Chapter 4 - The Sovereign’s Court
The truth landed with the weight of a physical blow.
Mireia sank into the chair Darius had pulled out for her, staring at her grandmother's signature on the old deed copy. Six years. Six years of feeling like she was never quite thin enough, never quite pretty enough, never quite charming enough for Caleb Wren. Six years of him subtlely chipping away at her self-esteem until she believed she was lucky he stayed.
And all of it was a calculated layover until he could take her land and discard her.
"I was so blind," Mireia whispered, her hands shaking as she pulled her grandmother's onyx ring tighter against her skin. "I thought... I thought I was the problem."
Darius crouched down beside her chair.
For a man who commanded thousands of soldiers in the city's shadows, who made politicians tremble with a phone call, his posture beside her was entirely devoid of dominance. He rested one hand on the edge of her table, his dark eyes level with hers.
"Listen to me," Darius said, his voice low, steady, and iron-hard. "You were not blind. You were loyal. You believed in the integrity of a man who possessed none. That is not your failure, Mireia. It is his."
"He made me feel small," she admitted, a single tear finally breaking free and slipping down her cheek. "Every single day."
Darius reached out. His gloved thumb gently caught the tear, brushing it away before it could fall. The leather was soft, warm from his skin.
"No one will ever make you feel small again," Darius promised softly. "Not while I draw breath."
A sudden commotion flared in the hallway outside her apartment door.
"Get your hands off me!" Caleb’s voice shouted from the corridor, sounding shrill and desperate. "Mireia! Mireia, open this door! I know you're in there! I know what he's doing to my accounts!"
Mireia turned her head toward the foyer, her pulse spiking with reflex anxiety.
Darius stood up smoothly. The gentle warmth in his posture vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, predatory stillness that made the temperature in the small apartment drop ten degrees.
"Stay here," Darius said quietly.
"Darius, wait," Mireia said, reaching out, her fingers catching the cuff of his sleeve. "Don't... don't kill him in my hallway."
Darius looked down at her hand on his cuff. A faint, almost imperceptible tilt appeared at the corner of his mouth.
"I won't kill him in your hallway, Mireia," Darius said gently. "The carpet is much too clean."
He walked to the front door and pulled it wide open.
Caleb was being held against the opposite wall by two of Darius’s guards. His suit was wrinkled, his hair disheveled, and his eyes wild with terror. When he saw Darius step out, he tried to pull away from the guards' grip.
"Villano!" Caleb yelled. "You can't do this! You're destroying my life over a family drama! She threw the ring at me!"
Darius stepped out into the corridor, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe.
"You are confused, Caleb," Darius said smoothly, his voice carrying down the echoing hallway. "You think your life is falling apart because Mireia threw your ring."
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Darius raised his hand, pointing his thumb toward Mireia, who now stood in the doorway behind him, her chin held high, her eyes clear and unyielding.
"Your life is falling apart," Darius declared, "because you put your hands on the Sovereign of the Vance family. And now, you owe a debt to the house of Villano."
