FAR GONE

Chapter 26

The hall quieted. The velvet curtains at the far end parted, and out walked Mr. Lucien Delacroix himself—the man everyone whispered about but few had the privilege to stand before. He walked in with the dignity of a monarch, his sharp gaze was scanning the people in the hall. Behind him trailed his children and grandchildren, their elegance showed a deliberate display of lineage and power.

My breath caught when my eyes landed Seraphine and Julien. They walked beside him with calm composure, like heirs who belonged to that world of chandeliers and silver wine. But… why? They had sworn to leave, to relocate, to vanish from this place. Yet here they were, standing in the full glow of Delacroix prestige.

The room stirred as one. Every person rose to their feet. Chairs slid back, glasses were lowered, and voices hushed into reverent silence.

Mr. Lucien stopped at the center dais. A servant handed him a microphone. He lifted it with slow precision, his pause long enough to tighten the atmosphere. Then, with a voice like silk wrapped in steel, he spoke:

“To those gathered here tonight—I extend my gratitude. Your presence is not merely attendance at a celebration, but a reaffirmation of the bonds that shape our society. Each of you represents not just wealth, but legacy. And tonight, we honor both.”

The elites in the room nodded, their faces were glowing with approval, as though they had just been personally validated.

Mia leaned closer, her lips brushing the edge of my ear. “Did you know… the man second-in-command in their circle is Dr. Milton Carroway?” she whispered. “I don’t understand why someone like him would step down from my father’s deputy seat only to become mayor of this small town. It doesn’t add up.”

I kept my eyes fixed on Lucien, my jaw tight. “If Milton is second… what does that make Lucien?”

“From what I’ve heard,” she murmured, cautious as though the chandeliers themselves had ears, “Mr. Lucien sits around fourth… maybe fifth in the ranking. No higher.”

Her words sank like stones in water. Fourth or fifth. And Milton second. That meant Lucien wasn’t the summit he appeared to be, but still far closer to Milton than most could ever dream.

“Then who holds the first seat?” I asked quietly.

Mia shook her head. “No one knows. Not even the members themselves, or so it’s said. They’ve never seen Number One face to face. The only certainty is that whoever they are… they’re untouchable.”

Her voice trembled with something between awe and dread.

I leaned back in my chair, the thought curling in my mind. If Lucien is fourth or fifth, then he’s only a step behind Milton. Which means the man I’ve been watching all night isn’t just influential—he’s a rival circling dangerously close to the mayor’s shadow.

My gaze shifted again to Dr. Milton Carroway as he exchanged warm greetings across the hall. Pieces of a larger puzzle kept pressing at the edges of my thoughts.

The announcement came sharp and loud over the speakers, cutting through the murmurs of speculation.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is time for the cutting of the cake. Guests who have brought gifts, please step forward and present them.”

The hall moved in an elegant tide, silk gowns and tailored suits gliding toward the front, their jeweled packages carried like trophies. And I remained seated, watching.

The stage filled slowly at first, with the confident stride of Delacroix’s closest allies. One after another, friends and business partners stepped forward with their gifts, each one wrapped in ridiculous excess—gold-foiled boxes, velvet-lined cases, antiques polished to mirror-shine.

A man in a sapphire suit presented a handcrafted timepiece from Geneva, encrusted with diamonds so sharp the light refracted like stars across the hall. Another offered a miniature sculpture carved from ivory, imported illegally yet admired openly. With each presentation came words rehearsed to perfection:

“To the patriarch of legacy.”

“To a man whose vision built more than an empire—it built us all.”

“With this gift, may your days be longer than the pillars of Rome.”

The crowd clapped in unison, a hollow rhythm of admiration. I sat quietly, eyes darting over each face, each mask.

Then came Julien. He walked with the calm arrogance of a man who had never once doubted his place in this world. The hall stilled as he motioned, and two men wheeled out a tall case draped in silk. With a flourish, Julien removed the cloth to reveal an oil painting—an original by Vauclair, one of the rarest artists of the eighteenth century, valued higher than some estates.

The hall gasped, awe rippling like thunder. A few women placed hands on their chests, their jeweled rings flashing. Others craned their necks for a better look.

Julien gave a shallow bow, his voice rich with confidence.

“For the man who built Delacroix as one builds nations—may this immortalize not merely your face, but your reign.”

Mr. Lucien accepted the gift with the smallest of nods, a gesture that meant more than any applause.

At Julien’s side, Seraphine laughed softly, her red lips curving into amusement as if the entire spectacle was nothing more than entertainment for her.

The other family members followed, each trying to outdo the last. A diamond-studded chalice, a ceremonial sword etched with gold, even a limited fleet of collector’s cars—keys handed over in velvet boxes. Each speech was laced with flattery, every gesture designed to secure favor.

Then it was Darren’s turn.

The murmurs began the moment he stepped toward the stage.

“Is that not Darren, the son-in-law?” someone whispered, not quietly enough.

“Still clinging to Delacroix’s shadow.”

“What could he possibly present that would matter here?”

A chuckle rippled through the crowd. “Maybe he’ll gift them his loyalty. It’s the only thing he owns.”

My fists clenched under the table. Their words sliced sharper than any blade. I didn’t care if they mocked me—but Darren? My brother? No.

One man leaned forward from his seat, calling out as Darren reached for the microphone.

“Do you even have anything to say? If not, best leave the mic for those who matter.”

Darren’s hand tightened on the stand, but before he could answer, Seraphine’s voice cut the air like glass.

“Strange,” she said, her smile cruel. “I thought Darren and his brother promised my father a contract with the Voss Empire. Yet, I see no trace of Seraphina here tonight. Or perhaps that was just empty talk?”

