Midnight Escapade (End)

 "Oh, my dear boy, I haven't seen Victor so utterly undone in decades. It was... exquisite."

Adrian, lounging beside her with an air of casual dominance, smirked. "I must admit, watching the great Victor Valtor stumble away, his composure in tatters—it was quite the spectacle.

But, Rosy, are you sure he won't retaliate immediately? He seemed... unhinged."

Rosy waved a dismissive hand. "Victor? Please. His entire identity is built on control and calculated moves.

He'll retreat, lick his wounds, and spend days plotting some elaborate counter-strategy. By then, we'll have solidified your position as his heir.

Trust me, I know him better than—"

Her words were cut short by the sudden, violent opening of the chamber doors.

They swung inward with such force that one nearly tore from its ancient hinges, slamming against the stone wall with a resounding crash.

In the doorway, silhouetted by the dim corridor light, stood Victor Valtor. His usually immaculate appearance was in disarray—tie loosened, shirt partially untucked, silver hair dishevelled.

But it was his eyes, blazing with a combination of scotch-fueled courage and raw, unbridled fury, that truly transformed him.

Gone was the cold, calculating patriarch; in his place stood a man pushed beyond the boundaries of his legendary self-control.

"Victor!" Rosy exclaimed, hastily pulling a sheet around herself. The shock in her voice was genuine; in all their years together, she had never seen him in such a state.

Rosy, her composure quickly regained, reached out a hand. "Victor, dear, please—"

"Don't!" Victor's voice was a whip-crack, silencing her instantly. "Don't you dare 'dear' me, Rosy? Not after this... this abomination I've witnessed."

Adrian, maintaining a veneer of calm, spoke next. "Father, if you'd allow us to explain—"

Victor's laughter was cold, devoid of any mirth. "Father? You have the audacity to call me that? After all these years, Rosy returns with her... paramour, claiming he's our son. The sheer gall!"

His gaze swept over them both, burning with a mixture of disgust and bitter disappointment.

"I should have you both thrown into the cells beneath this manor. That's what traitors and charlatans deserve. But I won't give you the satisfaction of playing the victims."

Rosy attempted once more, her voice tinged with desperation. "Victor, please listen. Adrian is truly your son. I know I left abruptly, but—"

"Enough!" Victor roared, his composure finally shattering. "You fled years ago, Rosy, leaving behind nothing but shattered promises and a legacy in tatters. Now you return, not in humility or repentance, but flaunting your debauchery in my own home!"

He turned his piercing gaze to Adrian. "And you. You waltz in here, basking in your... sordid relationship, then have the temerity to claim my name, my lineage. As if the Valtor dynasty is some trinket to be snatched by any silver-tongued charlatan!"

Adrian's face hardened, a flicker of anger breaking through his urbane facade. "I am a Valtor, whether you choose to accept it or not.

Your denial doesn't change the truth."

Victor scoffed. "Truth? You both wouldn't recognize the truth if it struck you down. All I see are two manipulators, weaving a tapestry of lies to claim what isn't rightfully yours."

His voice dropped to a menacing whisper. "I've built this empire with blood, sweat, and unyielding resolve. Each stone, each acre, each company—all forged by my will alone.

Did you truly believe you could saunter in, performing this sordid charade, and I'd simply hand over my life's work?"

Rosy's expression shifted from pleading to defiance. "Your work, Victor? Your empire? I stood by you when you were nothing but a struggling entrepreneur. My connections, my influence—"

"Which you were all too eager to abandon!" Victor retorted. "Now you return, thinking you can reclaim a stake in what I've built. No, Rosy. You forfeited any claim the moment you walked out that door."

Rosy's initial shock gave way to defiance. "How dare you judge me, Victor? You, who treated me more like a prized accessory than a wife. I gave you the best years of my life, and helped you climb from obscurity to power, and what did I get in return? Cold shoulders and missed anniversaries!"

Victor's laughter was harsh, tinged with the bitterness of decades-old resentments. "So this... this grotesque display is your revenge? Seducing a young man, parading him as our son, all to wound my pride? Rosy, your depravity knows no bounds."

He then turned his gaze to Adrian, who had risen from the bed, his urbane facade now tinged with genuine anger. "And you. The centrepiece of her grand performance. Tell me, boy, how much is she paying you? Or is the promise of the Valtor fortune enough to make you play the role of long-lost heir?"

He stepped back, his frame silhouetted by the room's dim light, casting him in an almost spectral aura. "I want you both out. Out of this room, out of this manor, out of my life. Take your sordid tales and twisted ambitions elsewhere. The Valtor name is not for sale or seduction."

Adrian rose, his movements deliberately slow. "You're making a grave mistake, denying your own flesh and blood."

Victor's reply was glacial. "My only mistake was ever trusting in the sanctity of marriage, in the notion that some bonds are unbreakable.

Now, get out. Both of you. Before I summon security and have you dragged out, adding more spectacle to the shame you've already brought upon my house."

Rosy, seeing Victor's inebriated state, tried a different tactic. Her voice softened, taking on a tone that had once soothed him through many a crisis.

"Victor, please. You're drunk, you're angry. Let's all take a step back. In the morning, when you're sober, we can discuss this civilly. Adrian is truly your son, and deep down, I think you sense it."

For a heartbeat, the old tenderness in her voice seemed to pierce through Victor's anger. His shoulders sagged, and he closed his eyes, looking every bit his age—a titan momentarily brought low by life's cruel twists.

But then, as if drawing strength from the very stones of his ancestral home, Victor's resolve hardened once more. His eyes snapped open, fixing Rosy with a gaze so cold it could freeze molten steel.

"Civilly? After what I've witnessed? No, Rosy. There will be no polite discussions, no family reunions. What I've seen tonight has shown me the true depths of your treachery. You haven't just betrayed our marriage vows; you've blasphemed against everything the Valtor name represents."

He stepped back, his frame silhouetted against the doorway, much as it had been earlier that night.

But now, instead of a man shaken by shocking revelations, he stood as an embattled monarch, wounded yet unbroken.

"Tomorrow morning, when I open my eyes, I want to be greeted by a home free of your presence."

Without waiting for their response, without even a backward glance, Victor turned and strode out of the chamber. His exit lacked his usual grace—there was a stumble, a hand bracing against the doorframe—but it lacked none of his signature determination.

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VICTOR