The camera's lights flashed nonstop. Everyone in the luxury hall had their phones up, recording and smiling like they were part of something too big to miss. Some women in sparkling dresses were holding hands tightly, their hearts beating fast. Their faces wore makeup, but beneath it, their nervous smiles told a different story. Everyone wanted to be the one.
"No. 1 on Chestnut Billionaire list. Mark Giovanni. Worth over 500 billion dollars!" the host said again with excitement.
Immediately People clapped. Some screamed.
"Today, Mark Giovanni selects a woman among these distinguished ladies," the host continued. "One among them would be Mrs. Giovanni and would hold Mark Giovanni's hands forever more."
Mark stood on the stage in a deep blue suit that looked like it was made from the sky itself. His black hair was neatly brushed back, and his expression was calm, too calm, like someone who knew the whole world belonged to him. His silver watch shone under the light, and every camera lens followed him like a shadow.
Meanwhile, outside the hall, the air was filled with reporters, limousines, and photographers trying to sneak in. But from the roadside, a regular yellow taxi pulled up. A woman stepped out. She was wearing a simple gown not shiny, not loud, just neat and clean. In her hand, she held a little girl, who looked about five or six.
The little girl looked around with wide eyes.
"Mommy, is this where the prince lives?"
At that moment the woman smiled faintly, gently brushing her daughter's hair from her forehead. "Yes, baby. This is where he lives."
She paid the taxi driver quickly. Then she held her daughter's hand tight and walked toward the entrance of the glowing building. But as she got close, several security guards moved in fast and blocked her path.
"Ma'am, this is a private event," one of them said firmly.
Another one looked her up and down. His face showed confusion she didn't look like she belonged there. "You can't come in here," he added, already turning his head to wave someone else forward.
But the woman didn't raise her voice. She didn't panic. She simply reached into her small purse and pulled out a black card.
The second the guards saw it, their faces changed like a switch had been flipped.
Immediately they froze, immediately one of the guards took a step back.
"I… I'm so sorry, ma'am."
Another one bowed slightly and quickly cleared the way, his voice shaking a bit. "Please, please come in."
They all stepped aside like a wave parting just for her. Some even whispered to each other, clearly stunned. A black card? That wasn't just power, that was untouchable power.
The woman walked in, still holding her daughter's hand, as everyone at the door looked on in shock.
Inside the hall, Mark Giovanni was seen talking on the stage. The Giovanni family were at the left-hand side of the stage and were all smiling with bright white teeth.
At that moment, the hall was filled with music, laughter, and flashing lights. The crowd was too busy clapping and staring at Mark Giovanni to notice anything else. But quietly, the woman and her child stepped in.
Her heels clicked softly against the marble floor as she walked forward, her back straight, her chin lifted. The little girl beside her clutched her hand tightly, her small eyes scanning the big room full of bright dresses and expensive suits. The child didn't understand what was happening she only knew she was holding her mother's hand, and that was enough.
They passed a few tables, and already some people had started turning their heads towards them.
"Mommy," the little girl said quietly, tugging on her arm, "why are we here? Are we attending this event?"
The woman slowed down a bit. She turned and bent down slightly, her eyes meeting the little girl's.
She gently touched the child's full cheeks, warm and round like soft bread. Then she tapped her lightly on the shoulder and gave her a small smile.
"Everly," she said softly, but clearly, "it's time you meet someone."
Hearing her mother words, Everly blinked, still confused, but she didn't ask again. She just nodded like she trusted whatever was coming next.
With that, Cecilia Brown stood up tall again and held her daughter's hand tighter. And then she walked toward the stage.
The same stage she had once walked away from. The same place that had once made her feel small and unworthy. But not anymore.
Five years ago, she left out of fear.
She had cried, she had begged. She had broken into pieces behind closed doors.
But now? Now, she was done with fear. The things she had been scared to lose she had already lost them. Her heart had already tasted pain. Her eyes had already seen betrayal. And yet, she didn't break.
She had found herself again. And this time, she didn't need permission. She was here to take back what belonged to her not with noise, not with a fight, but with quiet power.
As they kept walking to the main stage, more and more people noticed her. Heads started turning. Fingers pointed. Whispers filled the air.
"Isn't that—?"
"No way… it's her…"
"Cecilia? Cecilia Brown?"
Even the music seemed to drop in volume.
Mark Giovanni stood on the stage, holding the mic. He was in the middle of a sentence, charming the crowd as usual. But then his words slowly started to fade.
His eyes had found her.
Cecilia.
Immediately his body froze, he blinked, once, twice, then slowly lowered the microphone.
He couldn't speak anymore.
Most of the crowd, sensing something had changed, followed his gaze and suddenly, all eyes turned to the woman approaching the stage… and the little girl walking beside her.
At that moment, the entire Giovanni family stood up at once. Their once bright and elegant smiles disappeared completely, like someone had ripped the joy off their faces.
Every pair of their eyes was fixed on Cecilia.
It was like they had just seen a ghost. A ghost they never wanted to return. A ghost who once belonged to this powerful family but had vanished in silence.
One of the younger Giovanni brothers leaned over quickly and whispered something to a man standing by the wall. That man, in a black suit and earpiece, gave a slight nod and raised his hand, and suddenly, several security guards rushed forward like waves crashing into the beach.
Immediately they blocked Cecilia and Everly without hesitation, forming a wall of dark suits between them and the main stage. The crowd gasped.
Some even stood on their chairs to get a better look.
