The sharp, persistent buzz of Valerie’s phone shattered the silence of the master bedroom.

She glanced at the screen and swallowed when Tiana’s name flashed across it. Taking a quiet breath, she answered the call.

“Tiana, hey.”

“Val! Finally!” Tiana’s voice burst through the speaker, accompanied by the clatter of dishes and chatter in the background. “You disappeared after quitting the bar. I’ve been worried sick. Where are you? And how are you making money now?”

Guilt twisted in Valerie’s chest.

Tiana knew she’d escaped the bar, but she knew nothing about the crushing debt, the contract marriage, or the fact that Valerie was now living in a mansion worth more than their entire neighborhood.

“I’m okay,” Valerie replied, forcing steadiness into her voice. “I actually found another job. I’m working as a private assistant now.”

“Seriously? That’s amazing!” Tiana exclaimed. “See? I told you something better would come along.”

A smile tugged at Valerie’s lips despite herself.

“It’s… demanding,” she continued. “The hours are unpredictable, so I’ve barely had time to check my phone.”

“Well, your mysterious boss owes me,” Tiana teased. “Come out with me tonight. We’ll grab cheap tacos, and you can tell me everything.”

Valerie’s smile faded. Almost instinctively, her hand drifted to her stomach.

“I’d love to, Tiana. Really. But this week is impossible. Can we make it another day? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

A dramatic sigh echoed through the speaker.

“Fine, busy woman. But you’re buying dessert next time.”

Valerie laughed softly.

“Deal.”

“Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will.”

The call ended.

The smile on Valerie’s face slowly disappeared as she lowered the phone onto the bed.

The room felt quiet again.

Too quiet.

For the first time, the mansion didn’t feel luxurious.

It felt like a gilded cage, slowly separating her from the people who mattered most.

She had spent most of the afternoon sitting cross-legged on the bed, her old laptop balanced on her knees.

Lines of code scrolled across the screen as she continued rebuilding a firewall system she had started months ago—before her father’s death had brought everything in her life to a halt.

It wasn’t finished.

Not even close.

But every line she wrote helped silence the chaos in her mind. For a little while, she wasn’t the woman trapped in a contract marriage or drowning in debt.

She was simply Valerie.

Focused.

Creating.

The sharp sound of footsteps echoed from the corridor.

Almost instinctively, she snapped the laptop shut.

The movement was so natural it surprised even her.

It wasn’t that anyone had forbidden her from working. The project simply felt… personal. It was one of the few things that still belonged entirely to her, untouched by contracts, obligations, or pity.

After a moment, she exhaled, saved her progress, slipped the laptop into its case, and finally headed downstairs.

The mansion buzzed with quiet activity.

Maids polished crystal chandeliers until they sparkled like diamonds beneath the afternoon light, while, in the spacious state-of-the-art kitchen, Nanny Fay stood with an inventory list, calmly directing the staff.

Valerie paused at the entrance.

She still wasn’t used to any of this.

“Nanny Fay?” she called gently. “Do you need any help? Maybe I could help prepare dinner?”

Nanny Fay looked up so quickly her reading glasses nearly slipped down her nose.

“Miss Valerie?” she exclaimed.

The older woman hurried over before Valerie could take another step into the kitchen.

“Oh, no, no, no.” She gently took the apron from Valerie’s hands. “The Young Master was very clear. You are not to do any housework. No cleaning. No cooking. No lifting. You’re to rest.”

Valerie blinked.

“…Rest?”

“Yes.”

The hypocrisy of it stung. Damian treated her like a piece of fragile glass through his proxies, issuing strict rules to keep her pampered, yet when he looked at her himself, his eyes held nothing but icy indifference. He didn’t treat her with a shred of genuine affection, yet he wanted her kept in a velvet prison.

“And do what exactly?” Valerie asked, gesturing around the enormous mansion. “Count the chandeliers?”

A few of the maids bit back smiles.

Even Nanny Fay struggled to hide her amusement.

