While Damián watched Benjamin integrate into the environment with the Kadman, he felt a slight tension grow within him. His introduction had been intense, an important first step, but still, he couldn't allow this to bring him too close. He knew the complexities of his life, the truth about whom he really was, represented a risk.
The last time family occupied space in his life, the consequences had been disastrous. The wounds he carried were hard to erase, scars of disappointments he sought to avoid reliving. He didn't want Benjamin to become a new source of vulnerability.
But he could protect him. That was the role he could play, Damián thought with silent determination. He decided that, to protect Benjamin, he would need to limit himself to being a distant friend. There would be interest, and respect, but nothing beyond what was safe for both. Nothing more, he reinforced to himself.
Benjamin observed Damián, hesitating before speaking, but the hope in his eyes was unmistakable. In a gentle tone, he approached, and the sincerity in his voice was clear.
"Damián," he began, carefully choosing his words. "I thought maybe… maybe you could come home with me. I set up your old room. It's as if you'd never left, even though life has changed so much." He smiled, but there was a heaviness in his gaze. "I'd like to show you everything again."
Damián, sensing the expectation in the air, took a deep breath before responding, his voice calm yet firm. "He paused, searching for words." "We can wait a few weeks. Maybe two or three, and then, who knows, I might be able to visit."
Benjamin tried to mask his disappointment, but it was hard to hide what he felt. He lowered his gaze for a moment, reflecting on Damián's words, then turned back to him with a faint smile. "All right," he replied, his voice trembling slightly. "I just… want you to know there's no pressure. I'll be there waiting, Damián, and the room will be ready when you are."
After the lunch offered by the Kadman, Benjamin looked around the table, his eyes meeting each of those present before finally resting on Damián. He took a deep breath, as if wanting to absorb the moment.
"This visit was… more meaningful than words can express," said Benjamin, his voice laden with restrained emotion. "But, as you know, I have commitments at Williams Valley. It's a property that has been in our family for generations, and there are political and family decisions that demand my attention."
Damián nodded; he wasn't sure how to handle the situation, nor was he asking for anything.
Benjamin continued, "I'll leave tonight. In a few days, once everything is in order, I'll return so we can continue at a steady pace, at the right time."
Elizabeth, always welcoming, gave a gentle smile. "You're always welcome here, Benjamin," she said with the dignity of a hostess who understood the responsibilities of everyone present.
Damián, while keeping a reserved demeanor, offered a brief smile. "I'll be here when you return," he replied, his voice steady, though with a touch of anticipation he might not have even realized.
Benjamin smiled back, a mix of pride and hope in his expression, before standing up, feeling that this moment marked a new beginning—a foundation for the future he hoped to build with his son.
In the shadows of a dimly lit room, where only the faint glow of a lamp challenges the darkness, a phone vibrates on the table. The name "familiar" appears on the screen, and a figure with calculated movements and an expression of pure anxiety grabs the device with a quick motion.
The voice on the other end is cold but filled with a restrained rage that threatens to erupt at any moment.
"How could you screw up like this?" The woman's voice drips with venom; each word is a strike of contempt and frustration. "Do you realize what's at stake here? Everything is falling apart because of you, you idiot! And now, I'm up against the wall, thanks to your incompetence."
On the other end, the executor takes a deep breath, the muffled sound of heavy breathing trying to contain the anger that grows with each second. "You think *I wanted* this to happen? You think I did it on purpose? I followed every damn order you gave. The one who failed here was you. *You! * You weren't prepared to handle a twist like this."
A bitter laugh echoes from the other end of the line, cold as a blade. "Oh, so now it's my fault, huh? That's great! *It was a ridiculously simple mission, damn it! * It was something that should have been taken care of years ago. If you'd done the job right, that omega's son wouldn't still be alive to haunt me now."
The figure on the other end grips the phone tightly, voice low, almost growling. "You know the situation changed. Things got out of control, but we can still turn it around. *If you have the guts. * We'll need a new plan. But this time, it has to be precise, leaving no trace behind."
