“Your Grace, you are Duke because it is your birthright. I can understand your concern about all of this, but I suggest you rest first. Tomorrow, I will tell you everything you need to know.” Damian breathed heavily, relief and exhaustion mingling in equal measure. After three long years in that shithole, a proper meal and a decent night’s sleep sounded like heaven. Yet, even amid the exhaustion, a part of him couldn’t help but marvel at the absurdity of it all—how he, of all people, had suddenly become a Duke. The rapid turnaround was almost comical. “Alright then,” he muttered, still trying to wrap his mind around it. For the first time, Damian actually looked at himself. His hair was tangled, his clothes worn and rough from years of neglect. Yet, it seemed no one paid him any mind. Everyone around him treated him with reverence, bowing and deferring without question. He found himself wondering—was this what power felt like? “Show me to my room,” he said, his voice steadie

Vanessa was home that day, a rare day off from the endless swirl of her responsibilities, and she had decided it would be spent entirely with Martins. The morning sun had barely reached the corners of the apartment when they found themselves laughing over breakfast, the clink of dishes and the scent of coffee filling the air. For once, it felt like life had paused just for them, giving them a space untouched by obligations, by threats, by the constant weight of the past. Vanessa’s mind, however, was restless. She had news—news she had been holding onto for what felt like an eternity. “Martins… my love,” she began softly, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup, “I’ve been thinking… I already served that low-life the papers in prison. I… I am officially done with him.” Martins’ face brightened immediately, a wide grin breaking across his features. Relief, joy, and something tender flashed in his eyes. “Aww, Vanessa… so we can finally start our lives together?” he asked, the

The first bite nearly undid him. Damian had expected pleasure, perhaps even relief—but he had not expected the sharp sting behind his eyes as flavor burst across his tongue. The roasted meat was tender, seasoned with herbs he could not name but instantly loved. The bread was warm, soft in the center with a crisp crust that crackled faintly as he tore it apart. Even the butter melted smoothly, rich and golden. For a suspended second, he simply sat there, chewing slowly, afraid that if he moved too quickly the illusion would shatter. Across the table, George remained standing, hands folded neatly behind his back. The staff moved in silence, efficient and precise. Yet Damian could feel it—every eye in the room subtly attuned to him. Watching. Measuring. Ensuring. He swallowed. “You are all staring at me,” he said quietly. The nearest servant stiffened. George answered calmly, “It is our duty to ensure Your Grace is satisfied.” Satisfied. The word felt strange. Heavy. Dange

“Your Grace,” George began, his voice low, hesitant, as though each word cost him a lifetime of courage. He lowered his head, careful to maintain the respect that had been drilled into him since boyhood. The room felt impossibly quiet, the air thick and suffocating, yet every nerve in Damian’s body bristled, waiting for whatever revelation was coming. Damian’s expression darkened, a storm simmering behind eyes that had seen far too much. He didn’t speak, didn’t move. He simply let George continue, as if the silence itself might force the truth out faster. “It began years ago,” George said, his tone trembling slightly despite his effort to steady it. “Long before you even knew who you were.” Damian’s fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into the skin. “Then speak clearly,” he commanded, voice sharp, icy. “No more riddles.” George inhaled slowly, fighting against the tightness in his chest. “It began with the Duke,” he said finally, eyes dropping to the floor. “With secr

Vanessa wasn’t sure what she was going to do now. Martins couldn’t possibly leave her—she refused to even imagine it. Shaking off the memory of his tantrum from the day before, she tried to steady her racing thoughts. He loved her, she reminded herself, and they would be together forever. Still, a small knot of unease twisted in her stomach, a quiet whisper of doubt she tried to ignore. Determined to push it aside, she decided to call her friends so they could celebrate and have some fun, something to pull her mind from the worry that lingered like a shadow. She picked up her phone and dialed Sophia, hoping that her voice would sound lighter than the weight pressing against her chest. At first, Sophia didn’t pick up. Vanessa’s stomach twisted with a pang of anxiety, her fingers tightening around the phone. What if Sophia was busy? Or worse—what if she was upset with her? Each passing second stretched painfully until, after three rings, Sophia’s familiar voice came through—warm,