[BL]Hunted by the God of Destruction Chapter 218: Plans for future

They all sat with the echo of that last, soft confession reverberating between the clinks of cutlery and the murmured refills of wine, as if the room had been paused and soone had forgotten to press play. For a long second, Ego held the silence as both an accusation and a blessing; then he folded his hands together and, with the sa immaculate calm that had announced the wedding, unfolded logistics as if reading from an unavoidable script.

"The date," he said, voice smooth. "Should be in late spring. After the Board eting in May and before the shareholders’ retreat in June. It is clean. Victor, coordinate with Legal and Security. Elias, we will assign you a liaison from my office. " The last clause landed with the weight of a promise and the steel of a threat: both parental and corporate.

Ruo clapped her hands once, delighted. "Spring is so pretty. Flowers are everywhere; imagine the dressing. Imagine the scandals." Her eyes shone in that way they always did when catastrophe flirted with couture.

Samael snorted. "You an the security briefings and the extra layers of awkwardness? Sign up."

Connor leaned in, voice low and amused. "We should auction the first dance. Proceeds to charity. Or to the PR departnt. Either way... profits." He tipped his glass at Elias, who gave him a look that promised creative ways to invoke contractual penalties should anyone treat his life like a fundraiser.

Victor watched them all, the array of faces that had beco, in their various ways, the architecture of his life, and in that watching there was a calculation not only of public profile but also of the private scaffolding he intended to build around Elias. He let Ego sketch the plan; he let Ruo fantasize; he allowed Samael and Connor their flippancy. He would do whatever Elias wanted, not what Ego expected.

"Can I run away?" Elias asked while swirling his glass of lemon water. He was seriously contemplating at least trying it.

Elias’s question dropped into the room like an unguarded thought, half plea, half joke, and for a beat it landed between them like an object no one quite knew what to do with.

Victor’s head tilted, the tiniest motion, as if considering the geotry of running. "You can try," he said easily, fingers finding the stem of his glass. His tone was amused, but the amusent was edged with a steady, unshakeable certainty. "You are excellent at trying things." He t Elias’s eyes and, under the humor, there was a raw, unreadable promise. "But if you run, I will co find you. And I don’t do well with long hunts."

Ego’s laugh was soft and fatal. "Run where? To a small, quiet café in so coastal town with too many stray cats and an inconveniently wonderful view? There are no corners of the globe that do not have a Nun satellite, Elias. Besides, the Board will want photos." He smiled with the cruelty of soone who loved calendars more than chaos.

Ruo’s eyes sparkled with wicked sympathy. "If you do run, give twenty-four hours’ notice. I’ll pack a scarf and a hat. And a cara. I will need photographic evidence for the inevitable romance novel." She was grinning, which made the suggestion worse and sohow softer, like a candy wrapped around a barb.

Samael shrugged, deadpan. "You could run. Then you’d have to explain why you left behind your tenure, your students, and your unfinished project under Nuns." He paused as if the project were the crucial data point. "Also, logistics. Running requires logistics. You’re an academic, Elias. You overplan your escapes."

Connor raised his glass. "Or you could stage a very dramatic faux escape, return in the nick of ti, and make headlines. ’Beloved Professor Returns After Daring Disappearance—Marries Billionaire and pregnant with the Nun’s heir.’" He winked. "We’d all buy tickets."

Elias let out a short, incredulous laugh that tasted suddenly like desperation. He toyed with the rim of his glass until the sound cald him. "You are all very funny."

Victor smiled faintly, the kind of smile that never quite reached his eyes but told everyone else to stop before they crossed a line. "They are," he said, his tone deceptively light. "It’s how they cope with impending doom."

Ruo raised her glass in mock salute. "You’re welco."

Ego ignored them all, unbothered as ever by the emotional tremors he caused. "No one is running," he said simply, as if finalizing a transaction. "The contracts will be signed, the security will be doubled, and the announcent will be made next week. You will have a month to prepare for the engagent."

Elias groaned softly into his drink. "You say that like I’m organizing a lecture, not my own public execution."

Victor reached out, turning Elias’s glass so it stopped spinning under his fingertips. "You’ll survive," he murmured, a trace of warmth hidden under the restraint. "You always do."

Elias shot him a look. "That’s not reassuring."

"It’s not ant to be," Victor said, his voice lowering just enough that only Elias could hear the rest. "It’s ant to be true."

The words lodged sowhere inconveniently deep, and Elias hated that they did. He hated even more that he felt safer for hearing them.

Samael pushed his chair back with a creak. "If we’re done discussing the logistics of voluntary imprisonnt," he said dryly, "I suggest we move on to dessert before Ruo starts sketching floral arrangents in blood."

Ruo gasped. "You make it sound like a bad thing. Crimson roses are tiless."

Connor chuckled. "Tilessly expensive, maybe. I’ll need a bigger PR budget."

"Approved," Ego said without missing a beat.

That earned him a collective groan from the table, except Victor, who seed quietly entertained, and Elias, who looked one insult away from genuine panic.

"Can we at least keep it small?" Elias tried, gesturing vaguely. "Simple. Minimal caras. Preferably zero live broadcasts."

Ruo nearly choked on her wine. "Sweetheart, the word ’minimal’ doesn’t exist in this family’s vocabulary."

Ego didn’t even glance up. "The word ’hidden’ doesn’t, either."

Elias shot Ruo a look. "It’s only your fault."