The invincible Tony Clark

chapter 8: The Truth

"Excuse me for a moment," Liam muttered stiffly to Tony and his father before seizing Vivian roughly by the wrist and dragging her away from the crowd. Pulling her into a secluded alcove behind a marble pillar, he glanced around nervously to make sure no one was within earshot.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Liam?!" Vivian hissed, yanking her arm free. "What are you doing yelling at me like that in front of everyone?"

"What am I doing?!" Liam whispered fiercely, his eyes wide with panic. "What the hell are you doing here, Vivian?! How did you even get past the gates?"

"I've been trying to call you all evening!" she shot back, frustrated and confused. "Why have you been avoiding my calls? And why didn't you send my family an invitation to this party?"

Liam dragged a trembling hand down his face. "Because it isn't safe for you to be here tonight!"

Vivian frowned, her anger giving way to bewilderment as she looked back toward the ballroom. "What is going on, Liam? Why is Tony dressed like that, and why did you just call him your cousin?"

Letting out a long, defeated sigh, Liam leaned against the pillar. "Because this entire banquet is being hosted for him, Vivian. Tony is the long-lost son of Daniel Ragnar—who happens to be my uncle-in-law."

Vivian froze, the blood draining completely from her face as his words echoed in her ears.

Meanwhile, out on the main floor, Harold Foster offered Tony a polite, measured smile as he swirled the red wine in his glass.

"I can imagine how overwhelming tonight must be for you, Tony," Harold said smoothly. "Having unimaginable wealth and supreme power placed at your fingertips overnight is every man's dream. However, as your elder, let me offer a word of caution—power that you haven't worked for can easily intoxicate you. It certainly doesn't make you invincible."

Looking calmly into the older man's eyes, Tony smirked. "Honestly, Mr. Foster? I'd rather be intoxicated and invincible. Sounds like the best combo to me."

Harold let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "You really do remind me of a younger version of your father. Still, I'm sure Daniel and his butler have already painted me as the bad guy—the greedy, villainous uncle in your family story."

Leaning in half an inch closer, Harold lowered his voice so it wouldn't carry past them.

"But have you stopped to wonder why your father left out certain details? Did he happen to mention that I was the Head of Security who inspected the vehicle your mother entered on that fateful night? Or who actually caused the accident?"

Before Tony could answer, a wave of applause rippled across the ballroom.

Glancing toward the grand staircase, Tony spotted his father descending the marble steps with Chris walking closely at his side, the two of them whispering quietly to each other as the crowd clapped and cheered for the patriarch's entrance.

Watching Daniel and the butler from afar, Harold continued in a cold, conversational murmur. "Your maternal grandfather—my stepfather—was unfathomably rich.

Yet when he passed away, he transferred his entire empire to your mother, who had foolishly fallen in love with Daniel Ragnar, a penniless commoner with nothing to his name."

Tony’s grip tightened slightly around his glass, though he kept his gaze fixed on the staircase.

"Tell me, Tony, what do you think happens when a common man suddenly gains access to unlimited wealth?" Harold asked darkly. "He wants it all for himself. Before your mother died, Daniel promised me that if I backed him, we would split the family fortune fifty-fifty. Yet once he got what he wanted and took total control of the dynasty, he tossed me a mere one percent like a dog begging for scraps."

Turning his head sharply, Tony frowned at him. "What exactly are you trying to say, Foster?"

Harold’s lips curled into a chilling smile as he nodded toward the bottom of the stairs. "I'm telling you the truth about that night. The person who sabotaged the brakes on your mother's car—your mother's true murderer—is none other than that loyal old butler, Chris."

Pausing for a beat, Harold locked eyes with his stunned nephew. "And we both know Chris only obeys orders from one person in this world. Who do you think that is?"

A cold shiver ran down Tony’s spine. Slowly turning his head back toward the grand staircase, he stared at Chris, whose eyes shifted from the butler to the man standing right beside him.

Barely breathing, Tony whispered the name under his breath.

"Daniel Ragnar."