Justice of the Supreme War God

Chapter 10: The Mystery Deepens

The military officer's words hung in the air like smoke after a gunshot.

Someone tried to kill the martial God of War.

Nobody moved. Nobody breathed. Crystal glasses sat forgotten in manicured hands, champagne going flat as the Steel family and Morrison relatives exchanged stunned, bewildered glances. The officer stood rigid at the ballroom entrance, his uniform pressed to razor sharpness, his posture announcing decades of discipline.

Then Marcus shifted almost imperceptibly in his seat.

It was nothing — a slight tilt of his chin, a fractional movement of two fingers resting against his knee. Less than a breath. Less than a blink.

The officer's eyes caught it instantly.

No one else in the room noticed. No one except Elizabeth Steel, whose sharp eyes had spent eighty-three years missing absolutely nothing. She sat perfectly still in her high-backed chair at the head of the table, her gaze moving like a blade between the standing officer and the quietly seated man in the worn gray suit. Something unspoken and enormous passed between them, and Elizabeth filed it away behind her serene smile without disturbing a single wrinkle.

The officer straightened. He cleared his throat.

"My sincerest apologies," he announced to the room with a formal bow. "I'm afraid I've made a grave error. I must have received incorrect information." He swept the gathered crowd with a composed, professional gaze. "Please forgive the interruption. Enjoy your evening."

He turned and exited with the same crisp precision with which he'd arrived, his boots marking clean, even beats against the marble floor until the doors closed behind him and swallowed the sound entirely.

For a long moment, nobody spoke.

"What on earth was that about?" Ryan muttered.

"Someone tried to kill who?" Liam's voice pitched upward with nervous confusion.

The questions circled the room without landing anywhere useful. Guests murmured to each other, pulling on coats and reaching for evening bags, the strange interruption accelerating the party's natural conclusion. Within twenty minutes the ballroom had thinned considerably, the once-grand celebration dissolving into clusters of departing relatives and the distant sound of cars pulling around the front drive.

Diana was summoned to Elizabeth's private sitting room before she'd had the chance to collect herself.

"Grandmother wants to see you alone," Isabella said, appearing at Diana's elbow with barely concealed delight. Her smile was bright and merciless. "Just you."

"I know what alone means," Diana replied flatly.

"She's going to absolutely tear into you." Isabella sighed with theatrical sympathy, pressing a hand to her chest. "Showing up with that man. Mother is still barely holding it together. I genuinely don't know how you function sometimes, Diana, I really don't."

Diana said nothing. She straightened her spine, set her expression to stone, and walked toward her grandmother's sitting room expecting a controlled demolition.

The room was warm and lamp-lit, smelling of jasmine and old books. Elizabeth sat near the window in a silk-upholstered chair, the birthday chaos entirely absent from her bearing. She looked precisely like what she was — a woman who had outlasted everyone who had ever underestimated her.

Diana sat across from her and waited for the verdict.

"Where," Elizabeth said without preamble, "did you find a man like Marcus Hayes?"

Diana blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"You heard me perfectly well."

"I —" Diana paused, recalibrating. "Is that a serious question?"

"I don't ask unserious questions." Elizabeth studied her with those unnervingly perceptive eyes. "He identified a forged Ming jade sculpture in thirty seconds. He dismantled Ryan's Caravaggio in front of a room full of people who wanted very badly to see him fail. He gave me a gift that made Paul Chen go pale." She folded her hands in her lap. "And that soldier."

"That soldier was clearly confused," Diana said carefully.

"Was he." It wasn't a question.

Diana held her grandmother's gaze. "Marcus is my husband. That's all I can tell you."

Elizabeth regarded her for a long, quiet moment. Then the corners of her mouth curved — not warmly, exactly, but with something that looked uncomfortably like respect.

"See that you don't lose him," she said simply. "Women who are careless with rare things spend the rest of their lives regretting it."

Diana had no response for that. She excused herself with as much composure as she could manage.

Marcus was still seated in the far corner of the emptying ballroom when Kevin Morrison approached.

Kevin was Diana's cousin on her mother's side — mid-thirties, aggressively confident, wearing a suit that announced its own price tag. He pulled out the chair across from Marcus without being invited and settled into it with the comfortable ease of a man accustomed to buying his way out of problems.

He placed both hands flat on the table and looked at Marcus with a thin, contemptuous smile.

"Let's skip the pleasantries," Kevin said. "How much?"

Marcus looked at him.

"To leave." Kevin's smile sharpened. "To walk away from Diana, tear up whatever ridiculous contract you two signed, and never come within five miles of this family again." He leaned forward slightly. "Name a number. I'm a reasonable man. I'll write the check tonight."

Marcus said nothing for a moment. He picked up his water glass and took a calm, unhurried sip.

"Well?" Kevin pressed. "Don't be shy. Even a man in your position has a price."

Marcus set the glass down with quiet precision and met Kevin's eyes.

"You couldn't afford the conversation," Marcus said pleasantly.

Kevin's smile didn't waver — but something behind it flickered.