2026-03-08 18:54:30
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Chapter Twenty one
The car idled at the edge of the lower district, the engine’s low hum vibrating through the cabin like a heartbeat. Smoke rose from the narrow streets, thick and choking, carrying the scent of burning wood, ash, and fear. Damian’s hands rested on the steering wheel, tight, controlled, every knuckle white beneath his gloves. George sat rigid beside him, eyes darting to the chaos unfolding beyond the car’s windows. The district, once alive with commerce and chatter, now lay in ruin. Roofs smoldered, windows shattered, and the screams of children and the elderly cut through the night like knives. Damian’s chest tightened, but not with fear. With every pulse, he felt the fire of resolve growing within him. “Your Grace…” George began, voice quivering, “we should—” “Silence,” Damian said, his voice low, sharp, carrying the weight of command. “Watch.” From the smoke-shrouded street ahead, figures appeared. Knights, their armor glinting in the flickering light of the fires, advanced deli
Chapter Twenty
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,
Chapter Nineteen
George stared at the vibrating phone in his trembling hand as though it were alive, as though it carried within it the power to shatter whatever fragile stability remained in the room. The faint buzzing sound felt grotesquely loud in the heavy silence, crawling beneath Damian’s skin and settling deep in his chest like a premonition. Damian did not blink. His body was rigid, every muscle drawn tight as a bowstring. “Answer it,” he said quietly. The softness of his tone made it more terrifying than any shout could have. It was the voice of a man who was already standing at the edge of something irreversible. George swallowed and lifted the phone to his ear. “Yes?” His voice cracked despite his attempt to steady it. Damian watched him closely. He saw the change immediately—the subtle widening of George’s eyes, the way his lips parted slightly as if the air had been stolen from his lungs. A thin sheen of sweat formed along his temple. “No… that cannot be correct,” George whispered.
Chapter Eighteen
“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
Chapter Seventeen
Damian walked back to the carriage as though the ground itself had offended him. Each step was sharp and deliberate, his boots striking the stone path with restrained force. His jaw was clenched so tightly that a dull ache throbbed along the hinge, but he welcomed the pain. It gave him something solid to focus on—something simpler than the fury simmering beneath his composed exterior. He did not look at anyone as he approached the carriage. “This time,” he said coldly to one of the drivers, “you will take me home.” The driver bowed quickly, sensing the tension in the air, and hurried to obey. Damian stepped inside the carriage without assistance, the door closing behind him with a heavy, echoing thud that seemed louder than it should have been. It sounded final. Sealed. George followed him in quietly, settling across from him. The carriage began to move, the wheels rolling over gravel with a steady rhythm that felt almost mocking in its calmness. Inside, the atmosphere was t
Chapter Sixteen
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
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