Friday.
Gala night.
Many royal and high-status families had gathered in Malaysia for the biggest event of the night.
The Queen of London was set to arrive at the gala with her special guest. Outside the grand building, the golden gates glimmered under the lights, and at the far end lay the marked "H" sign, reserved for the helicopter to descend upon.
Excitement rippled through the crowd; murmurs, camera flashes, and whispers filled the air. Everyone was eager for what was to come—well, almost everyone.
Ryona and her mother, Belle Monroe, glided into the hall in their flowing gowns, the soft rustle of silk trailing behind them as the chandeliers above caught the shimmer of their attire.
Belle's expression was poised yet distant, while Ryona's gaze darted across the opulent hall, scanning the many faces, both familiar and foreign.
"Well, well, well. Ohohoho... I can't believe you even came, dear sister."
The sudden voice rang with mockery, pulling both ladies to a halt. They turned to see Foni Monroe, Belle's younger sister and Ryona's aunt, making her grand entrance.
Foni strutted in with a sly smile, her jewels sparkling with each step as she fanned herself elegantly.
"I see you're here too, Ryona," she added, her tone sharpened with amusement as her eyes flicked toward her niece.
Before Ryona could answer, another figure stepped into the scene.
Caleb Monroe, tall and confident, emerged through the archway, his presence commanding the attention of several onlookers nearby.
He adjusted his cufflinks casually, as though the tension in the air amused him.
"Mother," Caleb said smoothly, his voice carrying a note of both familiarity and defiance as he addressed Belle.
Belle's shoulders stiffened. Her eyes, once calm, hardened like steel as she turned to face her own son—Ryona's elder brother. Her tone cut through the air, cold and unforgiving.
"Don't call me mother after what you have done to me and Ryona."
A hush swept through the small circle of bystanders who had begun to notice the confrontation.
Caleb's smirk never faltered. He stepped closer, his gaze sharp, unbothered by his mother's icy words.
"Ah, mother," he drawled with a faint chuckle, "still living the stable life, I presume?"
Belle's eyes narrowed as the tension between them thickened, and Ryona's hands instinctively curled into fists at her side.
Around them, the music and chatter of the gala carried on, but within their corner of the hall, the air was heavy, laced with unspoken history and unresolved betrayals.
"Oh, come on, Mom," Caleb said as he spread his arms wide, a mocking grin playing on his lips. "At least not in front of the cameras."
Belle Monroe and Ryona instinctively glanced to the side. A line of photographers stood near the entrance, their cameras flashing non-stop as they captured the grand arrivals of guests and VIPs.
The murmur of reporters filled the hall, every movement of the Monroe family drawing quiet attention.
"Please don't drag the Monroe name down into the mud, Ryona," Caleb sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. His eyes narrowed as he tilted his head. "Oh? Where is your husband? Did he bail?"
The words cut like glass. Ryona's breath hitched, her chest rising as her anger stirred.
"Don't you dare talk ill about my Shen," Ryona snapped, her voice trembling with fury.
"Your Shen?" Foni scoffed loudly, her laugh echoing with cruelty as she stepped closer, her fan snapping open with a sharp flick. She wagged it in Ryona's direction mockingly.
"You talk as if he is really your husband, Ryona,"
Foni teased. Then, turning to Belle, she waved her paper fan with exaggerated flourish against her double chin.
"Belle, look at yourself in the mirror. You're no longer that pretty young southern belle anymore. And what a waste it was for you—your daughter, carrying the same false hope. Plus, Caleb is right."
She turned her head left and right dramatically, smirking as though speaking to the onlookers. "Where is Shen Tucker, Belle? Your son-in-law is not here, dear sister."
Belle Monroe, calm amidst the jabs, drew in a long, steady breath. She straightened her back, her poise radiant under the hall's golden lights.
"My dear boy will come,"
Belle replied firmly. Her voice softened with warmth as she lifted her chin.
"Unlike some sons, Shen has always been my boy. He treats me like the mother he never had."
Foni narrowed her eyes and leaned closer, her fan waving lazily. "Are you fully aware, Belle, that the Tuckers only brought him back to take Zac Tucker's place as Chairman of the Tucker Group?"
Belle turned away, her gown flowing as she shifted, speaking over her shoulder with dignity.
"No, he didn't. He has his reasons. I don't meddle in my boy's life—whether he succeeds or fails, that's his path to walk. There's a saying I taught him when he was still a sweet, innocent little child."
Belle slowly lifted her arms, cradling the air as though carrying a small baby. Her voice trembled, but her eyes shone.
"From failure, you learn. From success, you don't. No matter what, my little boy… keep moving forward."
A tear slid down her cheek as the hall seemed to hold its breath for a moment.
"Boohoo. Almost barfed," Foni mocked, rolling her eyes as she waved her fan and strode past Belle and Ryona. Her perfume lingered like smoke as she sneered. "See you inside, Belle. Ohohoho…"
Ryona's fists clenched so tightly her knuckles whitened. "That old bitch…" she muttered under her breath.
"Language, Ryona."
Belle's voice snapped firm but not harsh.
"I raised you not to use such nasty words. But…" her lips curved into a sly smirk, "…I do admit, she is a… uhm… asshole-lic bitch."
