Nestled in the distant suburbs, far from the bustle of urban life, stood the grand Rutherford family estate—a sprawling, majestic castle that stretched across more than 2,500 acres of land. Larger than many small towns, it was impeccably maintained. The grounds featured a vast lawn where five to seven airplanes were stationed, though two were clearly out of commission. Hundreds of luxury cars gleamed nearby, and even the least expensive among them was worth no less than a million dollars.
The estate housed a private hospital—modest in size but equipped to rival those in small towns. It operated around the clock, staffed with specialized doctors and nurses on constant rotation. Recreational facilities were abundant: a horse-riding range, artificial lakes and ponds for fishing and swimming, fields for athletics, parks for leisure and children, and even a few harmless animals roaming freely. The orchard brimmed with exotic fruits, fresh vegetables, and a thriving livestock farm.
Security was tight. Guards stood at attention from the gate to the entrance, while workers bustled across various departments. Inside, the castle's interior was a breathtaking mosaic of global cultures. One wing reflected classic English elegance, another showcased Western flair, while others embraced Indian, African, and Asian aesthetics.
Old Mr. Rutherford, former president of the Republic of Beguisra, emerged from the house in ash-colored suit and polished black leather shoes. He carried a lion-headed gold staff, radiating authority and grace. Though in his early seventies, he looked no older than fifty—thanks to meticulous self-care. Awaiting him was his personal car, one of only three ever made in the world. All three belonged to him. These presidential vehicles were bulletproof, bombproof, and unavailable for purchase at any price. One remained with Mr. Rutherford, while the other two were with the current president—one gifted to his beloved wife, Ashton Lincoln.
Beside the presidential car sat a sleek Bugatti La Voiture Noire. Mr. Rutherford stepped into his waiting vehicle, the door held open by a loyal aide. But they didn't depart immediately. He was waiting—for someone very special.
That someone was Diamond, his cherished grandson and the apple of his eye. Diamond, however, was still waiting on his fiancée, Claire, who fussed endlessly over her makeup. Each glance in the mirror brought a new concern: "Change the lip color," she'd say. "My jewelry doesn't match my tone," or "Let's switch to sharper shoes." Her makeup artist scrambled to keep up.
Diamond stood nearby, dressed in a pristine white custom suit, gleaming leather shoes, and a golden necktie. His dark hair was perfectly styled, and he looked strikingly handsome. His older brother Nolan, though masculine and attractive in his own right, often felt overshadowed by Diamond's angelic features—traits inherited from their mother and the regal stature of their father. Diamond's presence could make hearts flutter; women and even some men found themselves breathless in his company.
Watching Claire's antics, Diamond couldn't help but laugh. Claire pouted and scolded him playfully.
"Diamond, you're rude! I'm trying to make a good first impression on your parents, and you're just standing there laughing."
His laughter faded as he looked at her, emotions swirling within him. He was grateful she had chosen him over Nolan, who was expected to inherit the throne. Despite his grandfather's efforts to groom him as a future leader, Diamond knew the presidency would go to the eldest son—and with his mother's influence, Nolan's path was secure. His father wouldn't dare oppose her.
Diamond's heart ached as he thought of his mother's disdain. She would never support anything that brought him joy. If she discovered Nolan's interest in Claire—even if it was purely lust—she would do everything in her power to help him win her over.
"Why aren't you saying anything?" Claire asked softly. "You know your parents' preferences. At least give me some advice."
Diamond took a deep breath, walked over, and knelt before her, gently helping her into her shoes. The two attendants in the room gasped in disbelief—Mr. Rutherford's favorite grandson, squatting to assist someone? But Diamond didn't care. That simple act etched itself into Claire's heart.
Ignoring their stunned expressions, he said softly, "Anything you wear looks perfect on you. You don't need to impress anyone. If you've impressed me and Grandpa, that's more than enough."
He stood and pulled her into a tight embrace, his voice low and serious. "Don't forget what I told you. Please, heed my warning."
Claire hugged him back and whispered, "Yes, Your Majesty. Stay far away from my elder brother. Don't be alone with him. Avoid quiet places. Steer clear of my mother. And don't eat anything unless it's from me or Grandpa."
Diamond chuckled, gently pinched her nose, and said, "Good girl. Let's not keep Grandpa waiting."
Claire nodded, took his hand, and replied, "Yes, let's go."
They walked toward the Bugatti parked beside the presidential car. Two bodyguards opened the doors simultaneously, and the couple stepped in. Moments later, over four dozen flashing vehicles rolled out of the castle gates, heading toward the city.
The convoy drove straight into the Central City of Beguisra, pulling into the spacious presidential courtyard. Engines quieted as the cars came to a halt.
Over fifty well-trained bodyguards rushed out of the vehicles, each taking position. They formed two straight lines facing each other, creating a pathway in the middle.
Old Mr. Rutherford's confidant quickly opened the car door and bowed respectfully as the elder statesman stepped out of his special vehicle. With regal composure, he walked through the pathway toward the gigantic building, where his son Sebastian stood waiting with his personal assistant and Nolan Rutherford at his side.
Diamond helped his fiancée, Claire Wyatt, out of their car. With their hands clasped together, they trailed behind Old Mr. Rutherford toward the awaiting family, entering the house together.