When morning came, the bleak dawn light offered no comfort inside the Count’s manor.

William pushed his hair back in a fit of restless frustration as he received yet another cold, disappointed response from his father.

"We need to find a way to help Mirabel and her family," he insisted, stepping closer to the heavy mahogany desk. "They’re in serious trouble. Surely there’s something we can do. Some connections we can use. What if we sought Duke Lucian’s assistance? You two have become acquaintances, right?"

"No."

The Count’s refusal was immediate. He didn’t even bother to lift his gaze from the mountain of paperwork spread across the desk.

"You need to decide where you stand, William. Two days ago, you were hollering because the woman you claimed was madly in love with you no longer needed you. Now you’re here, fretting over Mirabel and her family. Give yourself some peace. They’re not the only women in the entirety of the four kingdoms."

He exhaled heavily and finally looked up. "If the Marquis decides to pursue the matter to court, the Viremonts are finished. You have already caused enough trouble by involving yourself with that family, William. They’re far beneath us. Do not add to my burdens. Leave that family alone and don’t bother me."

William bit the inside of his cheek, the crushing weight of his own pathetic helplessness sinking in. His precious Mirabel was facing strict interrogation, while Penelope was probably having the time of her life in her new married life. The irony of it all felt like a slap to his face.

But what William didn’t realize, however, was that his father’s dismissive anger ran far deeper than mere frustration over a failed social climbing scheme.

The Count had troubles of his own.

He had been so entirely enraged by the public humiliation the Marquis had caused his family that, in a fit of blind pride, he had done something incredibly reckless as well.

A sudden, urgent knock on the door disrupted the tense conversation between father and son.

When the door swung open, it was the Count Chief’s aide that rushed into the study, his face completely drained of color as he lowered his head in a trembling bow.

"Forgive my intrusion, Your Grace," he stammered, his voice strained with barely concealed panic. "But we have a severe problem. The Marquis and his men have arrived and are presently waiting in the foyer, demanding an audience."

Upon hearing that the Marquis was here, inside their own home, both father and son went completely still.

"The Marquis... is here?" William murmured, unable to hide his disbelief.

What did the bastard want now?

He suddenly remembered the dark, venomous warning Vincent had leveled at him before departing the estate the previous day. At that time, William had genuinely thought the ruthless man was only trying to get under his skin, an attempt to unsettle him.

He had never imagined the man would actually appear at their doorstep.

A knot formed in his stomach.

Was he here to torment him, and using seeing his father as an excuse?

"We do not wish to see him," William uttered to the chief aide, his voice hardening with defensive pride. "Go, and inform the Marquis that we have no business with him. If he wishes to request an audience, he ought to do so properly and notify the household beforehand."

The chief aide looked at William, freezing in place and completely hesitating to deliver such a message. He was utterly uncertain whether he had heard those words correctly.

Tell the Marquis to leave and schedule an appointment?

Had the Count’s son completely lost his mind?

The Marquis was not a man who required permission to go where he pleased. Official invitations and formal notices were courtesies he extended at his own discretion, not obligation he was bound to observe.

But then again, the fact that he had arrived entirely unannounced spoke volumes. It was a clear demonstration of just how little regard he held for the Count and his household.

"No."

The Count rose heavily from his chair.

"That would only make matters worse. If we provoke him, we will be the ones forced to bear the consequences."

Straightening his coat, he cast a grim look toward the door.

"I will see for myself what he wants."

William opened his mouth to refute his father, but the older man was already stepping away from the grand desk. The Count strode from his study, his trembling aide hurrying after him, while William’s remained rooted in place.

A growing sense of unease settled in the pit of his stomach.

Down at the foyer, a tense, suffocating silence gripped the entrance hall

The Countess was standing off to one side, her posture rigid as she watched the Marquis from a careful distance.

Determined to avoid any future accusations of disrespect, she had personally ordered the servants to bring a high-backed chair directly into the foyer. As a result, Vincent now sat comfortably in the center of the hall, one leg crossed over the other,looking entirely unbothered by the unconventional arrangement.

If anything, he appeared perfectly at home.

When the Count finally showed up, descending the grand staircase with a tight, strained expression, he immediately offered a low, careful bow to the seated Marquis. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

"Your Lordship," the Count greeted, forcing his voice to remain steady.

