Chapter 1- Goodbye, my darling.

In the grand press conference hall, only the continuous clicking of flashbulbs could be heard. No one dared to speak, all waiting for the man in black sitting in the main seat to speak. He had a face that seemed gentle and refined, but the eyes hiding dangerous, sharp glimmers made people fear and tremble.

Everyone knew he was the current leader of the mafia BALAS, the son-in-law of the previous leader, Cesar Rollin Balas, and the husband of Miss Clarisse Balas from the Balas Families. Everyone knew that the once obscure BALAS had rapidly developed to its current peak all because of him.

He lounged there lazily, raising his hand slightly to signal to the assistant beside him. The assistant immediately stood up and began reading a statement from the papers in his hand: "Miss Clarisse Balas and Mr. Jonathan Serge Drucker have been married for four years. Due to each being busy with their careers, their feelings have gradually faded. After mutual agreement, they have decided to divorce amicably."

A sudden wave of gasps filled the audience. Everyone knew that Clarisse Balas had no career. Everyone knew that he did not love Clarisse Balas.

The assistant continued reading:

"Mrs. Balas, being relatively uninformed about company affairs and also a woman, hereby declares: I, Clarisse Balas, am willing to transfer my 50% of the shares to our son, Agente Balas Drucker. However, since the child is still young, they will be temporarily managed by Mr. Drucker. Henceforth, Mr. Drucker will be the largest shareholder of the company, and I unconditionally agree to Mr. Drucker officially renaming the company to LANCE.D, as it rightfully belongs to him!"

"On what grounds! It's enough that Clarisse gave you her shares, but why must you change the name?"

"Exactly, we do not accept this! Where is Clarisse, let her come out and say something!"

Elder members of the Balas Families stood up in anger, protesting. The assistant aimed the signed statement at the cameras, saying, "Everyone, this is Mrs. Balas's personally signed statement, in black and white, leaving no room for dissent!"

Amidst the crowd's uproar, the man seated at the head suddenly stood up, his eagle-like sharp eyes sweeping across the room. "Anyone who disagrees will be executed without mercy!" With that, he left, sweeping his sleeve dramatically as he departed.

"Sorry! I'm sorry, Agente. It's Mom's fault. Mom doesn't have the courage to stay here any longer, but I also don't have the ability to give you a wealthy life, so I can only leave you here. When you grow up, if you remember Mom, come find me. If you hate Mom, then forget about me!"

In the children's room filled with various toys, a gentle woman, dressed neatly with a suitcase beside her, held a sleeping little boy on a small bed. Tears streamed down her face as she repeatedly kissed him and apologized.

The sleeping boy had delicate features, bearing some resemblance to her, but most of his features were strikingly like his father's—the man who controlled everything with cold and cunning precision, the man she loved desperately, and the man who ultimately broke her heart, leading her to decide to leave.

Not knowing how many times she kissed him, unable to part, or how many times she cried her heart out by the door only to run back, it wasn't until the sound of reporters finishing up outside the TV brought her back to her senses. She finally rose, grabbed her suitcase, and rushed out.

Goodbye, my darling. Mom loves you.

When Jonathan Serge Drucker returned home, he habitually glanced at a certain direction on the second floor, only to find that her bedroom light had already gone out. The light, which usually only went out after he came home, was unusually extinguished early tonight, causing an inexplicable pang in his heart.

He loosened his tie and stepped into his son's room. Though he did not like her for being somewhat foolish and naive, he had to be grateful to her, grateful for giving him a smart, adorable, and highly intelligent son, Agente Balas Drucker.

He gently opened his son's door, only to see his three-year-old son quietly sitting on the bed, wrapped in a blanket. When he saw him enter, he calmly said, "My mom left. She doesn't want me, and she doesn't want you either."

His son's words struck him deeply, and his advancing steps froze. He stared in shock and disbelief at his son, who remained calm until his large eyes, so similar to hers, filled with tears.

He turned and rushed out, taking the stairs two at a time, and burst into her bedroom. It was empty.

He still could not believe that someone as gentle as her would choose to leave. Suppressing the inexplicable panic in his heart, he hurried to the wardrobe and flung it open to check. He didn't really know what clothes she had, but when he saw that her pink suitcase was gone, he finally believed she had truly left.

Upon closer inspection, he found she had only taken a few pieces of clothing, leaving everything else behind. He slumped wearily against her dressing table, and when he turned his head, he saw his son, standing in the doorway in his pajamas, tears streaming down his face. He suddenly felt a pang of guilt.

He had only intended to divorce her, not to drive her away. Besides, she was the one who had initiated the divorce. He never imagined that beneath her fragile exterior lay such a resolute nature. He worried, thinking about her delicate demeanor—how could she, someone who had never lived independently, survive after leaving here?

He approached and picked up his son, "Agente, don't cry. Daddy will send someone to bring Mommy back!"

"If you find her, will you not get divorced?" The three-year-old asked, his voice thick with tears. He hesitated for a long time but eventually nodded, "Yes..."

In fact, ever since having a son, he had never thought about divorcing her. Although he did not love her, he believed that providing a complete family for his son was also good. The divorce was her idea.

Carrying his son downstairs, he ordered his men, "Find Fadrique and bring him to me!"

Fadrique was her bodyguard from childhood, the only one capable of helping her leave.

His men brought a drunken Fadrique to him. Seeing his anxious and worried expression, Fadrique coldly laughed, "Jonathan Serge Drucker, isn't this exactly what you wanted? Driving her away without bearing any blame, easily gaining the freedom you wanted and this thriving business!"

"Tell me! Where did you send her?" He grabbed Fadrique by the collar and roared in fury. Fadrique merely laughed mockingly, "Why pretend? Her leaving suits you perfectly, doesn't it? I know exactly how you treated her. Your fake concern disgusts me!"

Enraged, he punched Fadrique, who fell heavily to the ground, laughing even louder. After a while, Fadrique suddenly covered his eyes with his hand and cried out in pain, "Jonathan Serge Drucker, the truth is, I don't know where she is or if she's even alive now..."

"What are you saying?" He stepped forward and yanked Fadrique off the ground. Fadrique's face was wet with tears, "I initially sent her on a smuggling boat to LA, but just before I came here, I received news that the boat encountered a typhoon at sea..."

"Fadrique, I'll kill you—!" He, eyes bloodshot with rage, drew his gun and pressed it against Fadrique's head. Fadrique, without resistance, closed his eyes, "Kill me, let me go to the other world to accompany her. In the next life, I'll marry her early and never let her meet you to suffer these pains and sorrows!"

Suddenly, I miss you so much, wondering where you are, whether you're happy or sad. Suddenly, I miss you so much, with sharp memories and blurred eyes.