CHAPTER 26
As the group enjoyed their meal, a progression of courses that were more art than food, each plate was a masterpiece of culinary technique that the chef had spent hours perfecting.
A shimmering light appeared in the corner of the terrace, invisible to the girls but clear to Remy.
The air there seemed to ripple like heat waves over summer pavement, and then Silas materialised, his translucent form more solid than usual. His 1850s attire was impeccable as always.
The ghost stood by the glass railing overlooking the city, his expression one of profound satisfaction mixed with something that looked like relief.
For 176 years, he'd carried the weight of his own suicide, the regret of a life cut short by bullies and despair.
And now, watching his great-great-grandnephew not just survive but thrive, building something beautiful from the same darkness that had consumed him, Silas felt something he hadn't experienced since his death: Peace.
"You have done well, boy," the ghost whispered, his voice carrying on a wavelength only Remy could hear.
"You've turned resentment into a legacy. Transformed pain into power.
Used gifts that were meant for salvation to actually save not just yourself but others. I'm proud of you, Remy. I am more proud than I have words to express."
Lyra was in the middle of telling a story about her father's reaction to Remy's investment proposal.
Apparently, Marcus Castellane had needed to sit down, then called his lawyer, then his accountant, then sat down again when they confirmed it was real.
Her hands were gesturing animatedly, yellow hair catching the string lights like captured sunshine.
Nyx was analysing the wine they were drinking, commenting on tannins and acidity with the same precision she applied to everything, though now she was doing it with a smile rather than the grim determination that had once defined her every action.
Indigo was laughing at something Lyra said, her indigo eyes bright and genuine, the hollow performance completely gone, replaced by someone real and present and actually happy.
"I couldn't have done it without you, Grandpops," Remy thought back, a wave of gratitude washing over him as he watched the three women who'd become his world.
"Without the Foresight, I'd be dead. Without your intervention, your gift, your guidance, I'd still be that broken boy standing on a chair.
Or, more likely, I'd be buried in some pauper's grave, forgotten before my body was even cold."
"The gift was just a tool," Silas replied, moving closer to the table though the girls couldn't see him.
"You're the one who decided what to build with it. I've seen others in the spirit realm who were given second chances, most of them wasted it on petty revenge or meaningless accumulation.
You chose to build something meaningful. To help others. To love instead of hate. That wasn't the Foresight, boy. That was you."
Remy took a sip of his wine, the $800 bottle that Lyra had recognised.
Though he'd bought a case of it because his Foresight showed the vineyard would have a catastrophic crop failure next year, making this vintage incredibly valuable, and he allowed himself a moment of genuine contentment
Six months ago, this scene would have been literally unimaginable.
He, sitting at the most expensive restaurant in the city that he owned, with three beautiful women who loved him, was discussing futures worth millions of dollars, planning empires and foundations, and production companies.
The transformation was so complete, so total, that sometimes he still couldn't quite believe it was real.
But Silas's expression was changing, the satisfaction giving way to something more serious, more concerned.
His ghostly form flickered, and when he spoke again, his voice carried a warning that cut through Remy's contentment like a knife.
"The path ahead is long, Remy," Silas said quietly, his eyes so similar to Remy's own golden ones, growing grave.
"And more dangerous than you might realise. Your enemies are not just bullies in a gym anymore, not just pretty-boy college students who can't handle losing their social status.
They are titans of industry who do not like a newcomer changing the rules.
Powerful men who've built their fortunes over decades and won't appreciate a twenty-year-old with divine gifts disrupting their carefully constructed hierarchies."
Remy's attention sharpened, though he kept his expression neutral so the girls wouldn't notice anything wrong. "What do you see?" he thought back. "What's coming?"
"I don't have your Foresight," Silas admitted. "I can't see twenty-four hours or more ahead like you can.
But I've existed in the spirit realm for nearly two centuries, and I've seen patterns.
I've watched powerful men destroy threats to their position. And you, boy, you're becoming a very visible threat."
Silas gestured toward the city below, the glittering lights representing billions of dollars in commerce and industry and old money that had ruled this region for generations.
"You've accumulated $190 million in six months. That's not just impressive. It's impossible by conventional means.
People are going to notice. They're already noticing.
Every trade you make, every property you buy, every market position you take, it leaves traces. Creates questions. And questions lead to investigations."
"I've been careful," Remy thought back. "Multiple accounts, different brokers, LLC structures to hide my ownership stakes. I'm not stupid."
"No, you're brilliant," Silas agreed. "But brilliance isn't enough against people with resources, connections, and the motivation to destroy you.
The Parston family, for instance, Victor, might be facing criminal charges, but his father still has power.
Friends in government, allies in finance, the kind of deep connections that money and time create.
Do you really think he's going to let some college kid ruin his family legacy without consequences?"
Remy's jaw tightened. He hadn't thought about Thomas Parston much since Victor's arrest.
The elder Parston had resigned from his boards, made public statements distancing himself from his son's "regrettable actions," and seemingly faded into the background.
But Silas was right. Men like that didn't just fade away. They regrouped. They planned. They waited for the right moment to strike back.
"And then there's the attention you're drawing with this," Silas continued, gesturing toward the three women at the table.
"Three school belles in an openly polyamorous relationship with the mysterious transfer student who appeared from nowhere with unlimited wealth and seemingly supernatural market predictions.
That's not staying under the radar, boy. That's painting a target on your back."
"What am I supposed to do?" Remy thought, frustration creeping into his mental voice. "Hide? Stop helping people? Break up with them to keep a lower profile?"
"No," Silas said firmly. "I'm not suggesting you change who you've become or abandon the people you love.
