Return Of The Argent Heir

CHAPTER 3

"Charlie, slow down. What problem?" Darius pressed the phone tighter to his ear, stepping away from Holt and the grandmaster toward the tall study windows.

"The university administration has called an emergency disciplinary panel which is going to be held tomorrow!" Charlie stammered, his voice shaking. "Also, Mr. Bentley, just left here with five security men! They’ve torn our room apart looking for you, and they’re threatening to expel me if I don’t tell them where you are. Where the hell are you and what did you do to Mars?"

Darius's stomach dropped, the momentary warmth of the last hour evaporating in an instant.

"I'm... I'm handling something right now," Darius said carefully, glancing back at the two men watching him with quiet interest. "Just tell them you don't know where I am. If they come back, don't say anything else to the security, Charlie. Nothing. You understand me?"

"Darius, they're not playing around. Mars's father is on the board of trustees. You know what that means."

"I know exactly what that means," Darius said, his jaw tightening. "Just — stay calm. I'll sort it out."

He ended the call and turned to find the grandmaster's sharp eyes already fixed on him, studying his face the way a man studies a chessboard mid-match.

"Trouble?" the grandmaster asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the shape of the answer.

Darius exhaled slowly. "There was an incident earlier today. Before Holt found me. I got into a fight with someone — Mars Bentley. His family's pressing charges and the school too has called for a disciplinary panel.”

Holt's brow lifted with faint interest. "Did you say Bentley? The textile and logistics family?"

"I don't know what his family does," Darius admitted. "I just know he's rich, very rich, but arrogant, and now apparently pressing assault charges against a nobody who broke his face for cheating with my girlfriend."

A beat of silence passed. Then, unexpectedly, the grandmaster let out a short, rasping laugh.

"You are not a nobody, you broke his face over a woman's honor," the old man said, shaking his head slowly, something like approval flickering behind his tired eyes. "An Argent trait if I've ever seen one. Reckless, but honest."

"I kinda have to go now to sort it out," Darius stated, slipping his phone in his pocket, as he prepared to leave. He then turned to Holt. “I'm sorry I can wait for your lunch, maybe another time.”

"Alright son, go handle it like an Argent. I hope to see you soon."

Darius took a taxi back to the campus within 20 minutes and the sight that greeted him made his blood run cold.

​Drawers had been yanked out and upturned. His mattress had been dragged half off the bed frame. Papers, clothes, and broken picture frames littered the floor like the aftermath of a storm that had chosen, specifically, to be cruel.

Charlie was on his knees near the closet, gathering shirts into a pile with the mechanical motions of someone who needed his hands busy so his mind wouldn't spiral. He looked up at the sound of the door, and Darius's chest tightened.

A cut ran along Charlie's cheekbone, the skin around it already darkening.

"Charlie." Darius crossed the room in three strides and crouched in front of him, gripping his shoulder. "Did Bentley do this to you?"

​Charlie winced, gently pushing Darius’s hand away, "That’s irrelevant, Darius. What on earth did you do to Mars to make his father so mad?"

​Darius let out a long, ragged sigh, his hand running through his hair, looking around the ruined room. "It’s a long story, Charlie. A completely messed-up, long story."

​Charlie paused, dropping a pair of jeans back onto the floor. "I thought you were at Kimberley’s apartment. You left here so excited to give her that birthday gift. How did you end up in a brawl with Mars Bentley, of all people?"

​Darius walked over to the only piece of furniture that had survived the onslaught and sank into it.

​"I did go to Kimberley’s," Darius said, "And when I got there... I saw them. Mars and Kimberley. They were on the couch, making out."

​Charlie froze. His eyes widened to the size of saucers.

​"Wait, what the heck!" Charlie shouted in disbelief. "Are you serious? How is that even possible? Same Kimberley Chapman? She literally spent the last six months telling anyone who would listen how much she detests Mars! She called him a bloated, silver-spooned parasite!"

​"I believe that’s what she wanted us to think," Darius shrugged. “She's been fooling us all along.”

​Charlie shook his head back and forth, disappointment settling over his face. "I am so short of words right now. And what about the gift?"

​"She didn't even look at it. She didn't care," Darius scoffed. "Mars had just bought her gifts worth over two hundred thousand dollars. My package looked like trash next to his luxury brands."

​Charlie’s breath hitched. "Two hundred thousand?"

​"I couldn't believe my eyes either," Darius whispered. "I just stood there like an idiot."

​Charlie’s gaze snapped back to Darius. "So what's his father looking for you for??"

​ "Mars attacked me on my way out. I defended myself."