“Miss Valerie…”

“I’m serious.” Valerie sighed dramatically. “I’m going to lose my mind if I spend another day staring at the walls.”

She reached for the apron again.

“If I can’t clean, then let me bake.”

Nanny Fay quickly caught the apron first.

“But the Young Master—”

“I’m not asking to renovate the kitchen.” Valerie laughed. “I just want to make cookies.”

The older woman hesitated.

She looked at Valerie.

Then at the untouched ingredients.

Then back at Valerie’s hopeful expression.

Finally…

A warm smile spread across her face.

“…I suppose baking cookies isn’t exactly hard labor.”

Valerie’s face lit up.

“Thank you!”

Within minutes, flour dusted the countertop, butter melted into mixing bowls, and the rich scent of vanilla slowly filled the kitchen.

She measured ingredients with practiced ease, humming softly under her breath as she spooned neat dollops of cookie dough onto a baking tray.

“My mom used to make these every Sunday,” she said quietly, a small smile touching her lips.

“The whole house would smell like vanilla before I even got out of bed.”

Nanny Fay listened without interrupting.

“She was the kindest person I’ve ever known,” Valerie continued. “She believed every problem could be solved with good food and enough love. She taught me everything”.

The smile on her face dimmed.

“My father was… the opposite.”

Her hands slowed.

“If he wasn’t drinking, he was gambling. If he wasn’t gambling…” She gave a small shrug. “…he was shouting.”

Silence settled between them.

Nanny Fay’s heart tightened.

Then she noticed the streak of flour across Valerie’s nose.

A laugh escaped her.

“Oh, child.”

Valerie frowned.

“What?”

“You’ve got flour all over your face.”

Valerie blinked before trying to wipe it away with the back of her hand.

Unfortunately…

She only made it worse.

The kitchen erupted in soft laughter.

Even Valerie couldn’t help laughing at herself.

The kitchen filled with the comforting aroma of warm butter and vanilla as the cookies baked.

For the first time since arriving at the Cavill estate, Valerie looked genuinely at ease.

She laughed softly at something Nanny Fay had said, her bright smile lighting up the room in a way the expensive chandeliers never could.

A faint streak of flour rested across the bridge of her nose, completely unnoticed.

Valerie checked the cookies through the oven door before dusting the flour from her hands.

“I think these are going to turn out better than the last batch,” she said with a grin.

“They already smell wonderful,” Nanny Fay replied warmly.

Valerie smiled, reaching for another bowl.

Neither of them realized someone else had entered.

Damian stood quietly in the arched doorway, his suit jacket draped over one arm, his tie loosened after a long day.

He had returned earlier than expected - and stopped the moment he saw her.

His eyes followed Valerie as she laughed, carefully arranging the cookies onto a tray with effortless concentration.

There was no hesitation.

No fear.

No sadness.

Just… peace.

For reasons he couldn’t explain, he didn’t interrupt.

He simply watched.

The sharp edge he carried throughout the day seemed to dissolve, if only for a moment.

Without realizing it, the rigid line of his mouth softened into the faintest hint of a smile.

It was so brief that even he would have denied it had anyone mentioned it.

Nanny Fay turned toward the cooling rack and froze.

“Y-Young Master…”

Her voice instantly shattered the peaceful atmosphere.

Valerie’s laughter died.

She spun around, her smile disappearing the moment her eyes landed on Damian.

The warmth in the room evaporated.

His expression had already returned to its usual unreadable calm.

As though that fleeting softness had never existed.

Valerie instinctively folded her arms across the flour-dusted apron.

“I was bored,” she blurted out before he could speak. “I wasn’t hurting anyone. I just… wanted to bake.”

Damian’s gaze drifted briefly to the flour on her nose.

Then back to her eyes.

“I didn’t say you were doing anything wrong.”

His voice was calm.

Almost impossible to read.

Valerie blinked.

She had been fully prepared for a lecture.

Instead…

“Go upstairs,” Damian said evenly.

