61The morning light barely crept through the curtains as Darien awoke, his mind already racing with the events of the previous day and the daunting task ahead. The thought of facing Cersei, his estranged wife, after everything that had transpired was heavy on his heart. He could imagine her sitting in a cold cell, her pride the only thing keeping her company. 'She'll blame me,' he thought, 'but her actions, driven by greed, led her here. She shot that old man without a second thought.'As he prepared to leave, his movements were mechanical, his mind elsewhere. He took a taxi, and the drive to the police station was a blur, his thoughts consumed by what he would say, how Cersei would react, and whether she would reveal anything useful about the Golden Apple's sale.Upon arrival, he was led to a small, sterile interview room where Cersei was already waiting, cuffed and looking defiant despite her circumstances. The sight of her stirred a complex whirlwind of emotions within Darien—ang

63After a refreshing shower that washed away the grime of the day, Darien strolled into his bedroom, a towel draped lazily around his waist. The cool evening air brushed against his damp skin, causing goosebumps to ripple across his arms. He noticed the blinking notification light - two missed calls and a voicemail. A surge of curiosity propelled him to check the number, recognizing it as Amelia's. His heart skipped a beat, a mix of curiosity and anger. He pressed play out of curiosity.Meanwhile, Amelia, after her defiant stand against her parents, found a quiet corner away from the prying eyes and ears of the household. She had to reach Darien, to somehow bridge the gap her parents' folly had widened. With a deep breath, she dialed his number, her heart pounding against her chest as each ring went unanswered. The cold, impersonal tone of the voicemail greeted her instead, and with a shaky exhale, she began to speak."Sir French, it's Amelia Fairchild. I... I know you have no rea

65A well-dressed woman at a nearby table whispered loudly enough for them to hear, "Look at their clothes. This isn't a place for them."A man at the bar, sipping a glass of expensive wine, eyed them disdainfully before commenting to his companion, "It seems they've opened the doors to anyone these days. Where's the exclusivity?"His companion, a woman adorned with pearls, laughed lightly, her gaze piercing. "Indeed. Perhaps they lost their way to the diner down the street."Feeling the weight of their stares, the girl squeezed Darien's hand tighter, her initial excitement dimming in the face of such open disdain.Darien's grip on the girl's hand tightened slightly. He could feel her shrink beside him, her initial excitement dimming under the scrutiny.He leaned down, whispering, "Ignore them. You're worth more than their words."She looked up at him, her brave smile returning. "Okay, Darien."They were approached by a waiter, his eyes briefly flickering with surprise before he regai

67"Really, Darien, you never cease to amuse," Marcela taunted, leaning back in her chair, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards in a smirk.Darien, his patience fraying at the edges, couldn't help but roll his eyes. This woman, Marcela, exuding malice and enjoying every second of his discomfort, was the same one he had helped countless times before. He had supported her daughter, Cersei, both financially and emotionally, investing in her business when no one else would. And just three weeks ago, he had been there for Marcela and her son at the mayor's gala, saving their lives. Yet, here she was, repaying his kindness with venom."Marcela, your short memory astounds me," he retorted, his voice laced with barely-contained irritation. "Wasn't it I who lent you the money to start your daughter' precious business?"Marcela's smirk faltered for a moment, a flash of annoyance crossing her features. "And let's not forget the night I saved you and your son at the Mayor' gala. But pleas

69Darien straightened, meeting the man's stare evenly. "My name is Darien French. As for how I entered, let's just say your men proved...ineffectual." A flicker of irritation crossed the man's face at the jab against his guards. But he said nothing, waiting for Darien to continue. "I'm here because I need something you possess. A rare herb called Valeriana," Darien explained, keeping his tone respectful yet firm. The man arched a brow, clearly not used to strangers barging in and making demands. A tense silence stretched between them as he considered Darien's words.Finally, he spoke. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. Not many would confront me so boldly." A cold smile curled his lips. "But you'll have to do better than that if you want my cooperation." The mercenary leader stared down at Darien, his face a mask of incredulity and rising anger. "You beat my men?" he growled, disbelief painting his tone. "How dare you come into my home and lay your hands on my crew?"Darien me