"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.