​Charlie suddenly let out a startled chuckle, "You must have really done a number on him, because word around campus is he's currently laid up in the infirmary with his face rearranged."

​ He turned back to the scattered clothes. "You must be starving. I made toast and beans."

​ "I am starving truly," Darius said, rubbing his pocket to feel the card his grandfather had just given to him. "How about we go grab a real dinner instead? La Belle Époque, perhaps?"

​Charlie froze mid-fold, the shirt hanging forgotten in his hands. He turned slowly, staring at Darius as though searching his face for the punchline.

"You need to stop being delusional," he said flatly. "We have a room to fix and a disciplinary hearing tomorrow, and you're talking La Belle Époque?"

​Darius walked over to his closet, pulled out a clean, button-down shirt, and tossed it to Charlie. "Dress up. We’re going."

​"Are you... are you actually serious?" Charlie asked, holding the shirt.

​Darius nodded slowly. "Completely. Trust me."

​"Darius, I can't afford this," Charlie protested, his voice dropping to a whisper.

​"You don't have to pay a single cent," Darius said, offering a reassuring smile. "Just get dressed and follow me. Bills on me.”

​

****

​The moment Darius and Charlie walked through the glass doors leading into the restaurant, whispers rippled outward from table to table, diners leaning toward one another as though Darius's presence alone had disturbed the air.

​And there, seated near the center of the room, was Mars whose nose was taped and swollen beneath two darkening bruises with Kimberley across from him.

​Kimberley spotted him first. She rose so fast. "What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice slicing through the low murmur of the restaurant. "Are you stalking me now?"

Darius said nothing. He didn't even look at her.

​Mars sneered, reaching out to gently pull Kimberley back into her seat. "Ignore him. He's probably here begging for a job," he said, loud enough for nearby tables to hear, a cruel smile tugging at his mouth. "After what he did to me, no one on this campus is ever hiring him for deliveries again."

​The head waiter approached them, initially looking ready to escort them out, but as his eyes landed on Charlie, his posture immediately corrected into a respectful bow.

​"Mr. Caviezel," the waiter said warmly, addressing Charlie. "It is an honor to have you. Please, follow me."

​Though Charlie’s father, the former Prime Minister, had fallen from grace, the weight of his family's name still carried immense social currency in establishments like this.

Charlie offered a tight, polite nod, though he looked incredibly uncomfortable.

"Order the most expensive meal. My treat for putting you through hell today,” Darius smiled.

​Charlie stared at him with skepticism. He wondered how he was so confident, maybe he had some money saved up somewhere he didn't tell him about. Charlie chose to trust him and ordered a premium steak and a side of truffles, while Darius ordered similarly lavish dishes.

​Throughout the meal, Kimberley and Mars kept glaring at their table, whispering furiously to their wealthy friends. But Darius remained unfazed, enjoying the exquisite food and chatting with Charlie as if they were the only two people in the room.

​Finally, the meal came to an end. The waiter approached their table, placing the hefty bill down with a polite, "Whenever you are ready, gentlemen."

​Charlie swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the four-digit total. What had they eaten? He looked at Darius, his heart pounding.

​Darius smiled confidently. He reached into his pocket and produced the black card with no visible numbers. He placed it casually on the silver tray.

​The waiter and Charlie's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the card. A hush spread through the surrounding tables. Whispers turned to open stares.

Where would a boy like him — a delivery runner in scuffed sneakers — get his hands on a card like that?

The waiter swiped it once. Declined.

He tried again. Declined.

A third time. Declined.

​"I'm afraid your card has been declined, sir," the waiter said, his voice loud enough for the entire dining room to hear. "Three times, to be exact."

​A collective gasp echoed through the room, followed immediately by a wave of snickers.

​From across the room, Mars erupted into loud, booming laughter, slamming his hand on the table. "I knew it! I knew the card was a fake prop he bought online to impress his ex! What a pathetic loser!"

​Kimberley joined in, "Oh my god, Darius! How low do you stoop?"

​The entire dining room dissolved into pointing and jeering. Darius sat frozen, his face burning hot as a cold sweat broke out across his forehead.

How could the card decline? Holt had assured him...

​Beside him, Charlie was bright red, the humiliation suffocating, "Let's get out of here, I'm gonna pay."

​"That won't be necessary." A voice cut through the laughter.

Every head turned.

A beautiful tall young lady walked toward their table, and the laughter seemed to falter in her wake. She was dressed in a fitted black gown that accentuated her features, her dark hair sweeping over one shoulder.

She stopped beside Darius's chair, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder, and turned to the waiter with a smile. "Put it on my account. I'm with Mr. Darius.”