His Genius Wife Is A Superstar Chapter 1677: Vizconde Marco Sebastian del Aguila y Gonzales

Within the confines of a private jet, René Alejandro stirred and opened his eyes. Instinctively, he surveyed the cabin for potential dangers. Finding none, a wave of relief washed over him as he exhaled deeply.

The flight crew had retreated to their resting area, allowing the few passengers to relax undisturbed. Dim lighting filled the cabin, yet the aircraft soared smoothly through the air.

René Alejandro adjusted the window shade next to him and gazed at the pitch-black night sky. A quick look at the live flight path revealed they were crossing the ocean. It explained the enveloping darkness, almost as if they were heading into a bottomless void.

His attention shifted to the solitary traveler seated opposite him across the walkway. A frosty stare locked onto him, making him pause for several moments.

“Papa, how do you feel?” René Alejandro inquired.

Vizconde Marco Sebastian del Aguila y Gonzales, the viscount of Castillo de Estrellas, offered no response. The striking middle-aged gentleman kept his gaze fixed on him with chilling intensity. It was like staring into the eyes of the devil incarnate.

Drawing in a steadying breath, René Alejandro braced himself and rose from his seat. He then settled into the spot directly facing the viscount.

Since his adoptive father’s awakening, Vizconde Marco had transformed dramatically. His demeanor grew icier, more withdrawn, and far more intimidating. René Alejandro struggled to fully comprehend the shift.

Not only had the viscond forgotten everyone around him, but he had also lost recollection of his own self. Amnesia now defined him.

René Alejandro, alongside his stepmother Wei Lan, had exhausted every method to jog the visconde’s recollections, yet nothing worked.

Initially, René Alejandro refused to accept it. How could his father erase his very identity from memory?

Given their precarious position, such forgetfulness could prove fatal. A single error might end their lives, with lurking foes ready to devour them whole from the darkness.

The first time he and Wei Lan discovered the visconde in Barbados, he teetered on the edge of death. There was even a brief period when his heart stopped completely, declaring him clinically deceased. Luckily, the physicians, terrified for their safety, poured all efforts into bringing him back.

Though the visconde pulled through and stabilized, full healing dragged on for ages. His wounds ran too deep.

Moreover, Barbados posed ongoing risks for them. The shadowy group behind the assassins remained uncaught and active.

René Alejandro whisked the still-healing visconde, Wei Lan, and his team across multiple nations to evade pursuit. While not all knew the visconde’s true status, caution demanded such measures.

He had fretted that Wei Lan might grow suspicious, but fortunately, the woman proved dim-witted. She stayed utterly oblivious to the hidden truths.

She played the role of a “devoted” spouse, tending to her ailing husband sporadically. Naturally, it didn’t harm matters that René Alejandro slipped her an extra credit card, pretending it was from his father. She viewed their journeys as epic shopping adventures. She even dragged along her showy companion, Randy, the Zumba teacher. The pair shopped relentlessly until exhaustion hit.

Just like her, Randy remained in the dark about it all. Though René Alejandro scorned their foolishness, it also eased his mind. Had they been cleverer or more perceptive, he would have swiftly eliminated them to ensure permanent silence.

Killing came easily to René Alejandro without a second thought, but inwardly, he avoided needless bloodshed.

Their constant shopping excursions proved useful too, freeing him to handle essentials without fear of discovery. Parting with some cash for them wasn’t a steep price. Ultimately, he intended to leverage Wei Lan as camouflage during his father’s convalescence.

Once convinced they had ditched their trackers, René Alejandro concluded it was time to deploy Wei Lan strategically. Now, they headed toward China.

Dangers from external powers found it harder to reach them within the nation. Thankfully, René Alejandro had begun carving out a presence there, shaky though it was. Should their group manage to absorb Jin Corporation—the country’s premier and mightiest global enterprise—they’d face no threats. Total freedom would follow.

Regrettably, breaching Jin Corporation remained a tough nut to crack. Its defenses ranked among the globe’s elite, possibly surpassing them. It also benefited from the safeguards of the emerging cyber ace, Drakon, along with his protégés, WhiteTigress and BlackPanther.

As a skilled hacker in his own right, he understood the caliber of barriers that would stump him and his allies.

With digital assaults hitting walls, they pivoted to on-site entries into the firm. Still, setbacks plagued their efforts relentlessly.

He had written off the Youngs long ago, yet the Matador apparently wasn’t finished toying with them. That madman had seized control of the Youngs and their role in the organization’s objectives.

Returning to the moment, René Alejandro confronted his adoptive father.

