No, Grandma! Please, let me stay here! I want to be with Evan!” Vivienne cried, struggling to resist.
“Go, Vivienne! I promise I’ll come for you again soon,” Evan answered.
Selene looked at Evan with disgust as she forced Vivienne to walk with her. Still, she didn’t dare be too rough, still traumatized by Evan’s outburst at the boutique earlier.
“Catch him!” Helena ordered Gideon, pointing at Evan.
Gideon glanced at Evan, swallowing hard.
“What?! What do you mean?! Are you afraid of that fool?!” Helena snapped.
Gideon, like Selene, was still shaken by Evan’s behavior at the boutique. Even more so now, after learning Evan’s true identity—he knew this man was not someone ordinary. That knowledge was also what pushed Gideon to swallow his pride and forgive Selene. He wanted to stay close and uncover who Evan truly was.
“Useless coward! You’re not reliable at all!”
“Darian, stop! You don’t need to soil your hands with someone so dishonorable!” Helena cried.
“Mother, the police have been called and are on their way!” shouted Nancy, Vivienne’s mother, who had just entered.
“Did you hear that, Evan? You’re going back to prison! Farewell, Evan—this time I’ll make sure you die behind bars!” Darian sneered.
Once again, he grinned wickedly and swung his hand toward Evan’s face.
But Evan didn’t flinch. He smiled, as if waiting for the moment Darian’s hand would land.
Just before it could connect, however, the front door burst open, followed by a sharp command:
Three policemen with thick mustaches stormed in, guns aimed directly at Evan—halting the blow that was about to strike.
“Arrest him, Officer! He’s a dangerous threat here!” Helena shouted.
“Yes, we’ll be taking Evan to the station immediately. You can all come to give your statements later. Move, Evan!” one of the policemen barked.
Evan raised his hands without resistance, allowing the three officers to cuff him.
“Rot in prison, Evan! Die there!” Darian bellowed. “I’ll be the first to testify against you and make sure every word condemns you!”
Evan only smiled faintly as the policemen led him away. Their steps echoed down the staircase, chased by Darian’s curses and Helena’s shrill voice.
“Get in, idiot!”
They shoved him roughly into the car. One of the officers glanced back at Darian and Helena, bowing slightly as if in respect.
“Thank you, Officer! Lock him up right away and wait for me at the station!” Darian shouted.
From inside the car, Evan smirked darkly and muttered under his breath, “Pathetic bastard.”
The officer climbed in beside him, nudging his partner to start the engine. Evan exhaled a long breath and closed his eyes. He didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to ask questions—he only forced himself to stay calm, reminding himself that at least, in prison, he would reunite with his mentors.
But he hadn’t noticed. The officer seated next to him was tugging off a fake mustache and cap. A wide grin spread across the man’s face as he clapped Evan on the shoulder.
“Hey, aren’t you going to thank me?”
The voice made Evan’s eyes snap open. Shock rippled across his face the moment he recognized the man before him.
“Travis?! You…! How is it possible you’re here?!”
Travis arched both brows with a sly smile. “Of course I’m here to save you, Evan. The situation’s out of control—and it’s time you met the leader.”
Evan frowned deeply. “Leader? What do you mean?”
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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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