Chapter 425: The Banquet
The Rivera family was backing Miguel, the royal family quietly maneuvering to maintain balance, and Sebastian had dispatched his own operatives to Seraphim. With all these forces converging beneath the surface, Charles knew his presence was critical. If he didn't act now, the Windsor family's foothold in Seraphim would be crushed entirely. More importantly—he couldn't afford to miss this opportunity.
Nathan's concern deepened. "But your health—"
"I know what I'm doing."
Charles cut him off, his fingers absently tracing the cuff button on his sleeve. A flicker of loneliness and obsession crossed his eyes. "This concerns the Windsor family's future strategy. And... certain people I can't let go of."
Nathan fell silent.
For three years, Charles had never stopped thinking about Emily.
Nathan understood perfectly well that Charles had a year left—at most. This trip to Seraphim was ostensibly about the election, about Windsor interests. But Nathan knew better. Deep down, Charles harbored a private hope: to see Emily one last time before he died. Even if only from a distance.
His phone buzzed. Nathan checked the screen, his expression shifting slightly. He approached Charles, voice low. "Sir, intelligence from Seraphim. Sebastian's adopted daughter Natasha and his top operative Fiona arrived yesterday. And last night... it's highly probable that Fiona conducted solo strikes on two Rivera holdings. No survivors at either location."
Charles's body went rigid. "Natasha—is she all right?"
Nathan quickly reassured him. "She's fine, sir. According to our sources, Fiona operated alone the entire time. Natasha remained at a secure safehouse. She wasn't exposed and wasn't harmed."
Charles's tension eased. The urgency in his eyes faded, replaced by barely perceptible relief. His breathing slowed.
As long as she's alive. As long as she's safe.
It didn't matter that she called herself Natasha now, that she lived under Sebastian's protection, that vengeance consumed her gaze, that an unbridgeable chasm stretched between them. None of it mattered.
He had one year left. He didn't expect forgiveness. He didn't expect her to turn back. All he wanted was one stolen glimpse before the end—just to confirm she was okay. That would be enough.
"Understood. Report any developments immediately. And Nathan—don't alert them. Especially not... Natasha."
"Yes, Mr. Windsor."
Nathan bowed slightly. He knew this hidden devotion was an obsession without resolution. But he was powerless to change it. All he could do was help Charles guard this fragile hope and keep him alive as long as possible.
The cabin fell silent again. Charles leaned back against his seat, eyes closed, memories flooding his mind—Emily's radiant defiance when they first met, her gentle tenderness after marriage, the cold resolve in her eyes before she vanished.
These fragments surged like waves, piercing his heart yet somehow giving him strength to endure.
Seraphim, I'm coming.
Emily, this time, I only want to watch you from afar. That's all.
The following evening, in the ballroom of Seraphim's most exclusive hotel, chandeliers blazed, gowns shimmered, jewels glittered.
This was the Whitebeard Group's gala celebrating Ace Austin's first six months as CEO—a spectacular success by any measure. Political heavyweights, business titans, even international financial moguls had flown in specifically for the event. Everyone came with an agenda, hoping to forge connections with Ace, to secure his backing for their own interests.
After all, everyone knew: Ace's stance—and Whitebeard Group's endorsement—would determine the outcome of Seraphim's presidential race.
The Rivera family wanted his support for Miguel.
The royal family sought his alliance to counterbalance Rivera influence.
Even Sebastian had explicitly instructed Emily to use this opportunity to assess Ace—to determine whether he was worth recruiting, whether he could become an asset in reclaiming Campbell family holdings.
Emily wore a sleek black velvet gown, her hair loosely swept up, exposing her elegant neck and collarbone. A delicate mask concealed her face, hiding her striking features. Though her attire was understated, her commanding presence and flawless figure drew countless stares across the crowded ballroom.
Fiona remained at her side in streamlined black tactical gear—less conspicuous than her usual combat attire but still unmistakably lethal. Her sharp gaze continuously swept the room.
"Remember, we're here to gauge Ace's position. Avoid direct confrontation with the Riveras unless absolutely necessary." Emily's voice was low, her eyes scanning the crowd methodically, searching for the legendary new CEO of Whitebeard Group—Ace Austin.
"Understood. I've already surveilled the venue. No immediate threats detected. But the Riveras are here." Fiona tilted her chin subtly toward the far corner.
Emily followed her gaze. Sure enough—Gerald Rivera, Victor's son, stood surrounded by several subordinates, schmoozing with business elites, his expression smug and condescending.
Emily's eyes glinted coldly before she turned away, dismissing him. Her focus remained fixed on locating Ace.
Suddenly, the ballroom lights dimmed. Every head turned toward the raised platform at the front of the hall.
A tall figure in a white suit strode onto the stage, exuding effortless charisma.
Fiona's voice murmured near Emily's ear. "That's Ace. Former right-hand man to Whitebeard Group's previous CEO. When the old boss died unexpectedly six months ago, Ace took command. Stabilized the company's chaos within weeks, expanded overseas operations aggressively. Extremely capable."
Emily nodded slightly, her gaze locked on Ace.