The tension grows, the silence thickens. A long pause lingers, each second a blow of pure accumulated fury. When she speaks again, her voice is cold, with a determination that cuts through the air like a dagger. "*A new plan, is it? * After *years of this miserable failure*, now you come to me with a new plan? I'm about to lose everything I've built, and this is what you offer?"
The executor takes a deep breath, barely containing the anger that now hardly hides. His voice comes out low, dangerous, and calculated. "Don't worry. It'll be discreet, no spectacle. *They won't get in the way anymore*—but this will require patience. We need someone to take the fall for this job *without any mistakes*. Or everything goes down the drain."
Beatrice hesitates. Then, her voice emerges like poison, deadly and full of threat. "So be it. But its better work. Because this time, if you fail again, there's no excuse. *And there won't be any forgiveness. * If this goes wrong, *no one will be left to clean up your mess. *"
The silence on the line is dense, a deadly silence that weighs between them. The figure stands there, looking at the phone, while Beatrice's threat still lingers in the air, like a blade inches from his throat.
The call ends with a sharp click, and Beatrice places the phone on the elegant table with a brusque motion, as if needing to rid herself of the weight of that conversation. She takes a deep breath, but it's short and uneven, reflecting her growing panic.
Around her, the opulence of the private room feels stifling: the walls lined with velvet in deep red, mirrors with gilded frames, and the glow of crystal lamps on silver chandeliers—all exuding wealth and power. Every detail, every piece, seemed chosen to affirm her dominance. But now, instead of providing security, the setting oppresses her, reminding her of what is at risk.
For a moment, her gaze falls upon a large family portrait, a painting that costs more than many people earn in a decade. The face in the painting seems to judge her, the inanimate eyes reflecting a specter of failures Beatrice could no longer ignore. She feels dread creeping into her chest.
"This can't be happening…" she whispers to herself, an impotent fury permeating the phrase. Everything she had built over the years—every dark alliance, every favor bought, every sacrifice, every assassination—seemed on the verge of slipping through her fingers. The thought of losing everything consumed her, a sense of panic rising like poison. Her control, her position, her life… all of it could end, and fast.
Beatrice knows she cannot afford to make another mistake. She must act, she needs a new plan, more effective, more ruthless. She was prepared to do whatever it took. After all, if she was going to lose everything, she'd take down anyone who dared to cross her path.
Beatrice walked through the corridors of the imposing mansion, each step echoing on the cold, silent walls. She held her chin high, her gaze firm, but something inside her was unsettled. After everything they'd been through, she was finally on her way to see Clarice, who, still recovering, was a shadow of her former self. The marks of the attack, both visible and invisible, seemed to have changed Clarice forever.
When she entered the room, she found her daughter standing in front of a brightly lit mirror, gazing at her reflection with a distant expression. Beatrice approached and extended her hand, lightly placing it on Clarice's shoulder, who turned, but with an absence in her eyes Beatrice had never seen before.
"Clarice, my dear, how are you feeling today?" she asked, her voice sweet yet filled with caution.
Clarice hesitated before responding, her gaze fixed on something beyond her mother. "Better, I suppose," she said with a slight sigh. "But… everything seems a little different now."
Beatrice smiled gently, attempting to reassure her daughter. "It's natural, dear. After all you've been through, it's normal to feel this way."
But something in Clarice had changed, and Beatrice could see it. Clarice, who had always been confident and kind, now carried an indefinable feeling, a sense of coldness that Beatrice knew had a name: Callum. Clarice had lost the man she loved not once, but twice. First, when he withdrew, and second, now,
with the second final rejection.
Beatrice held her daughter's hand, the warmth of Clarice's touch intensifying her own silent rage. *This is all Jared's fault, * she thought, her face hardening. *He and his bastard son destroyed everything. * She yearned for revenge that could obliterate everything Jared represented.
"It's time for dinner, Mother," said Clarice, interrupting Beatrice's thoughts. "I think I can go down."