Vincent looked up, his sharp, dark gray eyes coldly assessing the middle-aged man who was bowing before him.

"I have to admit, the hospitality here leaves much to be desired," Vincent remarked, his deep baritone cutting through the quiet foyer with unsettling ease. "You kept me waiting, for starters, and your wife has been standing at the corner glaring at me as if she is contemplating treason."

The Countess instantly stiffened and lowered her gaze to the floor, her heart hammering against her ribs. Since his arrival, the Marquis had not turned his head toward her even once. Not once had he acknowledged her presence.

Yet he had noticed every single glare.

He had been paying attention to far more than anyone in the foyer had realized.

"My apologies, Your Lordship," the Count forced the words past dry lips as he kept his head lowered, hoping to conceal the sweat gathering on his brows. "But had I known you intended to visit, I would have ensured my household provided much better services."

"Is that so?"

Vincent rose to his feet at last.

His towering frame cast a long shadow across the foyer, immediately dwarfing the older nobleman.

The Count instinctively took a step back, his heart pounding against his ribs.

Vincent casually extended a hand to the side without a word, and, already anticipating the gesture, Elias stepped forward and carefully placed a heavy, sheathed sword into his master’s waiting grip.

The foyer fell deathly silent, and the Count’s blood turned to ice. Without breaking eye contact, Vincent slowly drew the weapon.

A sharp, metallic shhhk echoed ominously through the cavernous foyer.

"Tell me," Vincent said, his tone dangerously conversational as he ran a gloved finger along the flat of the pristine blade. "Are you aware of the reason behind my visit? Your response will determine what comes next."

The Count felt his stomach drop.

"I do not know what you—"

The Count’s words choked in his throat as the cold, lethal edge of the blade flashed forward, only to rest against the side of his neck. The sudden, terrifying pressure of the steel instantly brought the Count to his knees, his knees cracking loudly against the marble floor.

A strangled gasp escaped the Countess, but no one dared to intervene.

No one spoke.

Vincent took a single step forward.

"I am giving you one final opportunity," he said quietly, the soft words sounding far more menacing as his eyes narrowed. "Are you aware of the reason behind my visit? It should not be that hard to guess. I have a blade to your neck for a reason."

The blade pressed ever so slightly against the Count’s skin.

"So choose your next words carefully."

The Count swallowed hard, the sharp edge of the sword biting a fraction deeper into his skin at the movement.

Everything within the foyer had come to an absolute, breathless standstill. The servants held their breath, terrified to even blink.

Panicking at the sight of her husband on his knees, the Countess took a frantic step forward, intending to cry out and intervene. But before she could utter a single word, Elias shifted his gaze to her, his own hand resting casually on the hilt of his weapon. That one cold, unyielding look pinned her in place, freezing the air in her lungs and forcing her to remain silent.

Meanwhile, the Count’s frantic gaze shifted sideways to the sharp blade resting against his neck. When he opened his mouth to utter a response, Vincent already sensed he was about to lie, so he proceeded without warning.

He lifted the blade a mere fraction and, with a swift, blindingly precise flick of his wrist, sliced off the Count’s left ear.

"NO– AHHHHH!!!"

The Count’s piercing, agonizing scream instantly filled the air, echoing violently off the high marble walls of the foyer. Blood began to splatter onto the polished floor as the older man collapsed further into himself, clutching the side of his head in absolute shock and agony.

Panic erupted throughout the foyer altogether. Several servants recoiled in horror, while others immediately lowered their heads, terrified of witnessing any more.

"That," Vincent said calmly, his voice completely leveled and unbothered as he flicked the blood off the tip of his blade with practiced precision, "was merely a warning for attempting to lie and waste my precious time. What’s the need for ears if you can’t make proper use of it, hm?"

Looking down at the trembling nobleman, he showed not the slightest trace of sympathy.

"Before you entertain the notion of reporting today’s event to the crown," Vincent continued, "you should first prepare an explanation for His Majesty as to why armed zealots were discovered attempting to infiltrate my estate. As well as the illegal purchase of black powder tied to your name. Care to explain yourself, or do you need me to get rid of the other ear?"