The palace shimmered with elegance, transformed into a paradise of flowers, banners, and glowing lanterns for Arden’s grand welcoming celebration. The gardens overflowed with guests dressed in vibrant gowns and tailored suits, mingling under the warm evening light. Soft music floated through the air, and the hum of conversation carried a rare note of optimism.

Celestina stood at the top of the grand staircase, her hands gripping the banister. Her gown, a flowing emerald masterpiece, complemented her radiant appearance, though tension was evident in her eyes. She scanned the crowd, looking for one face.

“Stop pacing, my dear,” Isolde said as she joined her, dressed elegantly in soft gold. She placed a gentle hand on Celestina’s arm. “Tonight is about celebrating Arden. Let yourself enjoy it.”

Celestina sighed, her fingers fidgeting with a bracelet. “I know, Mother. But I can’t help it. He said he’d come. Dimitri should be here by now.”

Isolde offered a reassuring smile. “He will come. And even if he doesn’t, tonight is about joy, not fear.”

Celestina nodded, though her heart remained uneasy.

The moment Arden was brought out to the crowd, applause erupted, and Celestina’s nerves momentarily eased. The baby, dressed in a tiny white gown, cooed happily in Isolde’s arms as she waved a chubby hand toward the guests.

A foreign ambassador leaned closer to Celestina, his smile warm. “Your daughter is beautiful, Madam President. A true symbol of hope for the nation.”

Celestina smiled politely, though her mind wandered back to the one empty chair at the head table. “Thank you. She’s everything to me.”

As Isolde paraded Arden around the room, drawing adoration from the crowd, Celestina turned to her chief of staff. “Any word from Dimitri?” she asked in a low voice.

The man shook his head. “No, Madam President. His security team confirmed they left on schedule. Perhaps they’ve been delayed.”

Her stomach churned. “Keep trying to reach him,” she ordered.

Hours passed, and while the party was a success on the surface, Celestina’s unease only grew. Dimitri’s seat remained empty, untouched, a glaring reminder of his absence.

She moved through the crowd, exchanging smiles and brief conversations, but her thoughts kept returning to him. The last conversation they’d had played over in her mind: the hesitant tone in his voice when he promised to come, the warmth in his words about wanting to see Arden.

“Stop torturing yourself,” Isolde said, appearing at her side once more. She handed Celestina a glass of water.

“I just can’t shake this feeling that something’s wrong,” Celestina whispered.

“Dimitri has always found his way back to you,” Isolde reminded her gently. “Trust that he will again.”

But before Celestina could respond, one of her guards approached, leaning in to whisper. “Madam President, there’s a call for you. It’s urgent.”

Celestina excused herself and hurried to a private room adjacent to the ballroom. The guard handed her the phone, his expression grim. “It’s about Mr. Dimitri,” he said quietly.

Her heart stopped as she pressed the phone to her ear. “This is Celestina,” she said, her voice trembling.

The voice on the other end was unfamiliar, cold, and efficient. “Madam President, we regret to inform you that Dimitri Veridan was killed in an explosion earlier today.”

The room spun, and she gripped the edge of a nearby table for support. “What… what are you talking about?”

“There was an attack on his convoy,” the voice continued. “A roadside bomb. He didn’t survive.”

“No,” Celestina whispered, shaking her head. Her legs felt like they might give out beneath her. “That can’t be true. You’re wrong.”