The Unpredictable Fate Of Love

**At the estate*

Brandon was still furious from his previous confrontation with Deacon. With gritted teeth, he cursed under his breath. "You think the world out there is simple? You'll come back by yourself after it hits you differently. And when you return, you will have to pay the price." He spat on the ground before turning around and heading toward the grand villa. As he reached the entrance, he pulled a sleek black card from his pocket and swiped it against the scanner. The heavy door slid open like an elevator. The Walters' estate was highly secured—even opening the front door required clearance.

Inside, a loud bang of music filled the air. The hall was packed with people drinking, laughing, and dancing, completely indifferent to the passing of Denis Walters, the head of the family. Some guests, however, were visibly uncomfortable with the celebration, but none dared voice their discontent—all because of one person: Teresa, the late Denis Walters' sister, and the new head of the family. Those who couldn't stomach the scene quietly slipped out.

Brandon, too, had no patience for the festivities. He moved straight to a nearby sofa, poured himself a glass of whiskey, and slumped down, crossing his legs. He drank wildly, as if hoping the alcohol would drown out his earlier confrontation with Deacon.

Behind him, three men in sharp suits sat tensely. These were Denis Walters' personal lawyers. One of them, Henry, was visibly shaking with anxiety. He shot a glance at his colleague, Mark, who sat deep in thought, rubbing his chin.

"Mark," Henry said in a hushed tone, "what should we do about this issue?"

Mark shook his head, a look of helplessness crossing his face. "I don't know. But I can already imagine how Teresa will react when she finds out that this celebration isn't meant for her." He exhaled sharply. "All these people think she's inheriting everything, but the real heir… is someone none of them even know."

Brandon, despite being intoxicated, overheard their conversation. He turned his head sluggishly, his bleary eyes barely staying open.

The third lawyer, Xerves, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke, his brows furrowed. "Who the hell is this Samson? In all my years working with this family, I have never heard his name mentioned once. And yet, he's the one inheriting Denis Walters' assets?"

"Exactly," Henry muttered, looking more uneasy by the second. "This is bad. I need to tell Madam Teresa before it's too late."

He stood up slowly, his movements stiff, his eyes locked on the old woman seated at the front. Teresa sat in a grand chair, her fingers tapping lightly against the armrest as she swayed her body, enjoying the lively performance of dancers on stage. As Henry made his way toward her, Mark grabbed his wrist.

"It's already this late," Mark said. "Why tell her now? It's not our fault that Denis' will turned out like this."

Henry turned to Mark and whispered, "You know her temperament. She despises anything that happens behind her back. If she finds out before we tell her, what do you think she'll do to us? It's unimaginable. Now let go of my hand."

Mark sighed and released him, watching with dread as Henry continued toward Teresa.

Just as Henry reached her, Brandon's slurred voice cut through the music. "Hey, what are you guys talking about? And who is this Samson you keep mentioning?"

Mark turned back slowly, only to be hit with the strong stench of alcohol from Brandon's breath. He instinctively pinched his nose. "We were just discussing an esteemed client. Nothing to concern yourself with."

A normal person would see through such a weak excuse, but Brandon, completely intoxicated, accepted it without question. "Go somewhere else if you want to discuss business," he muttered, pouring himself another drink. He lifted the glass to his lips but missed slightly, spilling some onto his shirt. "Damn it," he grumbled, wiping his chest with the back of his hand before staggering toward the stage to dance.

Henry bent down slightly and whispered to Teresa, "Madam, can I have a word with you? It's important."

Teresa turned to look at him, her expression mildly annoyed. "What's there to discuss at a time like this? I'm still enjoying myself. We can talk later." She waved her hand dismissively and returned her attention to the dancers.

Henry clenched his fists. "Madam, it's really—"

"Didn't you hear me?" Teresa snapped coldly, her eyes flashing with irritation. "Can't you see I'm celebrating my victory? Get lost!"

Seeing no way to reason with her, Henry turned and walked back to his colleagues, his face a mask of frustration.

"What happened?" Mark asked, already knowing the answer.

Henry let out a defeated sigh. "She won't listen. We've done our part. Now we just have to wait for the explosion."

The three of them exhaled deeply. Xerves smirked, pouring drinks into two glasses.

"We might as well take this moment to enjoy ourselves before the chaos begins," he said, raising his glass.

They clinked glasses.

"Cheers," Mark muttered, taking a sip.

Little did they know, this would be the last moment of peace before the night shattered into turmoil.