BLOOD FOR BLOOD: The Return of Elior Crestfall

Chapter Eight: You're Gonna Regret It!

Elior’s grip tightened around Liliane’s hand as he marched up to Louisa, his gaze burning like wildfire.

“You dared raise a hand to my wife?” His voice thundered across the hall, his finger jabbing toward her like a blade. “I swear, Louisa, I will never—ever—forget that.” His face hardened, every muscle in his jaw sharp, his aura radiating the raw fury of a lion cornered.

Louisa didn’t flinch. Instead, she tilted her chin with smug defiance, her lips curling into a poisonous smile.

“And so what?” she spat, her voice dripping venom. “What if I beat her? What would you do, Elior? Huh?”

Gasps rippled through the hall as she began descending the steps of her seat, hips swaying with aristocratic arrogance. Each step was deliberate, a dagger to Liliane’s dignity.

“You should be grateful I was going to dirty my own hands,” she continued, her tone mocking, her eyes glittering with cruelty. “I should’ve ordered the guards to strip her bare and whip her like the ungrateful mutt she is. Maybe then she’d learn her place.”

The crowd murmured in stunned disbelief. Liliane’s knuckles whitened, but she kept her chin up, refusing to give Louisa the satisfaction of seeing her break.

“What?!” Elior roared, his fury snapping like a storm as he raised his hand, intent on silencing Louisa’s venom with the sharp crack of a slap.

But before his palm could land, a commanding voice split the air like a thunderclap.

“IF YOU DARE!”

The entire hall froze. Elior’s hand halted midair, trembling with restrained fury. Heads turned toward the grand doorway.

Two sharply dressed men strode in with calculated grace, their polished shoes echoing against marble, their presence sucking the air from the room. It was Darian Crestfall and Frank Marlowe.

Louisa’s cold façade melted instantly into feigned fragility. She rushed forward, clinging onto Frank’s arm like a lifeline.

“Baby!” she whimpered, her voice quivering with practiced theatrics. “You came just in time. He was going to hit me!” She gestured dramatically toward Elior, her eyes shimmering with crocodile tears. “Can you imagine? That forsaken, filthy hand—scratching my face, my beauty ruined forever!” She buried her face in Frank’s chest, sobbing like a wounded dove.

Frank held her tight, patting her back with gentle hands. His tone, however, dripped with condescension.

“I should’ve protected you better, Louisa. You don’t deserve this kind of humiliation.”

A hush fell over the room as Darian stepped forward, his expression calm but his eyes sharp with disdain. He stopped directly before Elior and Liliane, his lips curling into a slow, poisonous smile.

“Liliane,” he said, his voice smooth as silk yet cutting like glass. “Why? Why drag this useless madman here? Do you take pleasure in embarrassing yourself like this?”

Before the crowd could even process his insult, a sharp crack shattered the air.

Elior’s palm connected with Darian’s cheek, snapping his head sideways. The entire hall gasped in collective shock. Louisa’s hands flew to her mouth. Frank stiffened, his grip on her faltering.

Elior’s eyes blazed, his chest heaving.

“Did you just call me a madman?” His finger shook inches from Darian’s stunned face. “After everything you’ve done—after poisoning Patriarch Godwin’s wine to frame me, after mocking my broken state, after tormenting the woman I love—you dare stand before me without shame?” His voice trembled with rage, each word slicing the silence. “I swear on my blood, Darian—you will regret every ounce of it.”

The corner of Darian’s mouth twisted upward. He steadied himself, then, with deliberate malice, slapped Elior back. The sound rang out like gunfire.

“And so what if you’ve crawled out of your madness?” he sneered, his voice rising. “Do you have proof? Do you have anything? You’re nothing now. Nothing!” He jabbed his finger against Elior’s chest with force. “The heir? That title is gone. I am the Crestfall heir now. I have your throne. I have your name. And you—” his smile widened, cruel and triumphant— “are nothing but a shadow of who you once were. A beggar in rags acting like a fucking king.”

Gasps erupted. The crowd leaned forward, anticipation thick in the air.

“Wh..what!” Elior stood frozen for a heartbeat, his chest rising and falling,

Darian then leaned in, his breath brushing Elior’s ear as he murmured, his voice slick with contempt.

“I was only trying to help your pitiful wife,” he whispered. “She’s wasting her beauty, chained to a rotting ghost. Why let her life decay clinging to you, when she could rise with me?”

Liliane’s heart thudded, her eyes flashing with fury. Her voice cut like a blade through the hall.

“You are nothing but a fuckin monster!” she cried, her chest heaving. Her words carried the weight of years of torment, and the crowd stirred uneasily.

