In the grand press conference hall, the only sound was the incessant clicking of flashbulbs. Tension filled the air as everyone held their breath, their eyes fixed on the man in black seated at the head of the table. He had a face that appeared gentle and refined, yet the dangerous, sharp glimmers in his eyes sent shivers through the crowd.
He was the current leader of the mafia BALAS, the son-in-law of the previous leader, Cesar Rollin Balas, and the husband of Miss Clarisse Balas of the Balas family. It was well-known that the once obscure BALAS had risen to its current peak solely because of him.
Lounging lazily, he raised a hand, signaling to the assistant beside him. The assistant immediately stood, clutching a statement in his hand, and began to read: "Miss Clarisse Balas and Mr. Jonathan Serge Drucker have been married for four years. Due to their demanding careers, their feelings have gradually faded. By mutual agreement, they have decided to divorce amicably."
A wave of gasps rippled through the audience. It was common knowledge that Clarisse Balas had no career, and it was also well understood that he did not love her.
The assistant continued, his voice steady but the tension in the room palpable: "Mrs. Balas, being relatively uninformed about company affairs and recognizing her role as a woman, hereby declares: I, Clarisse Balas, am willing to transfer my 50% of the shares to our son, Agente Balas Drucker. However, since the child is still young, these shares will temporarily be managed by Mr. Drucker. Henceforth, Mr. Drucker will be the largest shareholder of the company, and I unconditionally agree to Mr. Drucker officially renaming the company to LANCE.D, as it rightfully belongs to him!"
"On what grounds! It's enough that Clarisse has given you her shares, but why must you change the name?"
"Exactly! We do not accept this! Where is Clarisse? Let her come out and say something!"
Elder members of the Balas family stood up in anger, protesting loudly. The assistant aimed the signed statement at the cameras, declaring, "Everyone, this is Mrs. Balas's personally signed statement, in black and white, leaving no room for dissent!"
In that moment, the atmosphere crackled with tension, as if a storm were brewing just beneath the surface. Eyes shifted to the shadows where the silent figure of Clarisse lingered—her absence spoke volumes, hinting at unspoken stories and a tumult of emotions yet to unfold.
Amidst the uproar of the crowd, the man at the head of the table suddenly rose, his eagle-like gaze sweeping across the room. "Anyone who dares to disagree will be executed without mercy!" His voice echoed with a chilling finality as he dramatically swept his sleeve and strode out, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.
"Forgive me! I'm so sorry, Agente. It's Mom's fault. I don't have the courage to stay here any longer, and I can't provide you with the life you deserve. All I can do is leave you here," she whispered, her voice trembling. "When you grow up, if you remember me, come find me. If you hate me, then forget I ever existed!"
In a children's room adorned with toys, a gentle woman dressed neatly stood beside a small bed, cradling her sleeping son. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she kissed his delicate features, whispering apologies over and over. The boy bore a striking resemblance to her, but more so to his father—the man who controlled everything with cold, cunning precision, the man she had loved desperately, and the man who ultimately shattered her heart, forcing her to make this agonizing decision.
How many times had she kissed him, unwilling to let go? How many times had she cried by the door, only to run back and hold him again? It was the sound of reporters wrapping up outside that finally pulled her from her reverie. With a heavy heart, she rose, grabbed her suitcase, and rushed out.
"Goodbye, my darling. Mom loves you."
When Jonathan Serge Drucker returned home, he instinctively glanced toward the second floor, his heart sinking when he noticed that her bedroom light had already been turned off. It was unusual for the light to extinguish before he arrived, and a pang of unease tightened in his chest.
He loosened his tie and entered his son's room. Despite his disdain for her naivety, he couldn't help but feel gratitude for her—grateful for the smart, adorable, and astoundingly intelligent son they had together, Agente Balas Drucker.
Gently, he opened the door, only to find his three-year-old son quietly wrapped in his blanket. When their eyes met, the boy calmly stated, "Mom left. She doesn't want me, and she doesn't want you either."
His son's words pierced through him like a dagger, freezing him in place. Stunned, he stared at the boy, who remained eerily calm until tears filled his large, innocent eyes—eyes that mirrored his mother's.
Without a word, Jonathan turned and bolted from the room, racing down the stairs two at a time. He burst into her bedroom, but it was empty.
He still couldn't comprehend how someone as gentle as she was could choose to leave. Suppressing the rising panic in his chest, he hurried to the wardrobe and flung it open, searching for any sign of her presence. Though he didn't know much about her clothes, the sight of her pink suitcase missing sent a chill through him. She had truly gone.
Upon closer inspection, he realized she had taken only a few pieces of clothing, leaving the majority behind. Exhausted, he slumped against her dressing table. Turning his head, he spotted his son standing in the doorway, pajamas crumpled and tears streaming down his little face. A pang of guilt twisted in Jonathan's gut.
He had only intended to divorce her—not to drive her away. Besides, she had initiated the divorce. He never imagined that beneath her fragile exterior lay such a resolute spirit. A wave of concern washed over him as he thought about her delicate demeanor. How could she, someone who had never lived independently, survive after leaving?
He walked over and scooped up his son, cradling him close. "Agente, don't cry. Daddy will send someone to bring Mommy back!"
"If you find her, will you still get divorced?" the three-year-old asked, his voice thick with tears. Jonathan hesitated, weighing his response. Finally, he nodded. "Yes…"
The truth was, ever since becoming a father, he had never truly considered divorcing her. Although he did not love her, he believed providing a complete family for his son was important. The divorce had always been her idea.
Carrying Agente downstairs, he barked orders to his men. "Find Fadrique and bring him to me!"
Fadrique had been her bodyguard since childhood—the only one who could help her if she needed to leave.
When his men returned, they brought a drunken Fadrique, stumbling and disheveled. Upon seeing Jonathan's anxious expression, Fadrique let out a cold laugh. "Jonathan Serge Drucker, isn't this exactly what you wanted? Driving her away without bearing any blame, easily gaining the freedom you craved and a thriving business to boot!"
"Tell me! Where did you send her?" Jonathan seized Fadrique by the collar, his fury bubbling over.
Fadrique merely chuckled mockingly. "Why pretend? Her leaving suits you perfectly, doesn't it? I know exactly how you treated her. Your feigned concern disgusts me!"
Enraged, Jonathan punched Fadrique, sending him crashing to the ground. But instead of cowering, Fadrique erupted into laughter, a twisted mirth that only fueled Jonathan's fury. After a moment, Fadrique suddenly covered his eyes with his hand, crying out in pain. "Jonathan Serge Drucker, the truth is, I don't know where she is or if she's even alive now…"
"What are you saying?" Jonathan stepped forward, yanking Fadrique to his feet. Tears streamed down Fadrique's face. "I sent her on a smuggling boat to LA, but just before I came here, I received word that the boat encountered a typhoon at sea…"
"Fadrique, I'll kill you—!" Jonathan's voice was a low growl, his eyes bloodshot with rage as he drew his gun and pressed it against Fadrique's forehead. Without resistance, Fadrique closed his eyes. "Go ahead, kill me. Let me join her in the next life. I'll marry her early and make sure she never meets you, sparing her from this pain and sorrow!"
In that moment, Jonathan's heart twisted with anguish, memories flooding his mind.
I miss you so much. Where are you? Are you happy or sad?
The sharp memories clawed at him, leaving his vision blurred with unshed tears.