Steven swallowed, then nodded quickly. His heart still clung to the promises, to the warmth of their smiles. “Okay. Just for tonight. I understand.” “Good boy,” Sarah said softly, kissing his forehead as if she had been doing it for years. The servants exchanged quick glances with each other, but no one dared speak. Jackson’s smirk deepened, satisfied. Moments later, a servant led Steven down the grand staircase, away from the chandeliers and polished halls, into a narrow corridor tucked beneath the stairs. The air grew colder, dustier. Cobwebs lingered in corners, and the scent of old wood and mothballs filled the space. The servant opened a door to reveal a small room cluttered with boxes, old furniture, and rolled-up rugs. A single narrow bed had been hastily placed in the corner, its sheets crisp but plain. Steven stepped inside, his eyes wide. His heart squeezed, but he forced a smile. “It’s fine. It’s only for tonight.” He placed his small bag on the bed and sat dow

Jedro’s expression hardened. “She’s lost in his illusion. But illusions don’t last forever. When I tear off Jackson’s mask, she’ll see the monster beneath. And I hope she does, but when she does… she’ll thank me.” Adrian closed the notebook, tucking it neatly back under his arm. He bowed his head slightly. “Very well. I’ll dig deeper, find the rot you want exposed. And when I return, you’ll have more than proof, you’ll have ammunition.” Jedro nodded, reclaiming his glass of brandy. Adrian slipped out, his footsteps fading into silence, leaving Jedro alone with his thoughts. He turned back to the window, watching the countryside swallowed by night. Somewhere beyond those hills, Jackson was whispering sweet lies into Dianna’s ears, calling her princess, weaving illusions of love. Jedro’s grip tightened around the glass until it threatened to shatter. “Enjoy your lies while you can, Jackson,” he murmured, his voice like steel in the dark. “Because soon… the truth will devour

Harry’s chest burned with fury and grief. His knuckles whitened on the table edge. His voice was low, guttural, deadly. “You think yourself clever, Jackson. But I see through you. I see the hand that pushed Steven into the shadows. And mark my words—if he is truly dead, and your hand had anything to do with it, I will bury you myself.” The silence that followed was deafening. No one breathed. Jackson’s smirk flickered, but deep within his eyes... a flash of fear betrayed him. Finn’s voice rumbled like a storm. “Harry, this boy is a rot in your house. Cut him out before he poisons everything.” Harry’s fist clenched, his voice iron. “Oh, I intend to, believe me!“ The meeting dissolved into chaos. Sarah swept out with icy grace, her silence louder than any insult. Helen lingered, her eyes glistening though her face was unbroken marble. Finn stayed close, his hawk-like gaze never leaving Harry. When the doors finally closed, Harry collapsed into his chair, his should

Luisa’s gaze lingered on him, unreadable, as though measuring the weight of his decision. Then she rose gracefully, adjusting her coat. “Three nights from now, then. Remember, Steven, this is not just an initiation. It is your rebirth.” As she reached the door, Steven called after her. “Luisa.” She paused. His voice was low, almost a growl. “If I find out you’ve kept more from me than you’ve told… not even the Circle will protect you.” Luisa turned, her eyes glinting with a dangerous amusement. “Good. A president who doesn’t threaten is no president at all.” And with that, she vanished into the shadows of the corridor, leaving Steven alone with his decision and the echo of chains he had chosen to wear. Steven collapsed back into the chair, staring at the Insignia he had now placed on the table. His reflection shimmered faintly in its golden curve. Elias Smith’s voice whispered in his mind, even though it had been years since he’d heard it. 'You were never meant

The torches dimmed, but the chamber did not disperse. The initiation had ended, yet the weight of it lingered around like smoke. Steven stood at the center still, bare, shirtless, the ink seared into his flesh. The well painted Ouroboros drawn in beautiful colors, coiled boldly across his spine, it shimmered faintly, as though alive. The tattoo designer sure did a good job making the dragon look alive. It's body was gold and shimmering even in the dim light. He took his shirt and put it on, but then even as his shirt clung with blood, his stance was unshaken. Around him, the Circle moved like restless predators, some whispering, some watching in silence. “Is he even human? How could he not feel pain?“ “Even the former president felt pain when he was initiated decades ago. He might just be the one who pushes us all to the peak." “Or bring us down!“ Luisa Payne had not moved from her place. Her eyes hovering over him with quiet pride, her expression unreadab