“Change into something formal.”

A brief pause.

“We’re going out.”

Valerie frowned.

“Going out?”

Damian had already turned away.

“Be ready in thirty minutes.”

Without another word, he walked out of the kitchen.

“Does he always speak in riddles?” she muttered under her breath.

Nanny Fay hid a smile.

“Only when he’s in a good mood.”

Valerie looked at her in disbelief.

“That was a good mood?”

Nanny Fay only smiled.

As Valerie untied her apron, her hand unconsciously drifted to her lower stomach.

A quiet sigh escaped her lips.

Soon, she thought. I have to tell him. I can’t keep this from him forever.

Thirty minutes later, Valerie stepped out of the mansion wearing a simple cream-colored dress that fell just below her knees. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was elegant enough to satisfy whatever mysterious standard Damian seemed to have in mind.

He was already waiting beside a sleek black sports car.

Without a word, he opened the passenger door.

Valerie hesitated for only a second before getting in.

The drive unfolded beneath a blanket of silence.

The city drifted past the window in blurred streaks of glass, steel, and afternoon sunlight. Valerie glanced at Damian more than once, tempted to ask where they were going, but one look at his unreadable profile convinced her otherwise.

She folded her hands in her lap.

If he wanted her to know, he’d tell her.

If not…

She wasn’t going to waste her breath.

Several minutes later, the car slowed before an imposing government building.

Valerie frowned.

This wasn’t a restaurant.

Nor was it one of Cavill Enterprises’ towering office buildings.

Damian stepped out first.

“Come.”

She followed him through a private entrance, where a middle-aged registrar was already waiting inside a quiet, wood-paneled office.

The man rose immediately.

“Mr. Cavill.”

Damian acknowledged him with a brief nod.

Everything had clearly been arranged in advance.

Two documents lay neatly on the polished desk.

A fountain pen rested beside them.

Damian picked it up and held it out to Valerie.

“Sign.”

She looked down.

Her heartbeat stumbled.

Marriage Registration Certificate.

For a long moment, she simply stared at the words.

So…

This was how it would happen.

No wedding dress.

No flowers.

No vows.

No family.

No friends.

Just signatures.

Just ink.

Just a contract becoming legal.

A faint ache settled in her chest, but she swallowed it down.

This wasn’t a marriage born of love.

She had known that from the beginning.

Taking the pen with slightly trembling fingers, Valerie signed her name.

The ink dried almost instantly.

Damian accepted the pen from her without a word and added his own signature beneath hers—steady, precise, completely without hesitation.

The registrar examined both signatures before pressing the official seal firmly onto the certificate.

Thud.

The sound echoed through the quiet office.

It was done.

They were now husband and wife.

Damian slipped his copy of the certificate into the inside pocket of his suit jacket before meeting Valerie’s eyes.

His expression remained unreadable.

“In three years,” he said calmly, “the contract ends.”

A brief pause.

“You’ll be free to live whatever life you choose.”

The words were matter-of-fact.

Nothing more.

But to Valerie, they landed like ice against her skin.

Even before their marriage had truly begun…

He was already talking about its end.

Valerie forced a small nod.

“I understand.”

Whether she truly did… she wasn’t sure.

Damian looked at her for another second before turning toward the door.

“We’re leaving.”

The registrar opened the office door for them.

The corridor outside was quiet, its polished marble floor reflecting the warm afternoon light pouring through the tall windows.

Their footsteps echoed in the silence.

Valerie trailed half a step behind Damian.

Her fingers unconsciously brushed against her lower abdomen.

A strange wave of nausea rolled through her.

She frowned.

Not now…

She had barely eaten all day.

The stress, the pregnancy, the whirlwind of emotions—it all seemed to be catching up with her at once.

She drew a slow breath, hoping the dizziness would pass.

Instead…

The hallway tilted.

The marble pillars blurred before her eyes.

She blinked hard.

The world refused to steady.

“Damian…”

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He stopped.

