Marcus’s mind raced as he stood there, dripping with wine and food, his spiritual energy fluctuating wildly. Soone had done this to him. Soone had deliberately sabotaged the beam, the floor—everything. His eyes swept the crowd with predatory intensity, searching for any sign of guilt, any hint of satisfaction that might reveal the culprit.
But the crowd’s reaction was not what he expected.
"Is he seriously going to bla soone else for this?" a guest whispered, barely containing their laughter.
"Tsk Tsk pathetic bastard can’t just accept that he simply failed," another added with a shake of their head.
"How embarrassing. First he falls, then he tries to shift the bla."
The murmurs spread through the ballroom like wildfire. Marcus could hear every word, and each one was like a dagger to his already wounded pride. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from the overwhelming rage that threatened to consu him entirely.
"Didn’t you see that? Don’t you understand," Marcus said through gritted teeth, his voice strangely audible but carrying a dangerous edge. He was very close to lose it all. "Soone—"
"Marcus, that’s enough."
The voice cut through his building fury like a blade. Celia had appeared beside him, her expression a mixture of disappointnt and exhaustion. Her elegant blue dress seed to shimr under the ballroom lights, making her look like a bewitching angel of rcy in this mont of chaos.
"We are going back," she said firmly, her tone brooking no argunt.
Vincent, watching from across the room, clicked his tongue in annoyance. Even in this mont of complete humiliation, Celia’s timing was perfect. She had saved Marcus from what would have been an even more catastrophic outburst.
"Miss Celia, you have to listen to ," Marcus said, his voice cracking with desperation as he struggled to hold back his rage. "The beam was tampered with. Soone put sothing on it—lubricant, oil, sothing. And the floor too. This wasn’t an accident."
The crowd’s laughter beca more pronounced at his words.
"Oh, now this son of Herlock is making up conspiracy theories," soone chuckled.
"The man’s delusional. Although he started well but now he just can’t accept that he embarrassed himself."
"Who would even bother using such thods to deal you, a lowly bodyguard? And even if they did why would they risk getting... well, mouth-raped if they did it?"
The implication was clear. Nobody had the reason to use these thods to deal with a bodyguard. The only party which could benefit from this (ridian’s director William) won’t be crazy enough to get himself in the situation like that.
Celia’s expression grew more strained with each word Marcus spoke. She looked around at the mocking faces, then back at Marcus, and Vincent could see the exact mont her faith in him cracked.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]
Protagonist Marcus has lost credibility with heroine Celia
Celia’s favorability toward Marcus: 61(-4)
Marcus LP— -50 Vincent LP— 50 VP— 100
Vincent’s eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. He had expected Celia’s favorability to drop more dramatically. She seem to trust Marcus more than he though, or perhaps she simply didn’t want to completely abandon him in such a public setting.
"Marcus," Celia said quietly, her voice tired. "Please. Let’s just go."
As they turned to leave, William Thornfield—who had been silent since the catastrophic collision—suddenly stirred to life. His white tuxedo was still stained with sauces and wine, biryani clung to his hair, and his face bore the haunted expression of a man who had experienced unspeakable trauma. But seeing Marcus about to leave seed to ignite sothing within him.
"You dare? You dare to run after what you did?" Thornfield called out, his voice carrying a mixture of rage and revulsion. "Celia you fucking bitch, this is all your doing, isn’t it? You planned this but I’m not letting this end"
The crowd fell silent, not daring to laugh at one of the top ten most powerful n in the city, despite his disheveled appearance. Instead, their pent-up amusent found its target in Marcus—the arrogant bodyguard who had promised them a show and delivered a catastrophe.
Beside Thornfield two cultivator’s stood, spiritual energy swirling around them. Celia’s shoulders tensed, Marcus’s spiritual energy beginning to surge again. The situation was about to explode into sothing far worse when Vincent stepped forward, his movents calm and asured.
"Mr. Thornfield," Vincent said respectfully his face held no expression, acknowledging the man’s status while his voice carried quiet authority. "I think you’ve both had quite enough trauma for one evening."
Thornfield’s wild eyes fixed on Vincent, his hand unconsciously moving to wipe his mouth again. "And who are you to—"
"Look at yourself, Mr.William," Vincent interrupted, his tone colder, more diplomatic but firm. "You’re at the corporate gala covered in food and wine. I know you are shaken by what just happened but do you really want to escalate this situation further when you’re both in such a state?"
Vincent’s words were delivered with the perfect balance of respect for Thornfield’s position and practical wisdom. The crowd murmured their agreent, impressed by his mature handling of the delicate situation.
"You are also clearly injured and quite exhausted," Vincent continued, his tone remaining diplomatic. "Perhaps you both need ti to recover from this... unfortunate incident."
The crowd murmured their agreent, impressed by Vincent’s maturity in handling the situation. Even Celia looked surprised by his intervention, giving him a grateful nod with an exhausted smile.
William looked around his surroundings. People looking at him with strange gazes. He gritted his teeth and directly walking out of the hall.
