Chapter 46 – .99.98%
Violet and Viras POV
Vira's laughter finally faded—though a trace of amusement still lingered in her voice.
"The treatment was discreet," she began. "Extensive blood therapy. Legal. Signed. Stamped."
A pause.
"And then there were things that would make a medical board collectively faint."
"Unregistered compounds. Experimental infusions. Herbal formulas never meant to pass inspection."
"Clara was confined inside Blossom Estate for three years," Vira continued. "Three years of isolation. Three years of reconstruction."
Her tone lowered.
"And during those three years, Magnus listened."
"To every fevered whisper. Every fractured confession. Every name Clara cried out when she thought no one was listening".
"Especially one name she repeated more than any other — De'ora."
Violet said nothing.
Only her fingers tightening indicated what she was feeling.
"Now," Vira said, almost cheerfully, "this is where it becomes… messy."
"Before Clara fully recovered— Gloria Blossom.
Magnus's only daughter. Heiress to the Blossom empire.
Christopher's wife".
"You remember her," Vira added sweetly. "The girl expelled from Imperial High for throwing your books into the fountain like she was baptizing ignorance."
"I remember," Violet said evenly.
"Oh good," Vira replied. "I love when we hold grudges properly."
Violet ignored that.
"She fell in love with Christopher the moment she saw him," Vira continued. "Instantly. Like a poorly written romance novel."
"But she said nothing. She hid it."
"For months."
Violet's gaze sharpened. "Then how did she become his wife?" she asked.
"Patience, host," Vira said teasingly. "Even tragedies require structure."
When Clara stabilized, she learned the truth.
Her system was gone. Permanently.
For weeks, she unraveled.
Christopher the fool in love , never left her side.
Grief turned into dependence. Dependence into closeness.
Then closeness became intimacy.
"The adult kind," Vira added lightly. "Not the hand-holding-under-a-tree kind."
Violet's jaw shifted slightly.
"Clara was seventeen at the time, if I'm not mistaken. Christopher was twenty-three, right?" Violet asked.
Vira paused.
"Yes, I did the math too," she said dryly. "Highly questionable life choices were indeed made."
Violet exhaled slowly. "Continue."
"She needed something solid," Vira said more softly. "And he mistook saving her for loving her."
After that, they met quietly.
Not publicly. Not officially.
But consistently.
Magnus noticed.
Because villains with money always notice. But he did nothing about it.
One faithful day, Gloria confessed her feelings to her father.
It was too late.
Magnus had already seen the attachment forming.
But to give his daughter what she wants, or so he claims.
That night,he approached Clara.
Not emotionally. Strategically.
"Do you want to destroy the De'oras?" he asked.
Clara paused not saying anything, but not leaving either.
"What if I help you destroy the De'oras?" he asked her again.
Clara's response had been immediate.
"What do you want?"
" what I want is quite simple." Leave Christopher," Magnus paused. "Gloria loves him."
Vira sighed dramatically.
"Ah yes. The typical rich family trade. Trade your boyfriend for political backing. A classic."
That night Clara agreed.
The very next day, she ended it.
But of course,Christopher resisted. That boy is in love.
But relentless Clara managed to convince him.
She explained everything—Magnus's influence, the protection, the leverage. The revenge on the De'ora's
"If you marry Gloria," she finishes, "we gain power."
He agreed.
.
.
.
.
.
Two weeks later— Christopher married Gloria Blossom.
"Efficient," Vira commented. "Emotionally devastaty. But efficient."
Four months after the wedding—Clara discovered she was pregnant.
What?." Asked Violet shocked.
She was four and a half months along.
The child was obviously Christopher's child.
So she told him.
For a fraction of a second, Violet's composure thinned.
What did they do to the child". She asked
Nothing, surprisingly ". Said Vira" Although they really wanted to, but lady luck wasn't on their side".
They told Magnus, after making a decision.
His reaction was immediate. "Abort it."
Violet wasn't surprised. Vira scoffed. "Men and their solutions."
But the doctors intervened. God bless those doctors.
They informed them that termination would destroy Clara's organs.
She would die the moment it's done.
Clara refused. Of course she did.
She loves her life too much than to waste it like that.
Christopher also refused, believing that child is the proof of their love.
Magnus recalculated.
And so he laid down another condition
"If the child lives," he said, "they carry my name."
The child would be Blossom. Raised under Magnus's authority.
An heir on paper. A contingency plan with a birth certificate.
Clara agreed.
"Of course she did," Vira muttered. "Revenge was her religion at that point."
Gloria knew nothing.
She was later told by her father that he is about to have a late-born son.