Before he could turn around, Valerie instinctively reached out, her fingers grasping at empty air.

“I…”

Her knees buckled.

The color drained from her face as darkness swallowed her vision.

Her body pitched forward….

The marble floor rushed up to meet Valerie, but the impact never came.

A pair of powerful, rigid arms clamped around her waist, catching her dead weight before she hit the ground. Damian’s heart gave a violent, uncharacteristic leap against his ribs. For a fraction of a second, the iron control he prided himself on shattered entirely.

“Valerie!”

Her head fell back against his shoulder, her face a terrifying shade of porcelain white. Damian didn’t hesitate. He scooped her up into his arms, ignoring the startled gasps of the administrative staff, and marched straight out the private exit to his car.

The private wing of the Cavill Medical Center was silent except for the steady beep of the heart monitor.

Damian stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze fixed on the unconscious woman lying on the hospital bed. An IV line disappeared into the back of Valerie’s pale hand.

The door clicked open.

Dr. Harrison entered, scanning the digital chart in his hands before looking up at Damian.

“She’s stable, Mr. Cavill,” the veteran physician said. “The fainting spell was caused by a combination of emotional stress, mild dehydration, and hormonal changes. Given her condition, it isn’t entirely unexpected.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

“Her condition?”

Dr. Harrison adjusted the tablet in his hand.

“She is approximately six weeks pregnant.”

Silence settled over the room.

Damian didn’t respond.

His gaze slowly shifted to Valerie.

She looked so small lying there, her face almost as pale as the white sheets beneath her.

For the briefest moment, his fingers curled into a tight fist at his side.

His heir.

The final condition his grandfather had imposed.

He had expected it. The timeline left little room for doubt. But hearing the words spoken aloud made the reality impossible to ignore.

By the time he looked back at Dr. Harrison, every trace of emotion had disappeared behind the familiar mask of control.

“The first trimester is especially delicate,” Dr. Harrison continued. “With her current stress levels, she needs proper nutrition, plenty of rest, and as little emotional strain as possible. Any severe shock could put both her and the baby at risk.”

“I understand.”

Damian’s voice was calm.

Steady.

“She will have everything she needs.”

When Valerie’s eyes fluttered open, the harsh scent of antiseptic washed over her. A nurse in crisp white scrubs was gently checking the monitor beside her bed.

“Oh, you’re awake,” the nurse said with a warm, reassuring smile. “Don’t try to sit up too fast, dear. You gave your husband quite a scare.”

Husband. The word felt foreign, heavy, and completely wrong. Before Valerie could even process her surroundings, the heavy door pushed open.

Damian stepped into the room, his figure immediately swallowing the light. The temperature in the space seemed to plummet instantly. The nurse, sensing the sudden, suffocating shift in the air, quickly gathered her clipboard. “I’ll leave you two alone,” she murmured, slipping out and clicking the door shut behind her.

Valerie pulled the thin hospital blanket tighter around her chest, staring up at Damian as he walked over, stopping just short of the bedside.

“You’re pregnant,” he delivered the news without a single ounce of preamble, his grey eyes boring into hers like twin lasers.

He paused, his gaze tracking every micro-expression on her face. He was waiting for the gasp. He was waiting for the widened eyes, the tears, or the frantic denial of a girl caught off guard.

But it never came. Valerie’s expression didn’t change; her lips simply pressed into a thin, defensive line, her gaze dropping to the blanket.

Damian’s eyes darkened, a flash of pure, unadulterated fury igniting in the grey depths. The realization hit him like a physical blow: she already knew.

“You already knew.”

Valerie’s fingers tightened around the blanket.

“…Yes.”

Silence stretched.

Damian continued watching her.

“How long have you known?”

She lowered her eyes.

“A few days.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Valerie swallowed.

“I wanted to.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“I just… didn’t know how.”

Another silence.

Longer this time.

Damian searched her face, as though weighing every word she had spoken.