"You’ll regret this." He didn’t forget to say the last line of a cheap villain.
Marcus, though clearly displeased with needing Vincent’s help, managed a curt nod in his direction. Without another word, he and Celia made their way toward the exit, whispers and barely suppressed chuckles followed his every movent as he walked, still dripping with biryani and wine.
"My mother used to tell to stay away from bad guys. I thought she ant . Turns out, even villains know better than to make a scene soaked in biryani and sha."
"The arrogant fool brought this on himself. Now miss Celia has to suffer."
"Young Vincent handled the situation very well."
"Did you see that face when he fell? It was uglier than a man’s face when his ex-wife asks for alimony!"
"Didn’t you get divorced just recently?"
"Shut up"
The guests felt safe mocking Marcus—he was just a bodyguard, after all. But none dared to laugh at William Thornfield, despite his equally disheveled state. His power demanded respect, even in his current condition.
Marcus clenched his fists, trembling with humiliation as laughter echoed around him. His voice, low and sharp, cut through the noise like a blade.
"Mock while you can. Laugh while I crawl. 30 years on the east, 30 years on the wes—" (Wait wrong novel)
The ball began to wind down after that, guests gradually making their excuses and departing. Vincent and Helena moved through the crowd, saying their goodbyes with practiced grace, thanking everyone for attending and ensuring they left with positive impressions.
Finally, it was ti to bid farewell to Olivia. She stood near the entrance, her composure intact despite the evening’s events.
"Thank you for coming, Olivia," Vincent said warmly. "I hope you enjoyed the evening, despite the... unexpected entertainnt."
"It was certainly morable," she replied with a genuine smile. "Thank you for having ."
Helena added her own thanks, and Vincent took Helena’s hand as they prepared to leave. Olivia watched their backs as they walked away together, Vincent’s fingers intertwined with Helena’s in an intimate gesture that spoke of their closeness.
Vincent didn’t notice her lingering gaze as they disappeared into the night.
Olivia reached her vehicle and slid into the driver’s seat. The evening had been fine—she had attended many such galas with Vincent over the years. But the exhaustion weighing on her shoulders ca from weeks of working overti at the corporation, dealing with the escalating situation between ridian and Annapurna. The long hours, the constant pressure, the sleepless nights—it was all catching up with her now.
She turned the key in the ignition.
Nothing.
She tried again, pumping the gas pedal. The engine turned over but wouldn’t catch.
"Co on," she muttered, trying a third ti. Still nothing.
With growing frustration, she attempted to start the car once more, but it was clear that sothing was wrong. The dark circles under her eyes seed more pronounced now, a testant to the countless late nights she had spent working alongside Vincent.
Reluctantly, she pulled out her phone and called for a taxi. When the taxi arrived, she gave her address and settled into the back seat, leaning against the window with tired eyes.
As the city lights blurred past, Olivia found herself recalling the evening’s events. The ti she had enjoyed with Helena, laughing and talking like old friends. The show her boss had orchestrated—though she didn’t know why he had done that, did she really care? No.
But most of all, she rembered Vincent’s lingering touch on her body. The way his hand had found her waist, how close they had been standing. In her six years of working with him, she had never been that close to him, never felt such intimate contact.
Gradually, a smile ford on her face, but it carried a hint of sadness that she couldn’t quite shake.
The taxi driver glanced at her through the rearview mirror from ti to ti, his eyes lingering on her reflection a mont longer than necessary, but she was too lost in her thoughts to notice.
- - - - - - - - - -
anwhile, Vincent was making his way back to the mansion, Helena’s head resting comfortably on his chest. The phantom moved smoothly through the night streets, and the quiet was a welco change from the evening’s chaos.
"Vincent, you are such a devil," Helena giggled softly, her voice filled with admiration. "You made Master Chen do it, didn’t you?"
Vincent didn’t reply imdiately. His mind was already moving to the next phase of his plans, calculating the ripple effects of tonight’s events and what moves he needed to make next.
Seeing his contemplative mood, Helena didn’t press for an answer. She simply made herself more comfortable against his chest and closed her eyes. The evening had been exhausting for her as well—eting so many high-level figures had been a first, and she felt she had handled it well, but the social pressure had been draining.
For a while, there was peaceful silence in the phantom, broken only by the gentle hum of the engine and the occasional sound of traffic outside.
Then David’s phone buzzed.
David glanced at the screen, and his expression for the first ti in years held shock. "Sir," he said quietly, "you need to see this. It’s about... him."
Helena stirred slightly at the sound but didn’t open her eyes, not understanding the significance of David’s words. But Vincent did. He didn’t see David’s expression, didn’t think much as he realized David was talking about Jin.
David handed over his phone, and Vincent began reading the ssage displayed on the screen. As his eyes scanned the text, his pupils gradually shrank.
"WHAT?!" The word exploded from Vincent’s lips, his composure finally cracking for the first ti all evening.
P.S.— Give it, yes give it to .... the gifts, I have yet to receive one. Also check out the characters.
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