She believed it.
"Poor Gloria," Vira sighed. "Tragic. Delusional. And consistent."
To protect the lie, Clara and Magnus signed a quiet civil marriage.
No ceremony. No love.
Just signatures.
With Christopher and Gloria as witness
When the child was born, he was named:
Louis Blossom.
He is now three years old.
He calls Magnus "Father." And Christopher "Uncle". And Christopher had no say in it.
Silence settled between them.
Vira's voice softened.
"Host… your twin traded love, her child's identity, and her own future for revenge."
Across the hall, Clara stood near the altar.
Composed. Controlled.
But Violet now saw beyond the mask.
The broken girl. The desperate choices.
The path carved from pain instead of healing.
"Host," Vira murmured, then added lightly, "I would say this is dramatic, but honestly? I've seen worse."
Violet almost smiled.
Almost.
"This is no longer about a wedding," Vira said.
"No," Violet replied quietly.
"It never was."
Her gaze fixed on Clara.
"This is about blood."
She took a deep breath.
"And war."
"Ah," Vira perked up. "My favorite genre."
After a while.
Violet spoke
"Send everything we uncovered to the first convoy that left the estate."
"Already on it. host."
Encrypted pathways unfolded. Firewalls were detected.
"Please," Vira scoffed. "That's adorable."
Bypassing fireworks her system said.
Five minutes passed.
"Upload complete," Vira announced proudly. "The files have been delivered. And I may have left a digital fingerprint shaped like a smiley face."
"Vira." Threatened Violet
"Relax host. I removed it."
Violet's expression hardened once more.
"Good."
A pause.
"Well done."
And beyond the estate gates— The first crack in Magnus Blossom's empire began to spread.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
Meanwhile —
At Migan City General Hospital
Inside the laboratory, everything was moving.
Just not quickly. Not carelessly.
Precisely.
A tray of samples was relocated. Then relocated again.
Forms were reviewed. Then reviewed a second time.
Authorization signatures were requested. Confirmed.
Reconfirmed.
A centrifuge powered down mid-cycle.
"Temporary malfunction," a technician reported calmly.
It restarted five minutes later.
No one panicked. No one rushed.
White coats moved with measured restraint.
Voices remained low. Hands steady.
Every delay was explainable. Every pause defendable.
Thirty minutes stretched into two hours
Then two hours and twenty minutes.
Then two hours and forty.
Christopher checked his watch for the seventh time.
"They said two hours, it's already more than that." he muttered, irritation bleeding into his voice. "It's a DNA test, not an open-heart surgery."
No one responded.
John stood opposite him, expression unreadable. Joss leaned against the wall, arms folded.
Watching. Waiting.
The lab did not feel chaotic. It felt controlled.
At the three-hour mark, Christopher's restraint thinned.
"This is clearly deliberate," he snapped under his breath.
Jeff, inside the lab, removed his gloves slowly. He glanced at the digital clock.
3:02:18.
Perfect. A technician approached him.
"All recalibrations complete."
"Run it again," Jeff said calmly.
"We already have consistent markers."
"I know," Jeff replied. And that was enough.
Outside, Joss's phone vibrated once. He stepped aside and answered.
Silence filled the hallway.
Then—
"Understood." was all he said.
He ended the call. His posture did not change.
But something in his eyes did.
.
.
.
.
.
Three hours and five minutes.
A nurse from the sampling unit passed by with updated documentation.
Joss gave her a subtle nod. Permission was granted.
Three hours and ten minutes.
Inside the lab, the final sequence was finally completed.
Numbers aligned. Genetic markers locked into place.
Jeff studied the results.
No surprise touched his face.
He had known the outcome before the machines did. He slid the printed report into a folder.
Sealed it. Signed across the flap.
Control wasn't about speed. It was about timing.
The lab doors opened.
Christopher straightened immediately.
"Finally."
Relief flickered across his face before he masked it.
The sealed envelope was placed in his hands.
Official. Stamped.
Jeff met his eyes for exactly one second. Then looked away.
He left without saying a word.
.
.
.
The envelope began its journey back to Mist Estate.
Escorted. Guarded.
And somewhere beyond the hospital lights, the game had already changed.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
Two Hours Earlier
The first wave of black sedans did not scatter. They moved with purpose. With precision and authority.
At the front, Damien Voss—Aiden's right-hand, the man who carried the weight of command in silence—led the convoy.
Six sedans exited the Mist Estate gates, splitting at the roundabout: one toward the city center, one toward the expressway, another toward the financial district.
The rest dispersed strategically, an invisible web tightening around the city.
