The President Chapter 114

The streets of the capital, so recently filled with chaos and despair, were now alive with celebration. Crowds gathered in every square, waving flags and cheering for their newfound freedom. Cries of “Down with tyranny!” and “For the people!” echoed through the air as fireworks lit up the night sky. The rebellion’s victory over President Alvada had breathed new hope into the nation.

Celestina stood at the edge of a balcony overlooking the main square. From here, she could see the faces of those who had fought, suffered, and now rejoiced. Children laughed, old men wept openly, and strangers embraced like family.

“They’re celebrating because of you,” Dimitri said softly, stepping beside her.

Celestina shook her head, her eyes heavy with emotion. “They’re celebrating because they’re free. But how long will it last? There’s still so much to fix.”

Dimitri placed a hand on her shoulder. “One step at a time, Celestina. The hardest part is over.”

She turned to look at him, her voice barely above a whisper. “Is it? I see their faces, Dimitri, and I can’t stop thinking about all the ones we couldn’t save.”

The next morning, Celestina walked through the streets of the capital. The destruction left by the rebellion was impossible to ignore. Buildings were reduced to rubble, shops were looted and abandoned, and the lingering scent of smoke hung in the air.

As she passed by a makeshift shelter, a little girl ran out, her face smudged with dirt. She stared up at Celestina with wide, curious eyes.

“You’re the lady from the speeches,” the girl said.

Celestina crouched down to meet her gaze. “What’s your name?”

“Amara,” the girl replied shyly.

“Amara,” Celestina repeated with a gentle smile. “Where’s your family?”

The girl pointed back to the shelter. “Mama’s inside. She said you’re the one who stopped the bad man.”

Celestina’s heart clenched. “It wasn’t just me. A lot of people fought to stop him.”

Amara nodded seriously, then held out a small flower she’d picked. “This is for you. Mama said you’re our hero.”

Tears stung Celestina’s eyes as she accepted the flower. “Thank you, Amara. But the real heroes are the people like your mama—strong and brave.”

As Amara ran back to the shelter, Dimitri approached from behind, his expression somber. “You can’t carry all this guilt, Celestina. The people don’t see you as a villain. They see you as their hope.”

She sighed. “Hope is heavy, Dimitri. And I’m not sure I’m strong enough to carry it.”

Days later, the world watched as Alvada was brought before an international tribunal. The once-feared dictator now sat in chains, his defiant glare fixed on the judges. The charges against him were long: corruption, war crimes, and the suppression of his own people.

Celestina attended the trial in silence, her emotions swirling as she watched her father stand before the world.

“Everything I did was for this nation,” Alvada said during his defense, his voice echoing through the courtroom. “I kept us strong. I kept us safe. And now you hand it over to chaos? You’ll regret this. Mark my words.”

Celestina’s fists clenched as she listened. Even now, he refused to take responsibility for the pain he’d caused.

When the prosecution presented evidence—the leaked files, testimonies from survivors, and even video footage of his orders—Alvada’s arrogance faltered for a brief moment. But he quickly recovered, smirking as if none of it mattered.

“He’s still playing the same games,” Dimitri whispered to Celestina as they watched. “But this time, the world sees him for what he truly is.”

While the trial continued, Celestina focused on rebuilding. Rebel leaders and volunteers worked tirelessly to restore key parts of the city. Hospitals reopened, schools were cleared of debris, and food distribution centers were set up to aid the most vulnerable.

Everywhere she went, people looked to Celestina as a symbol of hope. Crowds gathered whenever she appeared, cheering her name and thanking her for her sacrifices.

But at night, when the city grew quiet, doubt crept in. Sitting by a flickering lamp in her temporary quarters, Celestina confided in Dimitri.

“They expect so much from me,” she said, her voice heavy. “What if I let them down?”

Dimitri took her hand in his, his eyes steady. “You’ve already done more for them than anyone ever has. You gave them freedom, Celestina. Now it’s about building something better.”

She smiled faintly. “You always know what to say.”

“That’s because I know you,” he replied.

One evening, Dimitri returned from a meeting with a grim expression. He carried a folder, which he handed to Celestina.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Evidence,” Dimitri said. “Of secret accounts your father set up. He funneled millions into them, and they’re still active.”

Celestina’s brow furrowed as she opened the folder, scanning the documents inside.

“Who’s managing these accounts now?” she asked.

“That’s the problem,” Dimitri said. “The money’s been moving. It’s being used to fund something—possibly loyalist groups trying to rebuild his regime.”

Her stomach dropped. “You mean even with him in custody, he still has allies out there?”

Dimitri nodded grimly. “It’s not over yet.”