Echoes of Vengeance: The Sweet Wife's Perfect Revenge
Chapter 129: His Whispering Wave

Chapter 129: His Whispering Wave

Unaware of the looming threat, Aveline continued focusing on the Bloom and Grace center and searching for clients while designing her floral art for the exhibit.

Meanwhile, the evidence against Damien for forgery and falsification stood solid. His status changed from detainment for interrogation to custody, and he was formally charged under the law.

Scarlett’s boyfriend, Nathaniel Rousseau aka Nate, who had been working in the shadows, completed another major corporate espionage operation.

When he had started as a data analyst in one of Damien’s projects, he was doing it for Aveline. Now that he had completed it, it had become personal, revenge for stepping into Scarlett’s space.

He was a ghost in the system, the kind that left no fingerprints until it was too late. Over weeks, he quietly siphoned encrypted files, transaction records, internal emails, and evidence of non-disclosure violations from Damien’s proxy firms and shell companies.

He built a trail of evidence that exposed money laundering, unauthorized surveillance operations, and illegal acquisitions, enough to turn Damien’s empire upside down.

His final blow came wrapped in an untraceable report, handed directly to the Financial Crimes Bureau and Department of Justice.

It wasn’t dramatic. There were no sirens, no chases, just a slow, certain crumbling of everything Damien had tried to keep buried.

By the time Damien received word of the investigation opening against him, another noose was tightening.

Sitting behind bars, as Damien scrambled to contain the storm Nate had unleashed, another front collapsed. This time in broad daylight.

Edward Lancaster was calculated and unapologetically ruthless when he made his move. In the boardrooms of Ashford Holdings, where panic had begun to set in, Edward emerged not as a rival but as a solution.

Through discreet acquisitions and leveraged proxies, he systematically bought out minor shareholders and flipped wavering board members with promises of stability and returns Damien could no longer guarantee.

Within days, Edward’s stake crossed the controlling threshold. The chaos became silent under his command.

Executives once loyal to Damien suddenly shifted their loyalties. Internal audits were launched. Ashford Holdings, once Damien’s fortress, became a battlefield he no longer controlled.

...

On the top floor of Lancaster Global Holdings, Edward heard his secretary mention the final step of the takeover, essentially removing Damien from Ashford Holdings entirely.

’Sigh.’

He turned when he heard the deep sigh. Eleanor Ashford sat there, having given up on convincing him and accepted Damien’s fate. He had left the Ashfords untouched only for her sake.

He settled into the armchair and said, "Madam Ashford, I don’t need to tell you how one incident can topple an entire empire. Showing mercy now would be mistaken for weakness."

Eleanor nodded. "I understand."

What else could she do or say?

She rose, her eyes brushing over the business newspaper that featured Alaric’s image and an article about him. Once, she used to read her grandson’s articles the same way. She sighed again and left.

.....

On Sunday,

The private Meridian Museum opened its doors to an exclusive gathering. The neo-classical building, with its marble columns and manicured gardens, provided an elegant backdrop for the floral artistry competition.

Outside, sculptures dotted the pristine lawns, while inside, the grand atrium buzzed with anticipation as artists were busy preparing their displays under the soaring glass dome.

The theme of the event had been changed at the last minute. Artists were now required to create their work live to prevent any allegations of cheating, a modification made specifically because Aveline was a Laurent, and people tended to assume she paid for recognition and prime placement.

Drawing a random selection, she was allocated to a space enclosed by four walls with only small ceiling lights, completely cut off from natural light.

She stood in her designated space for more than five minutes. Being separated from the main hall and confined to this dim room, she needed to create something that would leave a lasting impression, not something that would blend in with the other artists’ work.

"Lingers..." she whispered to herself. "Something subtle yet grand. Like... him."

Him!

Alaric Lancaster.

Aveline paced the space, as if measuring the room. Her murmur continued, "Him... Steady and calculated. Unreadable but gentle beneath the armor. Relentlessly loyal but dangerous when provoked... The calm in my storm."

She turned and walked out of the room. Most of the flower supplies had been claimed by other contestants, leaving limited options.

She selected a tray and filled it with basic materials. Then she loaded a trolley with off-white dried phalaris grass and baby’s breath.

Everyone watched her trolley, noting the absence of vibrant colors. But with her mask on, no one could identify who she was.

When the timer began, she started alongside everyone else. She remained calm, steady, and unbothered by the time constraints. She ignored the cameras and the organizers making their rounds, focused entirely on her work for a solid hour.

When the timer concluded, a production assistant arrived to stop her, only to find she had not only completed her art but also cleaned the entire workspace.

The young man stood stunned at the sight before him. Meanwhile, Aveline was filling in the label containing the caption, description, artist name, and materials used.

The organizers and judges arrived shortly. They paused to admire the creation. Crafted from dried phalaris grass and baby’s breath, the installation rose in silent, sculptural waves. It was elegant, restrained, and quietly powerful.

The cream-colored grass curved like a frozen wave, while soft clouds of white blossoms echoed seafoam at its crest.

They turned to read the label on the wall:

Caption: ’His Whispering Wave’

Description:

There’s no noise, only presence.

No plea, only grace.

He doesn’t speak loudly, but lingers long after.

He is not a person; he’s a memory, a force.

He is Him.

Artist: Aveline Laurent, Bloom & Grace

Materials: Dried phalaris grass and baby’s breath

The judges exchanged quiet chuckles and whispered comments before most departed, leaving only one behind.

A middle-aged businessman in a three-piece suit and circular hat. He tilted his head as he met Aveline’s eyes. "Ms. Laurent... I’m Theodore Marston." He extended his hand, his voice measured.

Aveline shook his hand, recalling his name from the event card. He was the main organizer.

"Your artwork is truly impressive," he continued. "You’ve proven that floral art isn’t just about colors but vision. Best of luck."

"Thank you, Mr. Marston," Aveline responded plainly, and watched him walk away.

Once the judges completed their tour, some contestants remained while Aveline left the private museum, as the public exhibit wouldn’t open until evening.

Theodore Marston stepped from the shadows and watched the Maserati drive away. "You’re not as clever as I thought you would be," he murmured, disappointment evident in his tone. "How unfortunate!"