The grand Vermillion estate was bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. Four days. That was all the time left before Nao Vermillion would officially take his rightful place as the heir.
Mr. Den stood near the main hall, arms crossed, a rare smile on his lips. For years, he had waited for this moment—for Nao to return and reclaim what was his. Soon, the boy he had sworn to protect would take full charge of the estate and all the businesses his father, Alistair Vermillion, once controlled.
For the first time in a long while, Mr. Den felt relief.
But the peace didn't last long.
A slow, deliberate clacking of heels echoed through the hall. Isadora approached, her red silk gown flowing behind her, her lips curled into an amused smile. Beside her, Wick, her ever-loyal servant, followed closely, his cold, calculating eyes scanning the room.
"You seem… unusually cheerful today, Mr. Den," she said smoothly, stopping just a few feet away from him.
Mr. Den didn't turn to look at her. Instead, he simply adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. "Why wouldn't I be? The rightful heir is back. In just four days, he will take his place, and everything will return to how it should be."
Isadora let out a soft chuckle. "Such blind loyalty. Tell me, do you actually believe he will make it to that day?"
Mr. Den's eyes darkened, and he finally turned to face her. "I know what you're trying to do, Isadora. But let me make one thing clear—you failed eight years ago, and you will fail again."
Wick smirked slightly but remained silent, standing behind Isadora like a shadow.
Eight Years Ago…
The grand Vermillion dining hall was dimly lit that night. Young Nao, only ten years old, sat beside his father, Alistair Vermillion, at the long dining table. Isadora stood at the side, a pleasant smile on her face as she poured a glass of wine for Alistair and a smaller drink for Nao.
Wick stood at a distance, his face void of emotion, watching silently.
"You must be tired, my dear husband," Isadora said sweetly, setting the glass before him.
Alistair sighed, rubbing his temples. "The business matters have been exhausting lately." He picked up the glass, swirling the dark liquid inside before taking a sip.
Nao, too, lifted his cup, but before he could drink—
"Nao," his father called. "You should eat more before drinking."
The boy hesitated, then nodded, placing the cup back down.
That moment saved his life.
Because just minutes later, Alistair Vermillion suddenly gripped his chest, his face twisting in pain. He coughed violently, knocking over his glass as his vision blurred.
"Father?" Nao's small voice was filled with panic.
Alistair gasped, his body convulsing before he collapsed onto the floor. His wine had spilled across the table, staining the fine cloth red—just like the blood dripping from his mouth.
Servants rushed in, and chaos erupted.
Mr. Den arrived moments later, pushing past the stunned onlookers. He saw the broken glass, the untouched drink before Nao, and the satisfied glint in Isadora's eyes.
He knew. He knew she had done this.
But the poison was fast, too fast. Alistair Vermillion was dead before a doctor could even be called.
And the wine? Gone. The servants, likely under Isadora's control, disposed of everything before an investigation could even begin.
No clues left. No evidence.
Isadora wept over her husband's body, playing the role of a grieving widow perfectly. And when Mr. Den tried to accuse her, Wick stepped forward, his cold voice cutting through the room.
"Mr. Den, please be careful with your words," Wick said smoothly. "There is no proof of such accusations."
Mr. Den clenched his fists. No proof. Because Wick had made sure of that.
Before Mr. Den could do anything, Nao was sent away.
Present Day…
Mr. Den's hands trembled slightly as he returned to the present. He had failed to save Alistair Vermillion. He wouldn't fail to save Nao.
He took a step closer to Isadora, his voice dangerously low. "As long as I am here, you will not touch him. Nao will take his rightful place. And you? You will watch as everything you've tried to steal crumbles before your eyes."
Isadora's smile finally faded. For the first time, a shadow of true anger passed through her cold eyes.
Wick, standing behind her, whispered something in her ear. She smirked, her confidence returning.
"We'll see about that, won't we?" Isadora whispered before turning on her heel and walking away, Wick following closely behind.
Mr. Den remained still, his fists clenched. He knew one thing for certain—Isadora was already moving her pieces. And this time, she wouldn't wait until Nao's eighteenth birthday to strike.
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