The room stirred, voices overlapping in harsh whispers.

“Voss Empire?”

“Linked directly to the president himself.”

“Impossible. To think Darren aimed that high—it’s laughable.”

A man in a silver waistcoat leaned toward his companion, scoffing. “Bold, but brazen. He was bound to fail.”

The murmurs grew louder.

And then—

The doors burst open.

The sound echoed through the hall, every head turned toward the entrance.

It was Seraphina.

She walked with unhurried grace, her heels clicking against marble, her poise radiating authority that needed no announcement. Her eyes swept the hall once, sharp and cold, before landing on Seraphine.

Her voice carried clear, unapologetic:

“Forgive me for arriving late. But I think Miss Seraphine made a mistake. The Voss Empire has never sabotaged a contract. And as promised—” she paused, letting the silence stretch before delivering the blow, “we will sign our agreement with Mr. Darren of the Delacroix.”

Gasps erupted across the hall. Some people rose from their seats in shock; others clutched at pearls or muttered curses under their breath. Faces turned pale, jaws dropped. The name “Voss” spoken with certainty was enough to overturn every doubt, every insult hurled minutes before.

I could see the color drain from Seraphine’s face as Seraphina’s words echoed across the marble hall. But instead of admitting defeat, she tilted her chin, her lips curving into a smile so false it could cut glass.

“Oh, this is… unbelievable,” Seraphine said, her voice carrying just enough sweetness to hide the venom beneath. “That the Voss Empire, after all my several attempts to secure this deal for myself, later decided to sign with Darren. Even I must admit, this is… unexpected.”

A murmur of discomfort rippled through the guests. Some glanced at her with raised brows; others smirked at her sudden shift in tone.

But Seraphina didn’t let her have the last word. She turned her gaze directly to Darren, her tone sharp, yet lined with respect.

“I was astonished by Darren’s approach,” she said. “Few men dare to step into negotiations with me and come out standing. But Darren did not only stand—he impressed. He is bold, precise, and unafraid of risk. That, ladies and gentlemen, is what a true businessman looks like.”

Her words rang out like a verdict. The hall fell into a deeper silence, the kind that burned with shame for those who had mocked him moments before. Darren stood taller, though his face remained calm, controlled.

Then Seraphina turned back toward Mr. Lucien, her expression softening.

“I am sorry,” she said, bowing her head slightly, “that I could not bring a gift as lavish as jewels or paintings to commemorate your birthday. I only brought this contract.”

For a heartbeat, the hall held its breath. Then—

Lucien laughed.

A low, booming sound that filled the room, his shoulders shaking as his aged but powerful voice carried. His eyes glittered, a rare c***k in his cold composure, and when he smiled, the crowd shifted uneasily.

“This is too funny,” Lucien said, his words rich with amusement. “Too funny, indeed. Out of all the treasures presented today, this—” he gestured at Darren and Seraphina, “—this is the greatest. The best birthday gift I have received tonight.”

His laughter still echoed as Darren walked forward, steady, unflinching. The contract was placed on the table between them, and with deliberate strokes, Darren signed his name alongside Seraphina’s.

After the contract was signed, Seraphina straightened back.

“I have to leave now,” she said smoothly, her voice echoing across the grand hall. “I wish I could stay here with you all and enjoy the night’s festivities, but I am afraid I have other places to be. I’m sorry.”

Her words held grace, but everyone knew she was the kind of woman who never lingered where she didn’t want to.

Mr. Lucien chuckled, waving a hand.

“No, no—I am not in any way mad about it. On the contrary, I am deeply grateful. This contract between Delacroix and the Voss Empire is more than enough. Consider it the finest gift tonight.”

His eyes glimmered with approval, a subtle acknowledgment that even the elites couldn’t dismiss.

“Please,” Lucien added with a knowing smile, “help me extend my greetings to the President.”

Seraphina inclined her head with effortless poise.

“Of course. He will be pleased to hear of tonight’s celebration.”

With that, she turned, her heels clicking with authority as she departed. The whole hall was left in awe. Even those who tried to mask it couldn’t hide their disbelief. It was difficult to reconcile—the Darren they had mocked minutes ago was now the man tied to the Voss Empire.

The party resumed, but the energy had shifted. Whispers swirled like a storm contained under chandeliers. Some eyes followed Darren with envy, others with calculation.

Beside me, Mia leaned closer.

“Kael,” she said quietly, her tone edged with suspicion, “were you involved in how Seraphina signed the contract with Delacroix?”

I didn’t answer. I kept my gaze fixed on the glittering hall, on the politicians and businessmen raising glasses as if nothing had changed.

Mia sighed softly, almost knowingly.

“I knew it,” she whispered.

Before I could say anything, the grand doors creaked open again, their sudden movement drawing every gaze in the hall.

The sharp clink of heels struck against the polished floor. A hush fell over the crowd.

Mia froze beside me, her eyes widening.

“Kael…” she called my name, disbelief lacing her voice.

I frowned, turning. “What is it?”

And then I saw her.

Aria.

My wife.

She stepped into the hall with a man by her side, her arm lightly looped with his. The man I recognized instantly—Alexander Dreyford, her father. One of the richest and most influential men in Ravenport City.

The same man who had disowned her the day she got pregnant with my child.

Now, she walked with him as if the past had been erased, her elegance undeniable, her clothes screaming of wealth and refinement. She looked like the woman she had been before she chose me—untouchable, belonging to a world I was never part of.

My throat tightened as her name slipped from my lips.

“Aria…”

Mia’s voice shook beside me.

“Kael… what is happening?”

I had no answer. Only the crushing weight of realization that my wife—my Aria—had returned to her father’s side.

And I couldn’t tell if she had returned by choice… or by force.