When the CEO Lost Everything

Die With Your Glory

News about the landslide that destroys the old cottage in the Grampian mountains spreads, bringing an air of death. On the tarmac of Geneva International Airport, Evelyn stands motionless beside the open door of a limousine. The repeated echo of intelligence officers' words reverberates in her mind, cutting through the chaos of Swiss police sirens that are escorting Ethan Brooks's arrest.

Damian Blackwood is declared missing, swept away by debris into the depths of an icy river canyon.

Arthur Ashford looks at his grandson with a deep, worried expression. His hand holding the silver cane trembles slightly. "Evelyn, do you want to delay the inauguration of the new research center to confirm this news?"

Evelyn takes a long breath, inhaling the cold mountain air that stings her lungs. When she turns to face her grandfather, a clarity returns to her eyes. The decisiveness of a leader of Ardent Biopharma is unshakable.

"No, Grandpa," Evelyn replies firmly. "The rescue is Scotland's search team's concern. Our job here is to ensure Ardent stands at the top it deserves."

She steps into the warm interior of the limousine, leaving behind the shadows of past suffering. Evelyn has promised herself there will be no more tears or pauses for the broken past.

The international business world is shaken by the biggest scandal of the decade. Brooks Medical Technologies’ stocks collapse entirely after their operational assets are frozen by European financial authorities over allegations of industrial conspiracy and money laundering. Meanwhile, Ardent Biopharma officially releases an end-stage cancer drug formulation predicted to save millions worldwide.

At the new Ardent research headquarters building by Lake Geneva, Evelyn stands behind a five-meter-high glass wall. She wears a tailored pearl-gray suit that exudes elegance. From the sleek, modern room, her gaze takes in the expanse of Lake Geneva.

The door to her office softly knocks. Her personal secretary enters with a folder of medical and intelligence reports from the UK.

“President Ashford,” the secretary greets politely, bowing slightly. “The update on Mrs. Victoria Blackwood’s condition and the final search results in the Grampian Mountains have been received.”

Evelyn turns around calmly, accepting the folder. “How is Victoria?”

“Mrs. Victoria suffers from severe hypothermia and brain hemorrhage complications after the landslide,” the secretary explains plainly. “The Royal Aberdeen Hospital medical team manages to save her life, but she’s confirmed to have permanent paralysis and total loss of speech. She’s now in intensive care under a social foundation.”

“And Damian?” Evelyn asks, opening the section on the Scottish rescue mission.

Her secretary’s expression shifts to hesitation before answering. “The SAR team has scoured the Dee River for fifteen miles upstream to the estuary for 72 hours straight. They only find Damian Blackwood’s black coat caught on ice floes at the bottom of the canyon, torn and stained with blood.”

“The local authorities have halted active search efforts,” the secretary continues softly. “With water temperatures at minus four Celsius and strong currents beneath the ice, Damian Blackwood is medically and technically declared dead from drowning and severe physical trauma.”

The man once revered as the master of London’s business world, the man who doubted her loyalty and humiliated her, now has vanished beneath the icy waters of the Scottish river. No grand funeral, no final homage—only the silent, frozen darkness at the isolated canyon’s bottom.

“Close all files on the Blackwood family,” Evelyn commands quietly, returning the folder. “Don’t let that name appear again in Ardent’s operational reports.”

“Understood, President.” Her secretary accepts the folder, bows respectfully, then turns to leave the room.

Evelyn walks back to her mahogany desk. She picks up a pen, ready to sign the acquisition documents for a new research network in Zurich. Her past is shattered along with Blackwood Group’s glory and Ethan Brooks’s corruption. Now, no shadows stand in her way toward the pinnacle.

Autumn begins to settle over Switzerland. The trees along Zurich’s boulevard shed their leaves, covering the old cobblestone streets in beautiful shades of gold.

At a private art gallery in the city center, Evelyn arrives by invitation from a renowned curator to view a collection of modern European artworks. That night, Evelyn appears stunning in a couture evening gown of emerald green, paired with a black fur coat on her shoulders. Every step radiates the full authority of a pharmaceutical industry queen.

Arthur Ashford accompanies her, engaging with high-profile collectors.

