CHAPTER 111: ELECTION

It was finally the day of the election.

Everywhere was bustling with people. The crowds were suffocating as they gathered in a vast open area, waiting to hear the debates between the two candidates.

Shouts filled the air. People screamed their protests about the rising rate of kidnappings and the illegal drugs flooding their streets.

Mr. De Rossi had yet to give them a proper explanation. It was only a matter of time before the unrest escalated into something worse, the kind of chaos that ended with stores and buildings set ablaze. More lives will be lost and the government still wouldn’t bother to interfere.

Jaime Lorenzo sat comfortably in his chair on the stage, his bodyguards positioned around him as he surveyed the restless crowd.

Even after Dante’s warnings, the old man had refused to step aside. He had been preparing for years for this election, and he would not back down simply because a rival threatened his life.

Even after getting shot, a warning of the length Mr. De Rossi was willing to go just to make his message clear, he wasn’t giving up easily. Not yet.

His gaze shifted toward Mr. De Rossi, who looked equally relaxed. The debate had not started yet; security was still trying to subdue the raging crowd.

Banners waved above the masses, painted with demands and accusations. Despite repeated threats from the guards, most protesters stood their ground.

After nearly an hour of struggle, the crowd finally began to quiet.

The first to speak was Mr. De Rossi.

He rose from his chair, chin lifted proudly, as if victory were already in his grasp. His hands folded neatly behind his back, his calm expression betraying no concern. Jaime could only scoff.

"Good day, people of Lexora," Mr. De Rossi began, his voice carrying over the restless silence. "As you all know, today is the day of the election. But before we begin the debate, let us speak about the crisis that has unfolded over the past weeks."

"The kidnapping rate has increased. Several people have died because of disasters in other cities, yet the government’s explanations make no sense," a protester shouted from the crowd.

His fellow protesters echoed his outrage.

"I want you to understand that we are working to curb the spread of illegal drugs," Mr. De Rossi replied smoothly. "If you elect me, I will ensure this plague is stopped once and for all."

"How can we trust you?" another man shouted back. "You failed us as governor. How could you possibly do better as a senator?"

From where Jaime sat, he nearly burst out laughing. The scene before him was almost too entertaining.

Mr. De Rossi cleared his throat and smiled faintly.

"This is my city," he said calmly. "I will not allow anything to ruin its image. I promise you that I will get to the root of these problems, not just here in Lexora but in every city across Solvarra."

Jaime suddenly pushed himself to his feet, striding toward his own microphone.

"I think you would have earned the trust of Lexora’s people if you had done even half of your job while still governor," he said coldly. Turning toward the crowd, he raised his voice. "If Mr. De Rossi had taken his position seriously, we would not be suffering these same disasters today."

Mr. De Rossi’s eyes narrowed, his glare fixed on Jaime. His hand twitched near the gun holstered at his waist. He wanted nothing more than to silence the man where he stood. But he restrained himself. Not yet. He needed the senator seat, the national influence it carried, before he could set his sights on the presidency in the years ahead.

"Unless," Jaime continued, his tone sharp and deliberate, "You are the very one behind all of this."

The crowd gasped in unison. This was the suspicion they had whispered among themselves from the beginning, but they lacked proof. Now, with a rival candidate voicing their fears, it carried weight.

Jaime’s expression hardened. "The only reason Mr. De Rossi and the other governors have been silent about these disasters is because they are the ones orchestrating them. They protect their own. None of their families have been kidnapped. None of their children have been destroyed by addiction. But if they were the ones suffering, you would not need to beg for action. The problem would have been solved before you even knew it existed."

The crowd erupted, their roar shaking the ground beneath them.

Mr. De Rossi clenched his jaw. He had expected Jaime to make a move, but he had not anticipated the crowd responding so strongly to such accusations. To him, the claims were laughable, yet the people hung on every word.

Then a new voice cut through the uproar.

A man in a wheelchair rolled slowly into view. His frail body bore the signs of punishment and torment. His clothes were clean but stained with blood, and his skin was pale from illness and exhaustion.

The sight silenced the crowd.

Mr. De Rossi’s blood ran cold. He recognized him instantly.

It was James.

His personal assistant.

’What is he doing here?’ He wondered.

"Mr. De Rossi is not the man you think he is," James said weakly, his voice strained but firm.

Shock rippled across the crowd.

After weeks of searching for the man, De Rossi could hardly believe James would appear on this day, of all days. Worse, he knew what was coming. James was about to expose him.

"He’s—"

The crack of a gunshot split the air.

A single bullet tore through James’s temple.

Blood sprayed across his chair as his body went limp, slumping forward.

Screams filled the square. Panic erupted as people trampled each other in their desperate attempt to flee. The once-restless crowd had transformed into chaos.

On stage, Jaime stiffened. Mr. De Rossi’s expression hardened, and though his lips remained in a faint smile, his eyes burned with fury.

The election had just turned into war.