Ryona's eyes widened. "Mama!" she gasped, shocked at her mother's curse.
Belle smirked mischievously, lifting her chin. "Don't gasp at me, Ryona. Yes, I may be forty-two years old, but at least I knew how to curse back then."
"Then why did you stop, Mama?" Ryona asked softly, still stunned yet curious.
Belle's smile melted into warmth. She reached out, brushing her daughter's cheek tenderly.
"Because I gave birth to a lovely daughter. And I raised another boy who, along with you, turned out to be just a pair of troublemakers."
Her voice lingered with affection, though her words hinted at more.
For Belle was speaking not just of her daughter Ryona, but of Shen Goddem—a truth still hidden from both Ryona and the world.
For now, everyone still believed he bore the surname Tucker.
A few minutes later, the Tucker family entered the gala, their presence commanding the attention of every camera in the hall.
The flashes exploded like lightning, reporters calling out questions, their pens scratching furiously against notepads.
"Huh? So that's where the Queen of London will descend in the helicopter?"
Victor whispered, his eyes darting toward the marked landing pad outside the glass windows.
"Shush, boy."
Tom Tucker silenced him with a sharp glance. His voice dropped to a hush, and his hand gripped Victor's shoulder.
"Look—it's them. The Ugan family."
His eyes shifted away instantly, refusing to make direct eye contact with the infamous clan.
The Ugans moved through the crowd like shadows—draped in regal silks, their entourage flanked by towering bodyguards whose gazes scanned the hall with ruthless precision. A ripple of unease traveled among the guests, whispers spreading like wildfire.
"Excuse me, Tuckers."
The Tucker family froze mid-step. A tall Ugan bodyguard, dressed in a sharp black suit, stood behind them. His voice was polite, yet his tone carried the weight of command.
"Forgive my rudeness, but our Matriarch would like to have a word with you regarding a personal, established deal."
The Tuckers stiffened. A chill ran down their spines as they exchanged uneasy glances. Shen Tucker's name lingered in all their minds like a curse.
It was his deal with the Ugans, struck just a week ago, that had now dragged them into this dangerous spotlight.
Reluctantly, the family followed the bodyguard across the grand hall. The crowd's murmurs swelled, nobles whispering as the infamous Tucker-Ugan interaction unfolded before their eyes.
At the far side of the hall, seated upon an ornate tribal throne carved from dark wood, was the Ugan Matriarch.
Her skin glowed with the sheen of polished mahogany, and her golden-braided hair gleamed under the chandelier's glow. Her very presence demanded reverence.
Hela Tucker hesitated, then took her seat directly in front of the Matriarch. She straightened her gown and opened her mouth to speak, but the Matriarch's hand lifted, silencing her with a single gesture.
"Did I say you could sit in that seat, Hela Tucker?"
The Matriarch's voice flowed smooth as aged cognac, carrying the smoky African lilt of the Niger Delta.
Hela's eyes widened in confusion. "I—I'm sorry. I assumed this seat was for the heads."
The Matriarch chuckled, her lips curling with malice. She leaned forward, tapping her long manicured fingers against the tribal-like wooden armrest.
"Old hag. That seat is reserved for those who are worthy to speak with me on business… and personal matters."
The words struck like a whip. Hela stiffened, embarrassed, her hands clenching in her lap.
"Let's make this quick."
The Matriarch's gaze sharpened like a blade as she shifted her attention. "Hana Tucker?"
Startled, Hana Tucker stepped forward nervously. "Y-yes, Matriarch?"
The Matriarch tilted her head, her golden braids swaying as she studied Hana with piercing eyes. "So… you are the mother of him?"
Hana's brow furrowed in confusion. "Him?" she asked cautiously.
The Matriarch's lips curved into a knowing smile, her voice rolling out like thunder disguised in silk.
"Shen Tucker."
Hana took a big gulp, forcing a laugh.
"Ahahaha… yes. He is my son. I…"
Her voice faltered. She looked down in remorse, inhaled deeply, then steadied herself.
"Yes. I am Hana Tucker. Mother of Shen Tucker, my firstborn, and Zac Tucker, my second-born. Both my sons are twins."
"I know," said the Matriarch as she extended her hand with slow, deliberate grace.
"My name is Mawu Ugan. Your son, Shen Tucker, and I… have crossed paths before."
Hana nodded gently, closing her eyes as a polite smile curved her lips. Yet curiosity gnawed at her. She tilted her head slightly and asked, "May I ask how you and my son met?"
Mawu Ugan's smile lingered. Calm and poised, she closed her eyes as though savoring a memory. Her words fell like daggers wrapped in silk.
"He killed my betrothed."
Hana blinked, stunned. For a moment, she thought she had misheard.
"Come again?"
Mawu's eyes opened, her gaze sharp as steel. She repeated with deliberate clarity:
"Your. Son. Killed. My. Future. Husband."
Hana stood frozen, her hand still locked in Mawu Ugan's handshake. Her smile, polite and unwavering, masked the storm brewing beneath her skin. In her mind, she could almost hear funeral bells tolling.
'Shen… what did you do to mess this woman up?' she thought in silent despair.
Her composure cracked at last, and a high-pitched squeak escaped her lips.
"Eh?"
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Chapter 16 — End.