Engines purred. Calls were made before the tires even cooled. Encrypted. Restricted. Restricted again.
Everything was pulled. Call logs, vehicle trackers, private clinic admissions, surveillance grids, financial transfers—all movements of every person who had approached Julia Crescent… or Clara De'ora, as she now claimed to be—over the past week.
Screens flickered in dark offices across Migan City. Numbers scrolled, dates aligned.
Nothing.
Julia Crescent's trail was pristine.
Calculated. Clean. Too clean.
Her contact with adoptive parents? Years of silence.
Her movements? Perfectly legal.
The drug administered to Violet? Untraceable.
A catering rotation. Already cleared.
Suspiciously… perfect.
Damien didn't flinch. He had been in this game longer than most had been alive. He knew when information was curated, scrubbed, intentionally erased.
This... This was deliberate.
So he widened the perimeter. Beyond Migan City. And finally—he found it.
A name.
Blossom.
That was all he found.
He tried digging deeper. Into Blossom Group. The medical empire that towered over every city.
Magnus Blossom at its helm, is an orphan who married the only heiress of the blossoms family, inherited her power after she died, and expanded it ruthlessly.
A man who silenced the board, reshaped a dynasty, and built an empire.
Public news. Corporate achievements. Philanthropy.
All of it useless.
They were all just distraction.
Two hours had passed. The team's frustration had begun to seep in. The connection should have been found sooner.
Then the phone rang.
Not the expected tone. The private line. The one for operations that never legally existed.
Damien's expression sharpened. Calm. Controlled. But lethal. He handed the device to the hacker.
"Trace it," he ordered.
Firewall logs. Signal origins. Routing paths. Nothing. No intrusion. No trace.
Only a document.
A PDF. Heavy. Long. Clean. Too clean.
He scanned for malware. None.
Then he opened it. Silence descended.
Every record, every transaction, every hidden detail they had failed to uncover in the past two hours was there.
Medical records. Legal documents. Private correspondences. Movement logs. Everything on the woman calling herself Clara De'ora.
This wasn't luck. It was a hand extended by fate—or perhaps by someone sharper than even Damien himself.
After going through the file, he dialed Aiden. Calm. Controlled. Commanding.
"Sir… we've found something."
A pause. Then a reply:
"Bring it."
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
Two convoys raced towards the Mist Estate. One carried the DNA results. The other… far more dangerous intelligence.
No one could guess which would arrive first.
Aiden waited at the cathedral doors, calm on the surface, knowing one truth: the solution was coming.
Thirty minutes later, headlights pierced the estate gates. The DNA team arrived.
Christopher. John. Joss.
The cathedral stiffened. Guests straightened. Whispers died.
The verdict had returned.
Joss handed Andrea the envelope.
Andrea opened it, scanning just long enough. Reading it out loud.
It's a match.
Parental Probability: 99.98%
Biological daughter of Kingsley and Lily De'ora.
The hall absorbed the confirmation in tense silence. No one gasped. They had suspected. They had seen it in her face. But now proof had weight.
Clara lifted her chin slightly, proud, controlled. "I told you."
Kingsley said nothing. Lily lowered her eyes ashamed of what they did.
Christopher smiled, triumphant. Violet kept quiet, not saying a word.
Andrea folded the paper silently, unreadable.
Then the second wave arrived.
Engines screamed. Doors slammed. Boots struck the pavement.
The cathedral doors burst open. Dark-suited men poured in, unyielding. Operational. Deadly.
Damien Voss led them.
His presence alone shifted the hall's energy.
No theatrics. No announcements.
Only a thick file delivered into Andrea's hands.
He opened it, eyes scanning with surgical precision.
"What is it?" Kingsley demanded.
Andrea didn't answer. Not yet. Instead, his gaze slid to Clara. Not her face. Lower. Subtle. Imperceptible. But Clara noticed. Her spine stiffened.
"What?" she asked, cool but tense.
"You should have disclosed everything," Andrea said, half closing the file.
The cathedral stilled.
"I disclosed what was necessary," she said, voice taut.
Andrea's eyes didn't waver. He opened the file fully. His gaze swept the lines. And then—he scoffed.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. But every ear caught it. Every soul felt it.
He turned to the crowd, voice smooth, controlled.
"Miss Julia Crescent… no, my mistake. Miss Clara De'ora… or perhaps… Clara Blossom."
The cathedral rippled. Confusion. Fear. Recognition.
Andrea's gaze locked on her.
"I assume your medical stability has improved since then. From what I see… it hasn't."
Clara flinched.
"Does the name Magnus Blossom sound familiar?"