All the cameras in the hall turned at once. Big ones. Small ones. Even mobile phones held by guests. They pointed directly at the scene, Photos. Videos. Streams. All flashing like wild lightning.
But because of the thick wall of security, no one could see Cecilia's face properly.
Her daughter's small figure was barely visible behind the tall guards. Just a few hints her white shoes, a soft curl of her hair, the edge of Cecilia's dress.
Then a loud, commanding voice cut through the noise.
"Kick her out," the woman in the middle of the Giovanni family said coldly, her expression sharp as a knife.
She wore a long gown of emerald green with jewelry that sparkled even in the low light. Her posture was proud, her chin raised, but her eyes were full of disdain.
She was Lady Willow, the mother of Mark Giovanni. The woman known for her power, pride.
"Throw her and the child out of here," she said again, louder this time. "Now!"
The guards started to move. Their hands twitched. One of them stepped closer to Cecilia, they were about to obey.
But then—
"Stop!"
The voice came from the stage. Strong, deep, and sharp like thunder.
Everyone turned, It was Mark Giovanni.
He was already walking down from the stage, his footsteps slow but sure, his face unreadable.
The guards froze immediately, stepping back like statues who had just been told to sleep. Not one of them dared to move again.
As Mark reached the bottom of the stairs, he raised one hand and turned slightly to face the camera crew.
"No more photos or videos," he said.
Just three words, but it was all they needed.
The cameramen, the reporters, even the guests with their phones they all lowered their devices immediately, placing them on the floor like they were hot to touch.
More Silence settled over the room like a heavy blanket.
Then Mark took another step, and another, his eyes didn't leave Cecilia's.
Not for one second, he was walking straight to her.
But behind him, seeing where her son was headed, Lady Willow also stepped forward.
At that moment, Lady Willow reached Cecilia first, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she cut across the space between them like a blade. She was already fuming. Her eyes were blazing, her fingers curled tightly around the hem of her gown as she stood in front of Cecilia with a look that could burn stone.
She didn't wait. She didn't soften.
"What are you doing here?" she snapped, her voice cold and sharp like broken glass. "After five years, you show up like this? You left my son and vanished without a word, and now you think you can walk back into his life like nothing happened?"
She didn't even give Cecilia a chance to speak. Her words shot out fast, loud, cruel.
Then she turned her eyes to the small figure beside Cecilia. The little girl had stayed quiet the whole time, holding her mother's hand, her eyes wide and confused.
Then Lady Willow's nose wrinkled like she had just smelled something bad.
"And who is this bumpkin child with you?" she said with disgust. "Another mistake? Someone else's problem?"
The words made a few guests gasp softly. Even some Giovanni relatives looked uncomfortable, shifting in their seats.
However Cecilia didn't speak. Not yet. She stood there, still and calm, but her eyes narrowed just a little. Not in fear not anymore. But in warning.
Still, before she could open her mouth, Lady Willow lifted her voice and roared, "Get out of here, Cecilia! I don't want to see you near my son ever again. Leave this place now!"
But before her words could settle in the air—
"Mother, that's enough."
The voice came low but firm. Mark Giovanni had arrived.
He stepped into the circle like a storm walking on two legs, dressed in that sharp blue suit, his face darkened by something deeper than anger. He wasn't smiling, not anymore.
He stopped right between them, his eyes going from his mother to Cecilia, then back to his mother.
"I said bark away mother," he told Lady Willow, his voice steady, but the weight behind it was heavy.
"This is between me and her. I'll speak to her alone."
Lady Willow's eyes widened slightly in disbelief. "Excuse me boy?" she said. "You're speaking to me like that? After everything I've done to put this event together? After all these years, she shows up and you tell me to leave?"
She threw a hand toward the stage.
"Say whatever you have to say right now," she snapped. "In front of everyone. And then let's move on. The world is watching, Mark. You still have an engagement to finish."
Immediately Mark's jaw tightened. His brows furrowed.
At that moment, something in him snapped quietly not in rage, but in disappointment.
"Event?" he said, almost to himself. Then he looked at her. "This… this event has already been ruined."
Lady Willow flinched slightly. The guests began murmuring again, shifting awkwardly in their seats.
However Mark didn't care, Without another word, he reached for Cecilia's hand.
"Come with me," he said softly, his eyes not leaving hers.
Cecilia hesitated for a breath. But then she nodded.
And with her little girl still beside her, Mark led them both away, past the confused stares, past the camera crews who didn't dare lift their lenses, past the rows of honorable ladies dressed in diamonds and silk the very ones the world expected him to pick a wife from.
He didn't even glance at them, all he saw was Cecilia.
They took the back elevator up to the hotel's top floor the entire level belonged to Mark. When they reached the end of the hallway, he tapped his card and opened the door.
It was the presidential suite, It was quiet inside. Clean, cold, beautiful.
They stepped in.
Cecilia looked around, but her face showed no interest in the room. She was still holding her daughter's hand, then Mark shut the door behind them.
There was a soft click, then he turned around, his expression unreadable somewhere between calm and completely lost.
His eyes found Cecilia again, but they slowly dropped to the child beside her the small girl who had walked into the lion's den with no idea what kind of fire she had entered.
It was only now that Mark truly looked at her. The big brown eyes. The soft curls. The shape of her face. Her tiny hands holding her mother's fingers tightly.
At that moment Mark's chest moved once.
Then he asked, with a voice that sounded unsure for the first time all evening,
"Who is this little girl?"