“If discomfort plagues you, why suffer in silence? Tell me what you need, Papa. Nothing matters more than your well-being.”

Vizconde Marco examined him through those glacial eyes before turning toward the partially shaded window and the inky sky beyond.

René Alejandro figured his father would brush him off.

Conversations between him and his father since the coma’s end numbered scarcely on one hand. Apart from inquiries into his own history and status, the visconde showed no interest in chatting with René Alejandro.

“Pour me some wine,” the visconde commanded.

René Alejandro stood speechless in shock.

The visconde fixed him with that frozen stare once more. “Have you turned as dim as those two?”

He gestured toward the dozing Wei Lan and Randy.

René Alejandro reined in his thrilled pulse. “At once, Papa.”

Rising swiftly, he fetched a fresh bottle of red wine and filled two glasses—one for his father, one for himself.

René Alejandro observed his father’s actions closely. The visconde embodied pure Spanish aristocracy. His motions always carried refined poise. Yet now, that noble aura intensified manifold. A subtle feminine grace tinged his gestures, puzzling René Alejandro.

Such notions didn’t linger in his thoughts, though. He simply rejoiced that his father had endured the murder plot. Crucial duties awaited them both still.

The attack had postponed their goals, but interruptions like this were commonplace in their world.

Enduring took priority above all.

Their objectives fueled the organization’s growth. A minor setback wouldn’t lead to discardment.

Provided the visconde healed and recovered his past, all would fall into place.

“We’re nearing home, Papa,” René Alejandro ventured, attempting small talk over their wine.

Vizconde Marco shut his eyes, twirling the wine in his glass. “Home? Does this jet fly to hell?”

It took René Alejandro seconds to grasp his father’s implication. Once it dawned, he wasn’t sure if laughter fit, so he...acted as if he’d missed it entirely.

The visconde savored his wine, face betraying nothing. He reopened his eyes and eyed René Alejandro anew.

“You show unexpected devotion to your adoptive sire, boy,” he remarked.

René Alejandro found the visconde’s phrasing odd. “Loyalty comes naturally. You’re my father, aren’t you?”

“Naïve beyond expectation, too,” the visconde muttered in a foreign tongue.

“What was that, Papa?” René Alejandro probed. “I didn’t catch it.”

“Drink up, boy. And allow me rest.”

“Oh.”

René Alejandro fell quiet, refraining from bothering his father further. Thirty minutes later, he reclaimed his original seat.

The visconde’s eyes flicked open, tracking the youth who called himself his adopted son. No trace of paternal warmth colored his look. It resembled viewing an insect...a handy insect...a tool to serve until it perished.

An additional hour ticked by.

He rose and entered the restroom. As he tended to his needs, faint voices of the flight attendants drifted from the kitchen area. They were likely setting up the upcoming service. Their talk wasn’t boisterous, but the visconde’s ears caught it sharply. Though uninterested, he tuned in while rinsing his hands.

“Any plans once we touch down?”

“I’ll crash at home and recharge. My schedule’s clear until next week. You?”

“Off to Singapore for Orchidia’s debut event. Fingers crossed for stocking up on three months of skincare. Their site’s better now with global shipping, but restocks on my go-tos are a nightmare wait.”

“Spot on. Hold up, count me in! Share your schedule. Maybe I can join your flight.”

The visconde tuned out. He lathered and rinsed his hands repeatedly, with precision. The attendants prattled on.

“Meeting Iris Long face-to-face would be epic.”

“Total dream! Autograph and selfie, please. You hear her latest track yet?”

“Duh, let’s queue it up as we prep the food.”

After thorough handwashing and drying, he stepped out of the lavatory.

Somber piano notes filled the air. He meant to depart when a tablet screen caught his eye, displaying what appeared to be a music video of a female pianist.

“Whoops, picked the wrong clip,” one flight attendant uttered. She reached to switch it when a hand snatched the device. “Hey!”

Her partner inhaled sharply. “S-sir, is there anything we can assist with?”

Vizconde Marco paid no heed to the alarmed crew.

René Alejandro, the boy, had chartered this jet, meaning the personnel weren’t insiders. These attendants knew only that their charges were affluent. He found the service and plane lacking, but held his tongue.

His focus locked on the tablet’s video. The label marked it as a live rendition of “Rebirth (Instrumental Version).”

His gaze sharpened while viewing the performer, Iris Long.

In the footage, she donned a red gown, yet in his thoughts, her form blended with another—a blonde lass in white attire.

“I’ll take this tablet for a bit,” he declared.

“Ah, y-yes, sir. Absolutely, help yourself.”