Chapter 2
"But why didn't you clap back yourself? Aren't you the queen of throwing shade? You never held back when you were roasting me before," she said.
"Couldn't be bothered to waste my breath," I replied.
I set down my empty glass and turned to head for the terrace.
"Hey!" she called out, her voice sharp with frustration. "Seraphina, what's that supposed to mean?"
I didn't look back, just waved my hand in response.
The night breeze rolled onto the terrace, blowing away the stale air from the banquet hall.
I leaned against the railing and lit a cigarette.
The ember glimmered in the dark, just like the vigil lamp in the ancestral hall on that rainy night three years ago.
I could still hear Aurora's voice drifting over, just yelling about how I'm still the same pain in the ass as ever.
I slowly exhale smoke.
My nemesis was still the same.
That was nice.
After the banquet, I didn't head back to my apartment downtown. Instead, I told the driver to take me straight up to Blackwood.
The car wound its way up the mountain road, sycamore trees on both sides casting deep shadows in the darkness.
Three years had gone by, but this road was exactly the same—even that chipped sign at the bend still stood right where it always had.
The old mansion was glowing with light.
Grandpa was sitting in his sturdy rosewood armchair, reading the newspaper. When he heard me come in, he slowly looked up.
He stared at me for a few seconds before finally saying, "So you finally remembered to come back."
I took off my coat and handed it to the servant, then walked over and settled onto the sofa beside him. "I've missed you."
"Missed me?"
Cornelius took off his glasses and let out a snort. "If you really missed me, how come you've only come back twice in three years? Last time was your father's birthday—you barely stayed two hours before taking off, like you were just passing through."
I didn't respond, just reached for the coffee pot and refilled his cup.
The fragrance wafted through the room, mingling with the mansion's unique scent.
"Cornelius, are you feeling unwell?" I asked.
"I'm not dying," he replied.
Cornelius picked up his cup and blew on the coffee.
"Just getting old, that's all. My eyesight's getting blurry, my hearing's fading, and the other day I nearly fell in the yard. If it keeps up, I'll need someone keeping an eye on me 24/7."
He didn't look at me as he spoke, his gaze fixed on the darkness outside the window. His tone was so calm, it sounded like he was talking about someone else entirely.
But I understood.
He was talking about getting old, about the old house feeling too empty, about needing someone around.
I said quietly, "This time, I'm staying for good."
Cornelius's hand froze for a moment on his cup.
A few seconds later, he just let out a soft "Mm" and went back to drinking his coffee.
But I still caught that little smile he was trying to hide at the corner of his mouth.
I stayed at the old mansion for five days.
Every morning, I'd join Grandpa in the yard for tai chi. When he took his afternoon nap, I'd read in the study. In the evenings, we'd have dinner together and watch the evening news.
It felt like time had rewound twenty years—back to when I was a little girl, with my hair in pigtails, sitting on his lap and reciting that old children's primer he loved.
On the sixth morning, I packed my things, getting ready to head back to my apartment downtown.
Grandpa stood at the gate, leaning on his cane, the morning light turning his silver hair a soft gold.
Just before the car started, he suddenly tapped on the window.
I rolled it down.
He looked at me, his gaze steady and serious.
"The Vance family will always have your back," he said.
I nodded. "I know."
The car slowly rolled down the mountain road.
In the rearview mirror, Grandpa shrank until he was just a tiny blur.
By the time I got back to my apartment, it was already noon.
I yanked open the living room curtains, and sunlight poured in, lighting up the dust swirling in the air.
I opened my laptop, and my inbox was packed with unread emails.
One of the emails was from Valicon, with the subject: [Q3 Financial Report and Next Round of Fundraising.]
The sender was Emma Whitmore, my college roommate—she was now the CEO of our AI company.
The numbers in the attached financial statements looked very impressive. The money I had invested three years ago had already multiplied eightfold.
I shot back a reply and scheduled a video call.
Then I started a new document and titled it [Starscape Technologies—Domestic Business Plan]
The internet was the rising tide, and AI was the eye of the storm.
All the tech know-how, connections, and capital I'd built up overseas could finally be brought back home.
Julian could chase his political dreams, and I'd carve out my own battlefield.
This was pretty good.
Outside, the city was alive with its own brand of noise—cars, crowds, the pulse of life that never really stops.
I leaned back in my chair and lit a cigarette.
The smoke drifted upward, dancing and morphing in the sunlight.
Already...
Three years, just like that.
But before I could even make my mark in the business world, the phone calls urging me to get married came first.
First up, my mom called—her voice all soft, but she wasn't fooling anyone.
"Seraphina, you see, Julian's already engaged. You're the big sister... I'm not really nagging you, but if you had someone by your side to take care of you, we'd all feel so much better," she urged.
Then my dad jumped in—he sent me a whole stack of profiles of top young candidates.
From rising stars in politics to business elites, he had every type you could imagine covered.