Chapter 185: Unwanted visitor
Chapter 184
Jack
You’re dead when I see you.
I laugh at the text from Nolan. Guess he’s awake now.
I place my phone back into my pocket and give the signal.
Peter fires the sniper rifle.
The shot cuts through the late afternoon—silent, precise he surely is a professional. It punches straight through the window of Sebastian Doraemont’s villa, into the middle of another one of his infamous orgy parties.
I watch through the scope as the glass spiderwebs. As the chandelier shatters. As chaos erupts—screaming, scrambling, bodies throwing themselves to the floor.
Perfect.
Peter and I leave our vantage point on the hill across from the villa, nestled in the outskirts of Sol.
For everything they did to Ciel, I will make it my life’s mission to make their lives a living hell.
The paparazzi I tipped off are already nearby, cameras flashing, capturing every moment of the panic.
Peter drives us back toward Sol, as the sun sets a golden hue over the sky as it’s setting.
We cross paths with a police car and an ambulance, sirens wailing, heading in the opposite direction.
Tomorrow will surely be interesting.
***
Marius Florence
Something is suspicious.
I walk slowly through my private collection, past sculptures and paintings, past the pieces too valuable,or too personal to display in any gallery.
I stop in front of the human-sized golden cage. Custom-made. The bars are gilded, intricate, beautiful. Inside, a plush velvet seat awaits. Crimson. Like blood. Like him.
Waiting.
Waiting for my beautiful masterpiece to return.
But something else is happening. Something wrong.
I think about yesterday’s headlines. Sebastian’s nasty parties—exposed. Splashed across every front page, every news channel, every gossiping lip in the kingdom. And the leaks are credible. Witnesses. Photographs. Dates. He’s been hosting those things since he was sixteen, and no one has ever been able to touch him.
Until now.
And that other bastard—Laurent. Nearly burnt to death in his own gallery. His collection destroyed.
And Roderick—stripped of his title, his command, his name. Humiliated in front of the council, in front of the king, in front of everyone.
It feels targeted.
I trace my fingers along the golden bars of the cage. The metal is cool.
And I have a feeling I know exactly who is doing this.
The bastard prince.
If I’m right—
I’m the next target.
I step back from the cage.
Unlike the others, I don’t have a messy private life. I am not careless with my security. I am not hot-tempered. I do not leave traces, do not take risks, do not give my enemies ammunition.
Nothing can be used against me.
I walk to the window. The city sprawls below, lights flickering, oblivious to the storm gathering in this room.
This means war.
We’ll see who blinks first.
And before he strikes me—
I will strike first.
***
Baron Rosengarde
I take a sip of my tea and look at the view of Sol through the window of my hotel room.
The city sprawls beneath me—ancient and modern, stone and steel, power and money. The palace glitters in the distance, gold-tipped and untouchable.
I should buy a house in the capital. Maybe.
These past weeks have been amazing. The invitations. The deference. The way doors open when I walk through them. The way people who once ignored me now bow and scrape and call me my lord as if I’ve always belonged.
This is who I’m meant to be.
I set down my teacup and walk to the window, placing my hand flat against the cool glass. The city stretches below—gleaming, glittering, mine for the taking.
The best thing I ever did was laying with that woman. A commoner. A mistake. But she was beautiful.
And she gave me an omega.
I was disappointed at first. A son who couldn’t inherit. A child who would never carry the Rosengarde name into power. I thought I’d been cursed.
But I adapted.
I invested in him. I raised him. I shaped him. I gave him the finest education an omega could ever need—etiquette, poise, the art of pleasing.
I starved him when he was disobedient. Praised him when he was perfect. Taught him that his body was his currency, his beauty his weapon, his obedience his shield.
He would complain. Whine. Cry.
Foolish boy.
He never understood my vision. Never saw the future I was building for him, for our family, for our name.
I shaped him into something valuable, something desirable, something that would open doors no Rosengarde had ever walked through.
And now, thanks to my efforts—
He is the consort of a prince.
I turn from the window. Walk back to the table. Pour another cup of tea.
The steam rises. The scent is calming.
I take a sip, relax, and close my eyes slightly. My phone dings. Probably another person trying to get on my good side—another invitation, another request for a meeting, another noble who once ignored me now desperate for connection.
I ignore it.
That’s when there’s a knock on my door. Hotel room service, most likely. I smooth my shirt, compose my expression, and open the door.
My mood immediately sours.
Standing there is the young Duke Florence.
His golden eyes are cold. His suit is immaculate. His smile does not reach his face.
"Baron Rosengarde," he says. "I hope I’m not interrupting."
I grip the doorframe. "Your Grace. This is... unexpected."
"So will we have this conversation here, or will you let me in?" he says.
I step aside.
He walks in, and I shut the door. He looks around curiously,at the furnishings, the windows, the view.
"To think a mere baron would afford a VIP suite at one of Sol’s most prestigious hotels," he says.
I don’t respond.
He walks to the window, looks at the view, then turns to face me.
"We have something to talk about, don’t we?" he says.
He walks past me. Sits in the chair by the window. Crosses one leg over the other.