Lord Whitmore rose slowly from his chair, the old man’s lips twisted in a smirk that radiated disdain. He lifted his cane slightly, using it to point across the glittering hall toward Elior and Liliane like they were common beggars dragged into his palace.

“My dear friends,” he announced smoothly, addressing Frank and Darian with the oily courtesy of a man who had forgotten honor, “please forgive the disturbance. I am so pleased to welcome two men of such standing to my birthday banquet. Do not let these… unreasonable fellows tarnish the evening.”

A ripple of laughter slithered through the hall, mocking and cruel. Elior’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened, but he said nothing.

Louisa seized the moment. She clung tighter to Frank’s arm, her eyes gleaming with ambition that outshone even her tears from moments ago.

“Babe,” she cooed, her voice loud enough for the hall to hear, “Lord Whitmore was discussing the most incredible opportunity—an investment deal with the legendary Virelux Group. If I can secure it for Whitmore Banking, he promised to make me the CEO of all the companies under our family’s empire.” She paused, savoring the gasps from those nearby. “Imagine it, Frank—me, the youngest, richest, most powerful woman in our circle.”

The crowd buzzed, admiration mingling with envy.

Frank’s lips curled into a smug smile as he squeezed her waist possessively.

“Virelux,” he mused, his voice heavy with self-importance. “Their influence has been shaking the business world for years—wealth beyond measure, alliances stretching across continents. But don’t worry, Louisa. I have the right strings. There’s a man—Mr. Jones—he’s practically at their right hand. One word from me, and the deal will be yours.”

Louisa gasped dramatically, her hand flying to her mouth before pressing her lips to Frank’s cheek in excitement. “Oh, baby! You’re saving my future. Soon, the whole world will bow when I walk in.”

Her laughter rang through the hall, sharp and triumphant, while Liliane sat stiff beside Elior, her nails digging into her palms to keep from trembling.

Elior suddenly smirked, his arm tightening protectively around Liliane. His voice cut through the noise, calm but laced with fire.

“Keep dreaming, the lot of you. My wife has already stepped up to this challenge. She’ll secure that deal with Virelux, reclaim every damn thing you all stole from her, and make you choke on the honor you spat on.”

The hall erupted in raucous laughter. Glasses clinked, someone nearly fell out of their chair laughing.

“Her? Liliane?” guests muttered between chuckles.

“The florist girl?”

“Man, this is gold—he’s completely lost it.”

Darian sneered, his arms spread wide as if inviting the crowd to witness Elior’s downfall.

“Yo, Mr. Crazy, don’t you feel even a shred of shame? Look at you—rags hanging off your back, dirt on your shoes, walking into a damn ballroom like some stray mutt, talking about billion-dollar deals no one in this city can buy. You’re a walking punchline.”

Elior’s eyes darkened, but he stood his ground.

“You’ll all see. When she lands that deal, when she stands taller than every last one of you, you’ll regret the day you ever undercut her.”

Louisa tossed her head back, laughing loud enough for the chandeliers to tremble.

“Oh, please. You can’t even fix your own mess, and now you’re giving her false hope? You—banished trash, disgraced soldier, dressed like a street beggar—assuring another family disgrace she can rise? This is comedy gold.”

Gasps and muffled snickers rippled through the room, fueling her pride.

Lord Whitmore, with a cruel little chuckle, lifted his glass and pointed it at them like a dagger.

“And don’t forget, child,” his voice boomed, “to qualify, you’ll have to do more than chase fairytales. You’ll also recover the debts our family is owed by the Casino Bully. Handle that—and maybe you can dream of honor.”

The room hushed for a beat. Even Darian and Frank exchanged nervous looks.

“Casino Bully?” Frank muttered, face paling. “That’s suicide…”

Elior’s smirk widened into something colder, sharper, almost predatory.

“Whatever,” he barked, his voice carrying like thunder. “I don’t give a damn how crazy that gang is. My wife and I will face them head-on. We’ll collect the debt, and we’ll secure that deal with Virelux. Mark my words.”

“Ha!” Darian burst out, shaking his head. “Then may the dogs feast on your bones.”

Liliane stepped forward, her hand sliding into Elior’s. Her grip was firm, her eyes wet but blazing with resolve.

“Baby,” she whispered just loud enough for the front rows to hear, “let’s leave them now.”

Elior glanced down at her, the corner of his lips lifting in the faintest grin.

“Yeah, babe. No more talkings. We're gonna show actions.”

Together, hand in hand, they turned and strode toward the exit. Their silhouettes cut sharp against the golden lights, mocked by whispers but untouchable in the fire of their bond.

Behind them, Louisa’s laughter rang shrill and ugly.

“Go on then, run to your deaths!”