Beatrice smiled and nodded, accompanying Clarice to the dining room, where Jared was waiting. He wore an unusually calm expression, his eyes fixed on the door, as if anticipating an important moment.
Once they were seated, Jared cleared his throat, capturing both women's attention. "Clarice," he began, his voice low and almost solemn. "There's something I need to share with you. A family secret, so to speak."
Clarice raised an eyebrow, intrigued. She sensed Beatrice's intense gaze but looked back at her father, curious. "What is it, Father?"
Jared remained silent for a moment before continuing. "You've heard of Aster, of course. The omega… the young man with Callum."
Clarice gave a faint, bitter smile. "Aster?"
"Well," Jared went on, "there's something you don't know about him. He's more than just any omega, Clarice. He is…" Jared paused, and Beatrice watched as Clarice's face grew pale, already aware of the devastating truth about to be revealed.
"He is your half-brother," Jared stated bluntly.
The impact of the revelation struck Clarice like a blow. Her eyes widened, and her breath caught in her chest. Aster… her half-brother? She felt the world spinning around her, and a mixture of disbelief and disgust filled her mind.
"No… this can't be," she whispered, looking from Jared to Beatrice, searching for an explanation that might undo the monstrosity she'd just heard.
Beatrice, in turn, maintained a cold expression, though there was a glint of restrained fury in her eyes. She reached out to touch Clarice's hand, but Clarice pulled away sharply, feeling betrayed.
"That omega…" Clarice murmured, feeling a surge of revolt in her chest. "He stole Callum from me, and now I find out he's my half-brother. Is this some kind of cruel joke?"
Jared shook his head, somewhat impassive. "I knew this would be a shock, but you needed to know. Aster shares our blood, even if… not in a desired way."
Clarice's anger reached a critical point. Her eyes blazed with hatred, and her voice dropped to a sharp whisper. "That man… he ruined everything. And now, you tell me he's part of my family? Does he want revenge on me?"
Beatrice, observing her daughter's outrage, felt her own indignation grow. But she remained calm, knowing that this moment was only the beginning. Her desire for revenge against Jared and his illegitimate son intensified.
Dinner continued in an almost unbearable silence, the tension hanging in the air like a storm about to break. Clarice kept her gaze fixed on her plate, pushing her food around without truly tasting it, lost in bitter thoughts. Beatrice, watching her daughter with the calm of someone who knew exactly what was to come, maintained a controlled expression, masking the glint of satisfaction in her eyes.
Jared, on the other hand, remained oblivious to the inner turmoil of both women, finishing his meal in uncomfortable silence. When he finally finished, he dabbed his mouth with a napkin, stood up, and cast a final look at Clarice.
Beatrice reached out and gently touched Clarice's hand. "Come, dear. Let's go somewhere we can talk in peace." Clarice nodded, following her mother to a private parlor, away from Jared's eyes and ears.
Beatrice poured some tea for Clarice, watching her closely as she sat down. Clarice, still reeling from the revelation, clenched her hands together, trying to process the avalanche of emotions.
"The omega… he wants revenge on this family, doesn't he?" murmured Clarice, breaking the silence in a trembling voice. "He ruined my life, took the love I had…"
"Clarice, dear," said Beatrice, her voice low but resolute. "You have suffered greatly because of him. And I know this moment is unbearable. But there is something we can do to fix this. We can remove him from our lives, once and for all."
Clarice looked at her mother, confusion, and disgust still written on her face. But the thought of avenging herself on Aster, of eliminating the source of her suffering, was tempting. Finally, with an almost imperceptible nod, she murmured, "Yes, Mother. I won't let him get away with this."
For the first time since the attack, a glimmer of purpose illuminated her gaze. Beatrice knew she had planted the seed of vengeance in her daughter—and with it, had set in motion a plan that promised to shape the fate of everyone around them.
That night, mother, and daughter were united by a silent promise, an alliance of hate and revenge that would not stop until Aster was removed from their paths forever.