When the car came to a stop, her eyes went wide.
The house, located in the most posh area in the city, was enormous and modern double story mansion with the biggest zen garden she had seen in city. It stretched across the front, rocks and sand perfectly.
Azrael got out with Little Roe cradled in one arm. He walked toward the stepping stones when his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen, cursed under his breath, and, to her surprise, turned to her before brushing past her to walk to Luka.
"Take him to his room," he said, handing Roe to him. "Tell Valentina to help them settle in."
He got back in his car and left.
....
Alexander Hawthorne stood near the glass, one hand behind his back, the other gripping his phone. His posture was rigid, military straight, but his jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like it might crack.
"…Repeat that," his voice low and controlled.
On the other end, the man hesitated before answering, careful with every word. "Ms. Valerie Sinclair and Roman are not on the premises. The Sinclair family is refusing to say anything. We are positive that… Young Master Azrael took them."
A suffocating silence followed. Then, without warning the table was flung across the room.
'CRASH!'
Wood splintered against the wall, glass shattered across the floor, and the sharp crash echoed through the study.
The old man's chest rose sharply, fury breaking through the tight control he always maintained.
In the corner, a young woman startled, nearly dropping the tray in her hands. She quickly set it aside and rushed toward him, cautious but concerned.
"Dear, calm down—Ah!"
Before she could even reach him, the door was kicked open.
'THUD!'
Both of them froze.
Azrael walked in with a faint smirk, unbothered like he had all the time in the world.
Then his gaze shifted, landing on the woman and narrowed.
She stood there in a skimpy dress, one hand clutching her chest, clearly shaken. For a brief moment, his expression changed, his brows drawing together in faint displeasure.
"Leave us."
The old man turned toward him, fury already surging again. "How dare you come here after that stunt?!"
Katerina didn't need to be told twice. She rushed past Azrael as fast as she could, almost stumbling in her haste.
Azrael did not spare his grandfather's latest mistress another glance.
He walked further inside, stepping over the broken glass without care, and stopped near the ruined table.
"I heard," he said casually, reaching for one of the untouched snacks on the tray, "you promised Valerie and Roe a vacation to one of your private islands?"
Alexander's eyes darkened. "…Do you know what you cost me just to wet your dick in that wench?" he snapped, voice thick with anger.
Azrael took a bite out of a berry before spitting it out. It left a sour taste in his mouth, his words and the fruit.
Then he looked up with his piercing stare and smirked.
There was one thing that Alexander cared for above all, his face as this benevolent, upright man in front of the world. He couldn't bear a single blemish on his character.
This was why Azreal tipped the media and made the story sensational and scandalous so it created enough of a buzz so all eyes were on them.
"Was it the same island you sent, what was her name…" he squinted his eyes, "...Ana?"
A quiet, humorless chuckle escaped him. With the paparazzi following them everywhere and all eyes on their 'secret love' against the social norm.
"Wasn't she going to give me a little uncle? She must be lonely about now." He took a sip from the drink his mistress had prepared before frowning and spitting it back in the glass. "Were you planning to send them to keep Roe's youngest great-grandma company on the ocean floor?"
Azreal had practically given Valerie and Roe a shield. Alexander could no longer make them 'disappear.'
The round faces of his little chatterbox and kitten flashed in his mind, and he flung the glass to the floor.
'SHATTER!'
When he had first thought of saving them, he just didn't want his 'angel' to disappear, and those pouty lips of the mother and son had him in a chokehold.
But even now, no matter how infuriating and insufferable that woman was, they were nobody eles's business!
Alexnader's face twisted with rage. "You—!"
He turned sharply and grabbed a whip from the wall.
"On your knees!"
The command cracked through the room. Azrael looked at him, bored.
"You imbecile-!"
'SWISH! CRACK!'
The whip lashed forward, but Azrael caught it midair.
The familiar leather wrapped around his hand, slicing into his skin. His grip only tightened as blood welled in his fist. A slow grin spread across his face.
The old man tried to pull it back, but it did not budge.
"I'm not ten anymore, am I?" Azrael scoffed a laugh.
This old man 'disciplined' him with this very whip for 15 years of his life. But neither was he a fatherless child at his mercy anymore, nor did Alexander decide if he was fed for the day. For a brief second, something flickered in the old man's eyes.
Azrael let go. The whip snapped back sharply.
Without another word, Azrael removed his suit jacket and let it fall to the floor. Then he lowered himself onto his knees in front of him, slow and deliberate.
His eyes never left the old man's face.
"Why don't you vent on me and tell your dogs to stop sniffing around ny family?" A faint bitter smile touched his lips.
The old man's grip on the whip tightened again, rage still burning, but now tempered with something colder.
"The Whites—" he began sharply.
"That deal," Azrael cut in with a scowl. "I'll get it for your birthday this year."
Silence filled the room again.
Alexander studied him carefully, his expression shifting as calculation replaced pure anger. Then, slowly, a smirk appeared on his face.
The whip swung in the air.
"You better measure up to your words, boy."