The Unbeatable Warlord

Chapter 8

The day before the formal handing-over ceremony, inside the presidential residence, preparations were in full motion. 

 Staff members moved with careful urgency—polishing floors, adjusting floral arrangements, and coordinating security details. 

 Tomorrow would mark Alexander Leeds’ official public consolidation of authority before regional governors, military chiefs, and foreign envoys. 

 In the east wing of the residence, Seraphina Vale stood before a tall mirror. She adjusted the delicate bracelet on her wrist and practiced a soft smile. 

 Behind her calm exterior, her father’s words still echoed.

 “Swear it! Swear that you will get rid of him swiftly.”

 Today, the moment had arrived.

 She stepped out of her chamber and made her way to Alexander’s private office within the residence. The door was slightly open. 

 Inside, Alexander stood reviewing briefing documents, his jacket draped neatly over the back of a chair.

 He looked up when he heard her footsteps.

 “I just wanted to congratulate you again,” she said gently. “Tomorrow is significant. The entire nation will be watching. That’s why I'll do everything possible to make tomorrow beautiful,” she assured him. “A new chapter deserves a strong beginning.”

 Her voice was warm and affectionate.

 Alexander stepped closer, touched by her support.

 “It helps to know I’m not standing alone,” he admitted quietly.

 Seraphina’s smile deepened.

 “You’re not.”

 Then she asked casually, “What time will you be leaving for the ceremony tomorrow?”

 He glanced toward the digital clock on his desk.

 “The convoy will depart at 12:30 p.m. sharp,” he said. “Security wants us at the venue by 1:15 p.m. for final checks before the 2:00 p.m. commencement.”

 She nodded thoughtfully.

 “2:30 p.m.,” she repeated, as though memorizing it for planning.

 “Yes. Why?”

 “I just want everything to be perfect,” she said softly. “Timing matters.”

 Alexander gave a small, approving nod.

 “It does.”

 Then she turned and walked out of the room.

 Once she was certain she was out of sight of staff and surveillance corridors, she entered a smaller private sitting area reserved for personal calls. She closed the door behind her and removed a secure phone from a concealed compartment within her handbag.

 Her fingers dialed a number she had memorized long ago.

 The line rang twice.

 Then connected.

 “Yes,” came a low voice from the other end.

 She moved toward the window, ensuring no one lingered outside.

 “He will be leaving the residence tomorrow at exactly 12:30 p.m.,” she said. “The convoy route is the central boulevard toward Liberty Square. So, get ready.”

 A faint chuckle came through the line.

 “Perfect. My team and I will be on the road at that exact time. There is no way Alexander Leeds will be able to escape death.”

 Her grip on the phone tightened slightly.

 “You understand the implications,” she said calmly. “It must look external. No trace.”

 “Relax,” the man replied. “We’ve handled larger operations. A moving convoy is predictable. His confidence will be his weakness. This ends tomorrow.”

 The call ended without another word.