Then something hardened behind his grey eyes.

“You sat in my car.”

His voice turned cold.

“You walked into that registrar’s office.”

He took one slow step closer.

“You signed a legal marriage certificate…”

Another step.

“…knowing you were carrying my child.”

His hands came down on either side of the mattress, trapping her beneath his shadow.

“You knew.”

His voice dropped into a dangerous whisper.

“And you chose to keep it from me.”

“Damian, I—”

“Quiet,” he snapped, his anger boiling over. “Did you think you could use this as leverage? Were you planning to wait for the ink to dry on the contract before pulling this out as a weapon to demand more? I told you from day one, Valerie—I tolerate many things, but I do not tolerate games. Especially not when it comes to my family’s legacy.”

“It wasn’t like that!” Valerie protested, her own anger flaring through her weakness. “I found out few days ago! I didn’t know how to—”

“Save it,” Damian cut her off ruthlessly, straightening back up to his full, imposing height. The coldness in his eyes was absolute. “The contract is sealed. You are carrying the Cavill heir. Right now, protecting that child is your priority.”

Without another word, Damian turned toward the door.

“Damian.”

Her voice stopped him.

Quiet.

Not angry.

Not pleading.

Just… tired.

His hand settled on the doorknob, but he didn’t turn around.

“I didn’t hide it because I wanted something from you.”

A shaky breath escaped her.

“I hid it because I was scared.”

Silence.

“I’d only known for a few days. I kept trying to find the right moment…” She gave a small, bitter laugh. “Turns out there never was one.”

Damian remained motionless.

“I thought you’d think exactly what you just did.”

Another pause.

“That I was trying to trap you.”

His grip on the doorknob tightened almost imperceptibly.

“But then again…” Valerie said softly, “…maybe you were always going to think the worst of me.”

For one fleeting second, something shifted in Damian’s expression.

Regret.

It disappeared so quickly it could have been imagined.

Without another word, he opened the door and walked out.

The heavy wooden door closed behind him with a quiet click.

Not a slam.

Just a sound that somehow felt colder.

Ten minutes later, the nurse returned with a quiet message: The Master has left. His private driver is waiting downstairs to take you back to the estate.

The return to the Cavill mansion felt completely different. The moment Valerie stepped through the grand front doors, she realized the entire atmosphere had shifted.

The changes were immediate and suffocating. When she walked into the dining room, the light, simple meals she usually requested were gone. In their place was a highly specific, nutrient-dense spread tailored precisely for prenatal health—completely organic, devoid of any caffeine, and meticulously portioned.

The maids didn’t just bow; they moved around her like nervous shadows. They scurried ahead of her to clear even the slightest wrinkle in the carpets, terrified she might trip. When she retreated to her bedroom to escape their watchful eyes, she opened her wardrobe and froze.

Every shelf had changed.

The clothes she had brought with her were gone.

In their place hung rows of elegant silk maternity dresses, luxurious cashmere cardigans, soft designer loungewear, and comfortable flat shoes in every shade imaginable.

Even the toiletries on her dressing table had been replaced with pregnancy-safe products.

Everything had been chosen for her.

Without asking.

Without consulting her.

Without even telling her.

Valerie slowly closed the wardrobe doors.

The mansion hadn’t become more luxurious.

It had become smaller.

The walls hadn’t moved.

But somehow…

They felt closer.

Frustrated and feeling physically sick from the confinement, Valerie grabbed a shawl and headed for the front doors, needing desperately to feel the outside air. But as she reached the threshold, two massive security guards stepped into her path, their expressions apologetic but completely immovable.

“We apologize, Madam,” the lead guard said, bowing his head. “The Young Master has issued strict directives. You are not permitted to leave the estate grounds under any circumstances for the duration of the first trimester.”

Valerie’s chest heaved with resentment. “I just want to go for a walk!”

“You may use the private lawns, Madam. But the gates remain locked.”

