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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130
The afternoon sun hung low over the hills of Saint-Tropez, painting the sky in vibrant strokes of magenta, gold, and soft violet. A gentle sea breeze rustled through the cypress trees, carrying the sharp, sweet fragrance of crushed grapes and wild lavender across the high stone terrace of Villa Seraphine.Below in the private vineyard, the harvest had concluded for the day. Sturdy wooden crates filled to the brim with dark, glistening grapes were already stacked neatly near the estate's cellar entrance, waiting for the evening pressing. The quiet chatter of the local village workers faded down the winding gravel driveway as their trucks departed, leaving behind the peaceful, timeless tranquility of the Mediterranean evening.On the main stone terrace, a long wooden table had been set for a quiet family dinner. White linen napkins, crystal glasses, and small bowls of cured olives and fresh figs caught the warm golden light of the setting sun.Evan stood by the stone balustrade, watchin
129
The late summer heat had given way to the deep, golden stillness of early September. Across the low, rolling hills of the estate’s private vineyard, heavy clusters of dark purple grapes hung ripe on the vine, ready for the annual harvest.The morning air carried a sharp, crisp edge from the Alps, cutting through the warm coastal breeze. High above the sea, the Villa Seraphine seemed to rest in complete harmony with the land, its ancient stone walls sun-baked and peaceful under a vast, cloudless sky.Inside the spacious kitchen, the aroma of fresh espresso, warm honey, and stone-baked bread filled the room. Large glass doors stood wide open to the stone patio, letting in the cheerful sound of birdsong from the olive grove.Evan stood by the marble island, wearing a casual dark green sweater and comfortable trousers. He was carefully spreading apricot jam over a slice of warm brioche, his movements calm and entirely unhurried. Across the counter, three-year-old Leo sat on a high chair,
128
Five years later.The morning sun over the Côte d'Azur was brilliant and warm, cutting through the light mist rolling off the Mediterranean and bathing the Villa Seraphine in a soft, golden glow. The air was rich with the familiar scent of wild pine, lavender, and the salt of the sea, carrying the quiet, steady rhythm of the tide crashing against the stone cliffs below.Evan stood on the wide stone terrace, wearing a loose white linen shirt and light trousers, a cup of dark espresso in his hand. His dark hair was lightly touched with a few faint strands of silver at the temples, but his face was relaxed, carrying a deep, unshakeable calm that only years of true peace could forge.He leaned against the warm stone balustrade, watching the small wooden sailboat bobbing gently in the water near the private pier. Beside him, an old, leather-bound book on coastal navigation lay open on the iron table."Are you planning on sailing to Corsica before breakfast, or just admiring the rigging?"E
127
The morning of the showcase arrived with a crisp, clear radiance over Paris. The rain from the previous night had washed the city clean, leaving the grey limestone facades along Rue de Grenelle gleaming under a pale amber sun.Inside the main showroom of the LaRue Atelier, the air was thick with the rich scent of freshly cut white lilies, espresso, and steam. Long racks of tailored winter coats, velvet evening gowns, and hand-embroidered silk capes lined the perimeter of the polished parquet floor. Tailors, dressmakers, and lighting technicians moved with quiet, practiced efficiency under Elliot’s watchful eye.Evan stood on the small iron balcony overlooking the courtyard, holding a warm cup of black coffee. He wore a dark navy sweater and tailored trousers, looking every bit the relaxed proprietor of a thriving European house. His eyes scanned the cobblestones below, noting the two discreet security guards posted near the archway—not as tactical sentries watching for an armed assaul
126
The Paris train station was a cathedral of iron and glass, alive with the rhythmic hiss of steam engines and the echoing shuffle of thousands of autumn travelers. Outside, a gentle French rain slicked the grey cobblestones of Rue de Grenelle, reflecting the glowing yellow streetlamps as dusk settled over the city.Inside the quiet sanctuary of the LaRue Atelier’s private upper-floor apartment, a crackling fire burned in the marble hearth. The room smelled of old paper, polished mahogany, and the faint, sweet scent of roasting chestnuts wafting up from the street vendor below.Evan stood by the tall sash window, holding a crystal glass of sparkling mineral water. He watched the rain streak down the glass pane, blurring the lights of the Parisian boulevard. In the reflection, he saw Vivienne sitting at a small antique writing desk across the room, carefully reviewing the guest list for the private autumn showcase set for the following evening."You've been standing at that window for tw
125
Autumn arrived on the Côte d'Azur not with a bitter chill, but with a subtle sharpening of the light. The thick, golden haze of late summer gave way to crisp blue skies and cool morning air that drifted down from the Maritime Alps. The sea turned a deeper shade of sapphire, its waves lapping rhythmically against the secluded stone cove below the Villa Seraphine.Inside the villa’s primary studio, the high ceiling-to-floor windows were propped wide open. A gentle breeze stirred the long lengths of charcoal wool, midnight-blue velvet, and silver-threaded lace hanging from tall iron display racks.Vivienne stood at a large cutting table, a pair of heavy brass shears in hand, carefully shearing through a bolt of double-faced cashmere. Her dark hair was gathered into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, secured with an amber pin. She worked with quiet, practiced rhythm, completely immersed in the tactile creation of her upcoming winter line.From the corner of the studio, the steady, rhyth
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