Sweet Love 2x: Miss Ruthless CEO for our Superstar Uncle-Chapter 123: Accidents Happen

The cold came early that evening. It nipped at bare skin—sharp, but not enough to send anyone home. A thin layer of frost coated the lower stone steps, slowly disappearing beneath the steady flow of polished shoes and careful heels as guests moved upward toward the entrance.

At the curb, the valet line kept moving. Doors opened and closed in a steady pattern. Coats were taken and carried inside. Names were checked against a list that had been updated three times that week.

The Rochefort Anniversary Banquet didn’t need bright lights or grand displays to feel important.

It mattered because of its history.

Inside, the ballroom was already filled with low conversation spreading across the wide marble floor and echoing faintly against the high ceiling. The chandeliers were turned down just enough to soften the glare, casting a controlled warmth across the floors and along the gold trim lining the walls.

Near the far balcony, a string quartet played softly, their bows moving in restrained unison. The music remained formal but unobtrusive—strong enough to shape the mood without claiming the room.

Even before the room was full, it already felt important.

Arianne’s car pulled up quietly at the bottom of the front steps. The door opened, and she stepped out alone, the hem of her gown clearing the threshold in one controlled motion.

Her gown was red, but not bright. The color held depth, absorbing the light rather than reflecting it outward. It wasn’t bold or theatrical. It was steady. A dark coat rested over her shoulders, the collar turned slightly upward against the cold.

Camera flashes flickered along the edge of the press line. She paused long enough for the photographers to take their shots, then walked up the steps.

She didn’t hurry.

She didn’t pose.

Inside, the noise dipped as she crossed the ballroom threshold. Not silence—just recalibration. People noticed. A quiet wave of recognition moved through the space, subtle but coordinated. Guests shifted just enough to clear a path without being directed.

"It’s good to see you back in this room," a longtime trustee said, glass in hand.

"The foundation never paused," she replied.

He nodded once, as if that was the answer he needed.

Arianne moved through the room with contained focus, greeting patrons by name, asking about their families in brief, measured exchanges. She didn’t linger. She didn’t withdraw. She occupied the axis of the room without signaling that she had done so.

Across the ballroom, Gilbert stood with Julian and Nate near one of the wide columns positioned between the dance floor and the long tables. Their posture reflected familiarity rather than presentation. Julian spoke in a low voice to a board member while Nate listened, head angled slightly. Gilbert’s gaze moved across the room at intervals—not searching, simply aware.

Where there had once been five, there were now four.

No one needed to say that Alexander was missing.

Franz was not standing with them.

He had entered earlier through a side corridor and now stood near the far edge of the ballroom beside Gio, speaking with a long-time supplier. His suit was dark and precisely tailored. The tie at his collar carried a muted shade of red—visible without calling attention to itself. Under the chandelier light, it deepened further, nearly dissolving into shadow unless examined closely.

He didn’t move toward the Brotherhood group.

He didn’t walk over to Arianne.

He stood where he was, steady and apart, holding his own place in the room.

From near the balcony rail, Audrey observed the arrangement with the attention of someone trained to track alignment rather than gossip. She watched Arianne’s path through the guests and noted the absence of proximity to Gilbert. She also registered the red tie at the far side of the room and the quiet echo it formed with the gown at the center—parallel, not paired.

There was no denial tonight.

There was no confirmation either.

A younger trustee approached Gilbert with a familiar smile. "It looks settled," he said lightly. "You must feel relieved."

Gilbert regarded him without visible irritation. "There was nothing unsettled."

The man laughed softly, recalibrating, and turned to safer ground.

Near one of the long tables, Lily stood upright with her hands folded behind her back, surveying the room as though assessing a structure rather than attending an event. Leo stood half a step behind her, tablet in hand, stylus hovering.

"It’s very big," Lily said quietly.

Leo typed something, then turned the screen toward her.

BIG

She nodded.

"Stay where you can see us," Franz said as he passed near them, his route cutting between tables without breaking pace. He did not stop, but the instruction carried weight.

"We will," Lily replied.

The room continued to fill. Conversations layered over one another. Glasses met lightly, restrained rather than celebratory. Staff navigated between tables with efficient precision, adjusting place settings and refilling glasses without interrupting the flow.

Midway through the evening, the far doors opened again.

Angelika Sinclair entered without haste.

Her gown was pale silver, structured cleanly along the shoulders and waist. The fabric caught the chandelier light and diffused it softly across her frame. She paused just inside the threshold long enough to anchor attention before moving forward.

She greeted the Vance family first, leaning in with practiced familiarity. She exchanged pleasantries with a retired ambassador, her smile attentive but controlled. Nothing in her manner suggested urgency.

She belonged in rooms like this.

Only after those greetings did her gaze travel further across the ballroom.

She saw Gilbert with Julian and Nate.

She saw Arianne at the center, speaking with two patrons, posture straight, composure intact.

Her eyes remained there a moment longer.

Where Alexander once stood, Arianne now held the visible line of the room.

Angelika’s expression did not change.

But something beneath it hardened.

She concluded another exchange before adjusting her course toward the long tables.

The twins stood near the same position as before. Lily’s attention had drifted toward the musicians. Leo’s stylus hovered above the tablet screen, suspended mid-thought.

Angelika approached from behind without drawing notice. Her heels made almost no sound against the marble.

She stopped a pace behind Lily’s chair and lowered herself just enough to meet their height.

"You look exactly like your father," she said softly.

Lily glanced up, uncertain whether to smile.

Angelika’s tone suggested sympathy, not accusation.

"He worked all the time," she continued. "He never rested."

Leo’s stylus halted.

"He carried everyone," she said. "That’s what he always did."

Lily’s fingers tightened in the fabric of her dress.

Angelika inclined her head slightly. "He didn’t know how to stop. He tried to be strong for everyone."

The stylus remained suspended.

"Sometimes when grown-ups take on too much," she added quietly, "accidents happen."

Leo did not move.

The music continued. Glass touched glass. Conversations flowed uninterrupted.

Several steps behind Angelika, Arianne finished a sentence and turned, her attention caught by the sudden stillness near the table.

The red of her gown deepened under the chandelier light as she adjusted her stance.

Angelika did not yet register how near she stood.

Leo’s stylus remained frozen above the screen.