“The Swiss Federal Court just sentenced Ethan Brooks to life imprisonment without parole for industrial conspiracy, medical record forgery, and attempted murder,” Arthur whispers, holding his drink. “All of Brooks’s remaining assets are now seized.”

Evelyn sips her drink with perfect elegance. “That’s the fate most deserved for a man who treats others’ lives like pawns.”

As the event warms up, Evelyn steps away from the crowd toward a quieter corridor in the gallery. It features new landscape paintings from various parts of Europe.

A middle-aged gallery curator approaches Evelyn with a friendly smile. “Good evening, President Ashford. Do you admire this painting?”

“Who’s the artist?” Evelyn asks without shifting her gaze from the artwork. Her voice is curious.

“The artist is an anonymous European who just submitted this painting yesterday morning,” the curator answers politely. “They didn’t include their real name in the exhibition catalog, only the initials ‘D’.”

Evelyn’s eyes narrow slightly. Her heart beats a little faster. “Initial D? Does this man have any distinct physical features?”

“The man wore a worn brown coat and a hat that covered half his face,” the curator recalls. “His face shows severe burn scars along his left cheek, and his left hand trembles with a permanent deformity from frostbite. But his eyes… they’re filled with deep regret as he hands over the painting.”

A cold shiver runs through Evelyn’s body. Burn scars? Frostbite wounds? A deformed hand?

“Where is he now?!” Evelyn asks sharply, her voice losing its formal calm for the first time.

“He just left this gallery about ten minutes ago, miss,” the curator responds, surprised by her reaction. “He said he wanted to walk to the Zurich Lake bridge before leaving the city forever.”

Without waiting for the curator to finish, Evelyn turns and runs out of the art gallery. Two tactical guards from Ardent immediately follow, startled.

Evelyn pushes through Zurich’s dark, cold night air. Her luxurious evening gown doesn’t slow her fast steps. Her stiletto heels tap urgently on the cobblestones as her eyes scan the crowd along the lake’s edge. The images of the torn bloodstained coat from Scotland, Damian’s official death report, and the anonymous painting swirl wildly in her mind.

Is the man still alive? Did Damian survive the icy river’s depths and crawl out of hell just to watch her from afar without daring to reveal himself again?

Her steps suddenly slow as she reaches the old stone bridge spanning Lake Zurich.

In the fog-covered middle of the bridge, a figure leans against the iron railing. The man wears a tattered dark brown coat. His back looks slightly hunched, and his body appears painfully thin beneath his thick clothes. He holds an old sketchbook with his left hand, stiff and covered in severe scars.

“Damian???” Evelyn’s voice cuts through the silent night, almost a whisper caught by the wind and lake.

The figure startles intensely. His body freezes as he hears the clear voice he recognizes.

Slowly, he turns his body around. The old streetlamp above illuminates half his face, revealing severe burn scars from rocks and ice, a thinning jawline, and black eyes filled with tears of regret and emptiness.

The man believed to be dead in the icy depths of the Scottish river now stands just ten steps in front of Evelyn. But Damian doesn’t step closer. Instead, he steps back one pace, hiding his crippled hand in his coat pocket, as if aware of how broken he looks in front of the woman who now shines like a queen at the top of the world.

“Evelyn,” Damian whispers, his voice hoarse, broken, almost drowned out by the wind from the lake. “You shouldn’t have seen me again.”

Evelyn steps forward two steps, her eyes locked on the scars on her ex-husband’s body. “You survived that icy river?”

Damian offers the saddest, most heartbreaking smile Evelyn has ever seen.

“God didn’t let me die there, Evelyn,” he answers, bowing his head. Tears fall and wet the cold bridge floor. “God punishes me to stay alive—to watch from afar how beautiful your world is without me in it.”

Before Evelyn can speak, the roar of a moving vehicle suddenly sounds from the road near the bridge. A large, unmarked cargo truck speeds through, smashing the barriers and heading straight for Evelyn’s position.

Inside the dark cab of the truck, a pair of fierce, vengeful eyes belonging to a fugitive woman shine behind the windshield—Isabella.

“Die with your glory, Evelyn!” Isabella screams, her voice wild as the truck’s distance from her closes rapidly.