I'm suggesting you prepare for the storm that's coming. Use your Foresight not just for markets and romance but for protection.
Build defences. Create contingencies. Don't just accumulate wealth. Build power structures that can protect that wealth when powerful people inevitably try to take it from you."
Remy activated his Foresight, he'd learn to control it to a certain degree where he could see longer than 24 hours on his own.
He let his eyes glow faintly gold with his head on the table where the girls wouldn't notice.
He reached forward through the next six days, searching for threats, for problems, for the storm Silas was warning about.
What he saw made his blood run cold:
The day after tomorrow at 2:47 PM, a Securities and Exchange Commission investigator named Sarah Bentley would receive an anonymous tip about unusual trading patterns associated with several of Remy's accounts.
The tip would come from a shell company traced back to Parston family interests.
At 4:15 PM, a reporter from the Financial Times will receive leaked documents suggesting Remy was engaged in insider trading on a massive scale.
The documents would be fake but convincing enough to warrant the investigation.
At 6:30 PM, the university's Dean of Students will receive a complaint from Dr Richard Harrington, Nyx's father, alleging that Remy had used improper influence to manipulate his daughter into an inappropriate relationship and demanding a formal investigation.
At 8:00 PM, someone would leak the story about the "harem" to a celebrity gossip blog, complete with photos and commentary designed to paint Remy as a predatory rich kid exploiting vulnerable women.
The attacks would come from multiple directions simultaneously, coordinated to overwhelm his ability to respond, designed to destroy his reputation, freeze his assets, and isolate him from the women he cared about.
It was sophisticated. It was brutal. And it was starting in less than fourty-eight hours.
Remy looked at the three beautiful women laughing at the table.
Lyra gesturing animatedly while telling a story, Nyx smiling genuinely for perhaps the first time in her life, Indigo leaning back in her chair with contentment rather than performance in her posture, and then back at the ghost.
His expression hardened into something cold and determined, the face of someone who'd fought their way up from the bottom and would burn the world down before letting anyone push them back.
"Let them come," Remy thought, his mental voice like steel. "I've already seen what they're going to do.
And I have forty-two hours to prepare countermeasures. By the time their attacks land, I'll have turned every weapon they're pointing at me back on themselves."
"That's my boy," Silas said with fierce pride. "But remember, you're not fighting alone anymore. You have allies now.
Resources. People who love you and would stand with you. Don't try to handle this all yourself out of some misplaced desire to protect them.
They're stronger than you think. Trust them."
Before Remy could respond, Lyra's hand touched his arm, her silver eyes concerned.
"Remy? Are you okay? You went somewhere just now. Your eyes did that glowing thing they do when you're seeing the future."
All three women were looking at him now, their laughter fading as they noticed the change in his expression, the tension in his shoulders, the cold calculation in his eyes.
Remy made a decision. Silas was right. He couldn't handle this alone.
And these women deserved to know what was coming, deserved the chance to prepare themselves for the storm that was about to hit all of them.
"We have a problem," he said quietly, setting down his wine glass with deliberate care.
"Multiple problems, actually. Coordinated attacks designed to destroy everything we're building. They start tomorrow afternoon."
"Who?" Nyx asked immediately, her mind shifting into problem-solving mode. "What kind of attacks? What's the threat vector?"
"The Parstons, primarily," Remy said. "Thomas Parston isn't going to let his family's destruction go unanswered.
He's orchestrating a multi-pronged assault: SEC investigation into my trading, media leaks designed to paint me as a criminal, and you three as victims or opportunists, pressure on the university to investigate our relationship It's comprehensive and it's coming fast."
Lyra's face went pale. "My father. If there's an SEC investigation, if they start looking into the investment you made in our company...."
"I've already prepared for that," Remy interrupted gently. "The investment is completely legal, properly documented, with market-rate terms that any lawyer would approve.
They can investigate all they want. They won't find anything."
"But the media attention," Indigo said, her voice small. "If this becomes a story, if my face is all over gossip blogs as part of some 'predatory rich kid's harem'.
That could destroy any chance I have at being taken seriously as an actress. I'd be a punchline forever."
"Not if we control the narrative," Remy said, his mind already working through the countermeasures.
"We have eighteen hours before this starts. That's enough time to get ahead of it if we're smart and we work together."
"Tell us what you need," Nyx said firmly, pulling out her phone and opening a notes app. "What's the plan? How do we fight this?"
Remy looked at the three of them, beautiful, brilliant, broken in different ways and healing and he felt something shift in his chest.
This wasn't just about protecting his wealth or his reputation anymore. This was about protecting them, about making sure the future they were building together didn't get crushed by powerful men who couldn't stand to see someone outside their club succeed.
"First," he said, his voice taking on the cold authority of someone who'd seen the future and knew exactly how to change it, "we're going to call my lawyer.
Then we're going to prepare a press release. Then we're going to give certain information to certain journalists who will be very interested in the Parston family's illegal activities. And then...."
He smiled, and it wasn't a kind expression. His eyes glowed pure gold, the Foresight showing him exactly how to turn every weapon pointed at him into ammunition for his own counterattack.
".....then we're going to show Thomas Parston what happens when you attack someone who can see you coming."
The romantic dinner had transformed into a war council, the elegant terrace becoming a command centre as phones came out and plans were made.
The future had just become significantly more complicated.
But as Remy looked at Lyra's determined expression, Nyx's analytical focus, and Indigo's surprising steel underneath her beauty, he realised something important:
He wasn't the desperate boy standing on a chair anymore. He wasn't alone anymore. He had allies, resources, and most importantly, people worth fighting for.
Let the titans of industry come. Let Thomas Parston throw everything he had at them.
Remy Beaumont could see the future.