With my visa secured, I returned home and collapsed into a deep, dreamless sleep. When I opened my eyes, the night had already swallowed the sky. Needing to clear my head, I stepped out into the garden. But, I hadn't been out there long when Elara appeared.

"Lyra." She cooed, her voice soft but dripping with unapologetic provocation. "I heard your story with Vincent over the past six years."

I couldn't be bothered to her pathetic games, and turned on my heel to leave. But the second I pivoted around, a blood-curdling scream tore through the night.

Elara had thrown herself forward, smashing her forehead against the sharp stone edge of a garden bench. Blood instantly poured down her face.

"Elara!"

Almost simultaneously, Vincent and my dad, Dominic Corleone, rushed out of the living room. I had wondered why the hell Vincent was here in the first place.

Elara was on the ground, clutching her bleeding forehead, tears streaming down her face.

"Dad, Vincent… please don't blame Lyra. I just lost my balance…"

Dominic's face turned the color of iron. Pointing a trembling finger at me, he roared in a blind fury.

"You ungrateful wretch! What did you do to your sister?!"

I stood rooted to the spot, and watched her farce indifferently. My heart was broken as if it was a block of solid ice. My eyes swept past my enraged father and landed on Vincent.

He was crouched beside Elara, carefully inspecting her wound. When he finally looked up, the usual calm in his fathomless eyes was gone, replaced by a bone-chilling, ruthless scrutiny. In that moment, the cold seeped straight into my marrow. I knew he didn't believe me either. Yes, Elara was his secret obsession. Why would he ever take her word over me? I just sneered.

Dominic immediately barked out his bodyguards.

"Grab this ungrateful wretch! Drag her to the ancestral hall and get her to kneel! Give her thirty lashes! No one is to let her up without my permission!"

I fought back with everything I had, but the bodyguards pinned me down effortlessly. I cast a desperate, pleading glance toward Vincent. But he was entirely caring about Elara, completely blind to me being dragged away.

I was ruthlessly hauled into the side hall. A guard raised a heavy leather whip and brought it down hard against my back!

CRACK!

The agonizing, flesh-tearing pain hit me instantly. My vision went black. I bit down on my lower lip so hard, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a scream.

The whip lashed down again and again. My whole body convulsed in agony. Cold sweat soaked through my clothes as my consciousness began to slip away.

Old memories flashed through my mind. Vincent had once vaguely known about my bad relationship with my father and tried to help me. I still remembered the nights I was drowning in grief, sneaking out to my mother's grave in the pouring rain. He had found me, wordlessly stripping off his jacket to wrap around me, and driven me home in silence. I reminisced about those moments of tenderness I had foolishly mistaken for care…

Back then, I could never have imagined that one day he would be the one to push me into this absolute abyss.

A metallic tang flooded my throat. I coughed, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

…

When my consciousness finally returned, I found myself lying on my own bed. Every inch of my body ached as though it had been crushed by a truck. Gritting my teeth against the blinding agony, I have my bags packed.

Moments ago, my immigration papers had finally been approved. Clutching my luggage, I headed for the door, ready to make my escape to the airport. But the moment I pushed open the door, I came face to face with Vesper Corleone. Seeing my bruises and cuts, Vesper instantly broke down into a sobbing mess.

"Are you really leaving? My uncle is already planning the wedding! How did you two suddenly fall apart?"

I just shook my head. "I'm done playing house with him. We're finished."

Vesper could do nothing but stand by and watch me leave. But, he insisted on seeing me off to the airport. In front of terminal, I pulled Vesper into a brief embrace, patting her back gently. Then, I let go, offered a casual wave, and turned toward the security checkpoint.

Vesper watched my silhouette disappear into the crowd. Unable to hold her tears back any longer, she collapsed to the floor, weeping uncontrollably. Fueled by a fierce, righteous anger, she pulled out her phone and called Vincent.

"Uncle! Why did you give up Lyra for Elara?"

Vincent's voice came through the line, laced with genuine confusion. "When did I ever give up on Lyra?"

"Then why is she immigrating to Switzerland and never coming back? You must break her heart!"

Dead silence fell on the other end of the line. A few seconds later, Vincent's voice returned.

His cool, untouchable composure was entirely gone, replaced by a rare, suffocating panic.

"What do you mean…Lyra left?"

"Yes! Lyra said she would never come back! You can stay with Elara for the rest of your life, Uncle! Are you satisfied now?"

Vesper screamed before slamming the phone down. The dial tone buzzed against his ear. Vincent stood frozen, his hand still suspended in the air, holding the phone to his ear.

What did she mean? Immigration? Never come back? These words slammed together like a microscopic shard of glass, stabbing straight into his heart. It was a sharp, alien ache he had never felt before. But he instinctively crushed down this sudden, unacceptable spike of emotion as he had been accustomed to being in a superior position for ages.

Frowning, Vincent tossed the phone back onto his desk, forcing his attention back to the documents spread out before him. But a jumble of tight-packed words and numbers blurred into a chaotic swarm of ants, making it impossible to concentrate. He got irritated and loosened his tie, pacing back and forth before the huge floor-to-ceiling windows.

Outside, the sprawling metropolis was a sea of glittering neon and endless streams of traffic. Yet, not even this dazzling skyline could relieve the sudden, suffocating turmoil in his chest. An unprecedented, terrifying loss of control was taking root. It crept up like dark, thorny vines, wrapping tightly around his heart.

Driven by a blind, inexplicable instinct, he snatched his car keys and stormed out of the office.

As the elevator plummeted downward, he directly dialed the airport director’s personal line. His voice was a low, lethal command that left no room for refusal.

"Pull the flight manifest. Find out which flight Lyra Borgia is on. Now."

He tore through streets at a breakneck, suicidal speed, blowing through a red light before skidding to a halt outside the terminal.

The director was already waiting for him in the grand hall, trembling as he handed over a freshly printed slip of paper.

"Vincent, Lyra Borgia is on…on flight FX108, bound for Bern. The plane… it took off twenty minutes ago."

Vincent’s footsteps slammed to a halt. He raised his head, staring at the massive digital board. Under the flight FX108, here were striking letters, DEPARTED.

Vincent stood paralyzed in the middle of the bustling, chaotic terminal. He was a man who commanded his whole empire, yet in that moment, he looked like a statue stripped of its soul.

The terminal hummed with life, announcements blared in a dozen languages, suitcase wheels rattled across the polished floors, and strangers laughed and chatted. But, Vincent could hear nothing as if he were trapped behind a thick pane of soundproof glass. Everything was muted and distant.

For the first time in his ruthless life, Vincent truly understood what it meant to lose something, to be completely out of control. Something he hadn't realized he possessed was being violently ripped from his normal life.

Just as the hollow void in his chest threatened to consume him, his phone buzzed against his thigh. He glanced down and found Elara on the screen.