Biting back tears of pure frustration, Valerie spun around and marched out the back glass doors, pacing furiously across the endless, manicured green lawns just to burn off the trapped, frantic energy inside her.

The sun had long set, casting the sprawling estate in deep, twilight shadows by the time the distant hum of a sports car signaled Damian’s return.

Valerie was still out on the grass, staring blankly at the distant fountain, when she heard his heavy, commanding footsteps approaching from behind. She didn’t turn around. She already knew who it was.

Damian stopped a few feet away, his silhouette tall and rigid against the moonlit backdrop.

“You need to be more careful.”

His voice was calm.

Measured.

“You are responsible for two lives now.”

Valerie remained silent.

“The doctor was very clear.”

“No unnecessary stress.”

“No strenuous activity.”

“You’ll follow the meal plan.”

“You’ll stay inside the estate until the first trimester is over.”

Only then did Valerie turn to face him.

“So those are my new orders?”

Damian met her gaze without flinching.

“They’re precautions.”

“They sound like orders.”

“They are necessary.”

A humorless laugh escaped her.

“Necessary for who?”

Damian’s expression remained unreadable.

“For the baby.”

Valerie stared at him for a long moment.

Then she folded her arms.

“I understand.”

Her voice was calm.

Too calm.

“You don’t have to remind me every five minutes.”

She looked him directly in the eyes.

“This isn’t just your precious Cavill heir.”

She rested a hand lightly over her stomach.

“It’s my baby too.”

“And believe me…”

A flicker of hurt crossed her face before disappearing.

“…I care a lot more about this child than you seem to think.”

Silence.

Neither of them looked away.

Finally, Damian reached into his jacket and removed a sleek black card.

He held it toward her.

“For the baby’s expenses.”

Valerie looked at it.

Then back at him.

A short laugh escaped her.

“You already gave me one.”

“I never used it.”

“The first was your allowance,” Damian replied evenly.

“This one is different.”

His hand never moved.

“My wife will not be seen wanting for anything.”

“Not now.”

“Not while carrying my child.”

“Take it.”

Valerie looked at the card again.

It wasn’t generosity.

It wasn’t affection.

It was responsibility.

She hesitated…

Then slowly took the card.

Not because she wanted it…

But because refusing it wouldn’t change anything.

Before Valerie could say another word…

Damian’s phone rang.

Damian frowned, pulling his phone from his pocket. He glanced down at the flashing caller ID.

Instantly, the rigid composure on his face vanished. The temperature around them didn’t just drop—it froze completely. His jaw clenched so tightly the bone structural lines of his face turned white, and his eyes flashed with a sudden, terrifyingly dark intensity.

For the first time since Valerie had met him…

She saw something that almost looked like shock.

He pressed the phone to his ear and answered.

“…Speak.”

Silence.

Whoever was on the other end spoke rapidly.

Damian didn’t interrupt.

He simply listened.

With every passing second, the air around him seemed to grow colder.

His eyes darkened.

When he finally spoke again, his voice had become dangerously quiet.

“I’m on my way.”

The call ended.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket without another glance at Valerie.

“I have to leave.”

Nothing more.

No explanation.

No apology.

He turned and walked toward the waiting car.

Within seconds, the engine roared to life.

Valerie stood where she was, watching the taillights disappear beyond the winding driveway until they vanished completely.

Only then did she release the breath she’d been holding.

She looked down at the black card still resting in her hand.

A husband.

A mansion.

A marriage.

Everything looked perfect.

Yet somehow…

She had never felt more alone.

She closed her fingers around the card and quietly walked back inside.

Because standing in the cold waiting for answers…

Wouldn’t make him come back.

The sleek black sports car tore through the rainy New York night, its tires gripping the asphalt as Damian accelerated down the winding roads toward the ancestral Cavill estate.

His uncle’s voice still echoed in his mind, carrying a thinly veiled threat disguised as a family summons. A mandatory meeting. The old matriarch had called it. Damian’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, his eyes reflecting the dash lights. He knew exactly what this was about. It was about the empire. It was about the wealth. And most importantly, it was about the ticking clock his grandfather had set.

