The next evening, the De Vere Corporation headquarters gleamed like a palace carved out of starlight. Cameras flashed outside the grand hall, where crystal chandeliers spilled gold over a stage draped in white silk. The air was thick with perfume, murmurs, and ambition.
Every reporter in the city was there. Every luxury magazine, beauty house, and investor waited to witness Lunara Beauty—a brand said to redefine organic cosmetics.
Then he entered.
Adrian De Vere Leone.
The crowd's whispers died instantly, as though the air itself bowed to his presence.
Tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in the calm of a midnight storm, he carried an aura that silenced noise before a word was spoken. His tailored black suit looked as if it had been woven from shadow and authority, his cufflinks glinting faintly like frost carved from moonlight.
Beside him stood Leonard, ever-composed, adjusting the microphone stand with steady precision. Once he gave a small nod, Adrian stepped forward.
And the hall obeyed.
"Good evening," his voice rolled across the crowd, low and deliberate, with a weight that demanded attention. Every syllable carried quiet power, the kind that made people want to listen, even when he said nothing at all.
"Tonight," he continued, "the De Vere Corporation is proud to introduce Lunara Beauty—a project inspired by the brilliance and spirit of a young mind who believed beauty should heal, not harm."
Reporters leaned forward, pens trembling, breaths shallow. The flash of cameras sounded like distant thunder against the silence his presence commanded.
"This brand began as the vision of a student named Valeria ," he said, his tone steady yet faintly edged with something only a few could sense—grief disguised as calm. "A visionary who combined science and nature to create a new generation of organic lip tints. Her ideas were pure, her methods revolutionary. To honor her work, my company has taken the responsibility to complete her dream."
Gasps rippled through the hall.
The name Valeria carried weight—familiar, tragic. It was the same name whispered weeks ago in rumors of abduction and death.
Adrian didn't flinch. His gaze was ice wrapped in velvet.
"The Lunara Collection you see today is the culmination of her genius—flavors like Strawberry Bloom, Peach Whispers, Cherry Velvet, Beetroot Kiss, Peach Wispers, Raspberry Dawn, and Mulberry Dream—each made from the purest natural extracts. Every product symbolizes light, warmth, and resilience."
He paused, allowing silence to stretch—letting the crowd drink in both his words and his presence.
A hand rose from the press pit.
"Mr. De Vere! Where is Miss Valeria ? Will she be joining you tonight?"
The question sliced through the air.
Adrian's head turned slightly, and the temperature seemed to drop. His gaze met the reporter's—calm, polite, yet carrying the quiet dominance of a man who could end careers with a look.
"Miss Valeria is no longer with us," he said softly. Each word was measured, final—a blade wrapped in silk. "Her passing was a loss to innovation itself. But her work lives on through Lunara Beauty."
The silence shattered into chaos.
"What do you mean she's no longer with us?"
"Was her death confirmed?"
"Is there a memorial planned?"
"Will Lunara Beauty release a tribute campaign?"
Leonard stepped forward instantly, his tone smooth yet unyielding. "Ladies and gentlemen, all statements regarding Miss Valeria disappearance have been handled by the authorities. Mr. De Vere will not comment further on private investigations. Tonight, we celebrate her brilliance, not her tragedy."
Cameras flashed wildly. Yet, amid the uproar, Adrian remained motionless—composed, absolute. His aura filled the stage, stilling the air. Every gesture of his carried the poise of royalty, the quiet strength of a man used to commanding the world without raising his voice.
Behind the velvet curtain, Valeria stood hidden, a light disguise veiling her face. Through the narrow gap, she watched him.
The way he stood—calm, stoic, perfect—made her heart ache and tighten at once. The way he uttered her name without letting emotion break through—it was his way of mourning her.
"Mr. De Vere," another reporter called, "rumor says you personally funded this project in full. Is it true?"
Adrian's lips curved faintly, a barely-there smile that seemed to ripple through the room like a silent storm.
"When something holds meaning," he said, voice quiet but firm, "you don't measure it in numbers."
Applause thundered across the hall.
Leonard leaned in slightly, murmuring, "All clear, sir. The press will be escorted out in five minutes."
Adrian gave a curt nod, eyes never leaving the crowd. "Ensure security remains tight. No one goes backstage."
"Yes, sir."
From her shadowed corner, Valeria smiled faintly, her heart caught between pride and pain. The lip tints—each wrapped in golden aesthetic packaging—shimmered beneath the lights, glinting like jewels. Her dream, the one born from sleepless nights and relentless hope, now shone under his protection.
As the applause echoed, she whispered, voice soft but filled with vengeance,
"Let them believe I'm gone. Let them mourn what they destroyed. When I return, they'll kneel before the ghost they mocked."
And in the sea of applause, Chesla, Chantel, and Marissa sat among the audience, their painted smiles hiding jealousy and arrogance. They believed they had buried her.
But above them, the woman they envied watched in silence.
The world applauded the death of a genius—
Yet Lunara Beauty had only just begun to bloom.