The Shamed Bastard Son Who Tamed a Forbidden Angel

Chapter 3: The Broken Contract

John's laughter echoed through the grand hall like the braying of a victorious hyena. He pointed at Harry with undisguised glee, his face flushed with malicious triumph.

" Even the divine being he summoned thinks he's worthless!" John clutched his sides, nearly doubling over. "The Archangel herself rejected him! What does that tell you about this bastard's worth? Even angels know trash when they see it!"

The crowd erupted in mocking laughter. Harry stood frozen on the altar, his fists clenched so tightly his nails drew blood from his palms. Rage burned through his veins like liquid fire.

He lifted his head slowly, his dark eyes locking onto the Archangel with an intensity that made the air around him shimmer. When he spoke, his voice was low and cold as winter frost.

"I summoned you."

The words cut through the laughter like a blade. The hall fell silent.

Seraphiel turned to face him, her luminous wings spreading wide. Her beautiful features twisted into an expression of pure disdain, as though she'd been forced to acknowledge a particularly disgusting insect.

"You summoned me?" She laughed—a crystalline, mocking sound. "How unfortunate for me. Being called forth by someone expelled from their own family is a disgrace to my very existence. Do you understand what an insult that is? I am an Archangel, a being of celestial purity, and you—" she looked him up and down with obvious revulsion, "—you are nothing but a nameless bastard wearing servant's rags."

"Beautifully said!" Lady Margaret clapped her hands slowly. "Even divine beings recognize hierarchy and worth. Harry, you should be grateful for this lesson."

She glided forward, her silk gown whispering against the marble floor. Her expression shifted to one of calculated benevolence—the look of a merchant about to close a favorable deal.

"However, the Klein family is not without mercy. Though you are no longer one of us, I recognize that you did... facilitate this summoning." Her smile was poisonous honey. "I am prepared to offer you compensation. Ten thousand denars if you voluntarily relinquish all claims to the Archangel."

The crowd gasped. Ten thousand denars was substantial—enough for a commoner to live comfortably for an entire year.

"Grandmother, you're too generous!" John protested, though his eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Why waste ten thousand denars on this beggar? That's more money than his whore mother saw in her entire miserable life! You could buy ten decent horses with that amount, and horses are actually useful!"

Marcus Klein nodded approvingly. "My son is right, Mother. You coddle the boy too much. He should be grateful we're offering him anything at all. Most families would just throw him out with nothing but the shirt on his back—and his shirt isn't even worth keeping."

"True, true," Lady Margaret sighed dramatically. "But we must maintain appearances. People might say the Klein family lacks grace if we send him away completely empty-handed." She turned back to Harry, her voice hardening. "Ten thousand denars, boy. Take it and be grateful. It's more than a slave deserves."

Harry's entire body trembled. Not from fear—from pure, incandescent fury. His mind raced through scenarios: he could try to force the contract, bind the angel to him regardless of her will. But what then? An unwilling, resentful Archangel would be worse than useless. She might even sabotage him at a critical moment, or simply refuse to fight when he needed her most.

The bitter truth settled over him like ash: he had no choice.

"I..." His voice cracked. He swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "I accept."

"Excellent decision!" Lady Margaret's smile widened. "You see? Even a bastard can occasionally show wisdom. Someone bring the contract papers and the money."

John practically skipped toward the Archangel, his earlier humiliation forgotten in his triumph. "Finally! A beast worthy of my bloodline!" He stopped before Seraphiel, puffing out his chest. "I am John Klein, true heir to the Klein legacy. You made the right choice, angel."

Seraphiel regarded him with cold approval, inclining her head slightly. "This master is far more fitting. Your blood carries the purity and power that the ancient contract demands. Unlike..." she glanced back at Harry with withering contempt, "...that disappointment."

The servants arrived with a small chest of coins and contract documents. As Harry reached for them with shaking hands, Lady Margaret's voice rang out again.

"Oh, one more thing." Her tone was casual, almost friendly—which made Harry's blood run cold. "The Klein family requires a worthy heir with a worthy beast. We cannot have John contract with that defective creature he initially summoned. We're not heartless, though."

She gestured dismissively toward the corner of the hall.

"You may take that trash instead. Consider it our final gift to you."