When the car finally pulled up the grand, gravel driveway of the ancestral mansion—a massive, historic stone fortress that had housed generations of Cavills—the iron gates closed heavily behind him.

Damian stepped out into the crisp air, throwing his keys to the waiting valet. Inside, the grand foyer was warm, lit by massive crystal chandeliers. He slipped off his tailored coat and handed it to the head butler, straightening his cuffs before stepping into the formal drawing room.

Everyone was already waiting.

His uncle, Victor, sat with a glass of scotch in hand, looking entirely too comfortable.

Next to him sat Alvin, Damian’s cousin. Handsome and dressed in an unbuttoned designer shirt, Alvin was New York’s most notorious billionaire playboy, appearing in tabloids far more often than business journals. Across from them sat Damian’s mother, Theodora, looking elegant but visibly anxious, and at the head of the room sat the formidable matriarch of the family, Grandma Rose.

Damian walked past his uncle and cousin without a glance. He approached his mother first, pressing a gentle, warm kiss to her cheek. “Mother,” he murmured softly. He then turned to the head of the table, bowing his head with deep, genuine respect. “Grandmother.”

With the greetings finished, the warmth vanished from Damian’s face. He stood tall, his presence immediately dominating the room as he went straight to the point.

“Why did you call me here?”

Victor let out a low smirk, swirling the ice in his glass. “Won’t you even greet your uncle, Damian? After all, we are all family here.”

Alvin chimed in from the couch, a lazy, arrogant grin on his lips. “Yeah, Damian. We’re sitting right here, you know.”

Damian didn’t even look at Victor. His icy grey eyes locked onto his cousin instead. “I don’t like playing games, Uncle,” Damian said, his voice terrifyingly level. Then, his gaze pierced through Alvin. “And to you, Alvin—perhaps when you decide to become useful and stop playing around, I will consider you a brother. Until then, stay out of adult conversations.”

Alvin’s easygoing smile faltered, his jaw tightening in sudden embarrassment.

For a second, something flickered across Alvin’s face — not quite hurt, just the sting of being dismissed in front of the whole family. Then, just as quickly, it was gone. He leaned back into the couch cushions with an exaggerated sigh, reaching for his own glass.

“Relax, cousin. Not all of us need to be terrifying to be happy,” he said lightly, already losing interest in the exchange. He didn’t care enough about the empire to hold a grudge over it — Damian could have the empire.

Alvin would happily keep his freedom.

Before the tension could boil over, Grandma Rose struck her walking cane against the hardwood floor. “Okay, everyone calm down,” she commanded, her sharp eyes sweeping the room with absolute authority.

Theodora quickly stood up, trying to smooth over the cracks. “Let’s eat first, then we can talk.”

The dinner was served in the grand dining hall. The atmosphere remained thick with unspoken hostility, masked only by the clinking of heavy silver utensils and mild, forced conversations about the stock market. Damian ate in disciplined silence, completely unbothered by the heavy glares Victor kept throwing his way.

Theodora set her fork down gently, glancing at her son. “Damian, you’ve barely touched your food. Are you eating properly at that house? You work yourself into the ground and no one at that estate is there to remind you to slow down.”

“I’m fine, Mother,” Damian said, his tone softening only slightly.

“You always say that.” Theodora’s eyes lingered on him a moment too long, the worry in them older than tonight’s dinner. “I just wish you’d let someone take care of you for once, You don’t have to carry everything alone anymore.”

Damian said nothing, but something in his jaw shifted — the smallest crack in the armor, gone before anyone else at the table could notice it.

The moment the plates were cleared, Victor wasted no time. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the mahogany table.

