Askai wandered through the colossal mansion, noting the absolute absence of clutter. The place was vast, impressive, but eerily bare of any personal touch—no family photographs, no children's scribbles, no sign of a lived life.
Yet, Askai knew this had to be Vance's primary home, not some property he occasionally visited. The sheer weight of security and the bespoke tailoring of the space spoke of permanent residence.
He had walked through enough East End Paradises to know what purpose they served.
The Elites were creative but they were notorious when it came to aping their Crown Jewels. Regale were the apex of that hierarchy. Whatever they did, set the trend.
He could recognize the similar patterns in the setting of the room, the manners of their servants and most importantly..
Askai pulled aside the velvet curtain at the end of the corridor, his fingertips lingering on the heavy fabric. The window overlooked the sprawling lawn, glowing orange beneath the setting sun, in the exact direction they often built the servant quarters.
What he saw drove the breath from his lungs.
Far worse than he had imagined.
The grounds teemed with men in sharply pressed black suits—silent predators with grim purpose stitched into every seam. They moved with mechanical precision, each step a threat sharpened by training. Not bodyguards. Not mere hired muscle.
More like an army.
They had always trailed after Vance like a dark omen, but tonight he saw them truly—saw the menace in their poise, the ruthlessness coiled in their gloved hands.
And the city…oh, the city had been overrun by their kind lately. Black suits in the East, in the West—slick smiles hiding hideous purpose and loyalties Askai couldn't begin to untangle.
Where were they coming from?
And what did they want?
He waited, every muscle strung tight beneath his skin. A man cut across the lawn.
Askai checked his battered wristwatch, counting the seconds with the soldier's discipline. Ten minutes later, another passed the exact same path, a ghostly repetition. But this time, a tiny, almost imperceptible detail snared Askai's intense gaze: an insignia stitched onto the sleeve.
It was a delicate, white thread work. He held his breath, waiting for the next pass, which came with the clockwork precision of the first—exactly ten minutes later.
As the figure drew nearer, the embroidered symbol sharpened into terrifying focus: a crown, not worn, but draped across the back of an austere, high-backed chair, like a ring carelessly tossed aside.
Strange.
That was definitely not the Regale family crest, a fact Askai knew from his own meticulous, if unwelcome, research into the dynasty.
Were they merely hired muscle, then, from a highly specialized security agency? Or were they another wing of the armed forces?
His thoughts were violently interrupted by the softest whisper of approaching footsteps—light as a feather, utterly lacking the heavy, grounded tread of Kyrion.
Instinct roared through him. He slipped through the hall, heart pounding in his throat, and found refuge in a smaller drawing room—a quieter corner of the mansion smothered in opulence.
The fireplace drew his attention first—carved with a craftsman's reverence. But above it hung portraits that made Askai's skin prickle. Vance stared out from every one—ageless and severe, power cut into the angles of his cheekbones. Not a smile dared touch his lips. The frames glinted like warning signs.
But what caught Askai's soul like a hook was the silver-framed photograph beside them.
A younger Vance—laughing. A genuine laughter full of light and warmth.
The sight was so shocking that Askai actually stepped closer, searching that rare expression for lies. Beside him stood a man with similar commanding features—too similar to be coincidence—but lacking the infamous Regale face Askai had seen on every newsfeed. A brother? A cousin?
Before he could delve further into the enigma, muffled voices drifted like whispers from an adjacent room. He moved, his old street training surging through him, all silent, predatory grace. He recognized the low, intense cadence of high-stakes, private business.