“Damian, let’s talk about the inheritance left by my father,” Victor began, his voice dripping with artificial concern. “According to the terms of the will, the entire Cavill empire lands in your name only if you have a child by your twenty- ninth birthday. You are twenty-eight Nephew. And you don’t seem to have any intention of settling down. In exactly eight months, you will hit twenty- nine.” Victor leaned back, a triumphant, greedy smirk spreading across his face. “And when that clock strikes, the property and the empire land safely in my name.”

Damian wiped his mouth with a linen napkin, setting it down with agonizing slowness. He looked directly at his uncle.

“Uncle ,” Damian spoke, his voice dangerously smooth. “Are you in such a desperate hurry to take everything for yourself? Or do you genuinely care about me settling down and keeping the properties in my name?”

Victor’s smirk didn’t waver. “With the way things are currently going, Damian, it is only a matter of time before it’s all in my name anyway. You’ve shown absolutely zero interest in getting married or building a family.”

“Victor, enough!”

Grandma Rose’s voice cut through the dining room like a whip. She glared at her son, her eyes flashing with pure disdain. “This meeting was not called to celebrate wealth landing in your hands, or anybody else’s hands. Need I remind you, Victor, of what happened when you were in charge of the firm? Our company almost crashed and burned. We would have been pushed into a catastrophic, unpayable debt because of your utter mismanagement!”

Victor’s face flushed a deep, angry red. “Mom—”

“Quiet!” Rose snapped, turning her fiercely proud gaze toward Damian. “It was Damian who rescued this family and the company at the tender age of twenty. He took it from the brink of bankruptcy and raised it to even greater heights than your father ever did. And as for your son,” she shot a look at Alvin, “he has proven incompetent to handle even a single subsidiary.”

Alvin pouted, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Grandma…”

“Hold it right there, Alvin. Don’t speak,” Rose shut him down ruthlessly. She turned back to Damian, her expression softening just a fraction into a knowing, calculated look. “Your grandfather really knew how to get to you, Damian. He knew that work was the only thing occupying your mind, and he used the empire to force you to finally settle down.”

Victor slammed his hand on the table, entirely slighted. “Mom, you are meant to be in support of me! I am your son, not him!”

“If only you possessed even half of his intelligence level, Victor,” Rose replied coldly. “Besides, Damian has proven his worth to this family from an early age. You have not.”

Biting back his rage, Victor turned his venomous gaze back onto Damian, trying a different angle to provoke him. “Fine. So tell us, Damian—what exactly is your grand plan? Are you just going to go out, find any random woman on the road, and have a child with her just to save your skin? Are you going to marry just anyone? Or are you finally going to look at your childhood friend?”

He was fishing for answers, desperate to know if Damian had a secret play up his sleeve.

Damian’s expression didn’t change. His face remained a flawless stone mask, giving away nothing about the fact that he had legally signed a marriage certificate with Valerie just hours earlier—or that she was already carrying his child in his Westchester home.

He pushed his chair back slowly and stood up, looking down at his fractured family.

“You don’t need to worry about me, the timeline, or the inheritance whatsoever,” Damian delivered smoothly, his voice dropping into a chillingly confident tone. “The Cavill empire remains exactly where it belongs. Under my feet.”

Grandma Rose looked up at him, a sharp, enigmatic smile slowly spreading across her weathered face.

“I know it does, Damian,” Rose said, her voice laced with a strange, heavy gravity that made the room fall completely silent. “But remember this… a throne built entirely on secrets is the easiest one to shatter.”

Damian said nothing in return. He simply turned and walked out of the drawing room, his footsteps even and unhurried against the marble floor.

But in the car, speeding back through the rain-slicked streets toward Westchester, his grandmother’s words settled into his chest like a stone he couldn’t shake off. He wasn’t a man who believed in omens, and yet something about the way she’d said it — quiet, certain, almost sad — sat differently than her usual sharp remarks.

He glanced at the empty passenger seat beside him, thinking of Valerie asleep in his house, unaware of the storm circling above her.

Let them come, he thought, gripping the wheel tighter. There is nothing they can find that I haven’t already buried.

He was wrong. But he wouldn’t know that for months.