chapter 5

Grey’s POV

I leaned toward one of my guards and murmured, “Check her.”

The guard stepped forward and tugged at the collar of her shirt, exposing the smooth line of her collarbone and the upper curve of her chest. My eyes followed the movement without hesitation. If the mark was there, this would end quickly.

It would make everything easier.

The guard examined her carefully, fingers pressing against her skin, searching for the symbol I knew too well. After a moment, he straightened and looked at me.

He shook his head.

“No mark.”

No mark?

Silence settled over me.

I didn’t react immediately. I simply studied her.

If there is one thing I am certain of, it is the mark. Every one of Frederick’s children carries it — a bold ‘F’ branded into their skin at birth. A permanent declaration of ownership. Of legacy. A narcissist’s signature.

Frederick was many things. Subtle was not one of them.

No mark meant no blood.

And yet…

I stepped forward, my boots grinding against the gravel as I closed the distance between us. The others recoiled instinctively, shrinking away as if proximity to me might infect them.

She didn’t move.

She stood her ground.

Up close, she was even more striking. The pale smoothness of her skin. The faint rise and fall of her breathing. The sharp clarity of those green eyes watching me without flinching.

“What’s your name?” I asked, my voice low, controlled.

There was the slightest pause — barely noticeable.

“Leah.”

Leah. That didn’t ring any bell.

The name meant nothing. But names are easy to change. Identities are not.

I stepped closer still, invading her space deliberately. I searched her face for recognition — fear, hatred, anything that suggested she knew exactly who I was.

Her composure held.

Impressive.

“You’re not afraid of me,” I said quietly. Not a question. An observation.

Her lips pressed together, but she remained silent.

I leaned down just enough so only she could hear me.

“It almost feels like you’re challenging me.”

For a fraction of a second, something flickered in her eyes.

There.

Fear.

Quickly buried.

So she could feel it.

She just refused to show it.

A faint smile curved at the corner of my mouth as I watched her struggle to suppress what she thought I couldn’t see.

Interesting.

I straightened and turned toward the guard.

“Take them all to their rooms.”

He nodded and began ushering the group inside.

I walked away without looking back.

No matter where Frederick’s remaining blood has scattered, I will find it. I will trace it. And I will end it. As long as they breathe, they are unfinished business.

And I do not leave things unfinished.

Claire’s POV

I didn’t breathe properly until I was out of his sight.

The moment the guards began ushering us inside, my legs nearly gave out beneath me. My hands were trembling so badly I had to curl my fingers into my palms to hide it. Standing in front of him had felt like standing in front of something inhuman — not just dangerous, but cold in a way that stripped warmth from the air.

He had looked exactly the same as he did the night he killed my father.

Calm.

Unbothered.

Beautiful in a way that felt wrong for a man capable of so much bloodshed.

And when he leaned close to me, when his voice dropped low enough that only I could hear him, I had wanted nothing more than to drive a blade straight through his throat.

I should have been shaking.

Instead, I stared back.

If I showed fear, I would be dead.

“This will be your room henceforth,” the maid said, pulling me from my thoughts as she led me down a long corridor.

I stepped inside the small room at the very end. It wasn’t large, but it was meticulously arranged. The furniture looked new — untouched, almost staged. A neatly made bed. A television mounted across from it. A compact desk with a computer positioned at the far wall.

Too prepared.

Too intentional.

I walked toward the computer and pressed the start button. The screen flickered to life.

How do I know this isn’t being monitored?

Who would expect a murderer to be this generous?

“This door leads to the bathroom,” the maid added, pushing another door open to reveal a spotless interior.

I nodded slowly, scanning every corner of the room.

“Do you have any questions?” she asked, noticing my scrutiny.

“Can I change my room?” I asked.

Something about this one felt wrong. My instincts have never failed me.

“Why? All the rooms are the same. They were assigned specifically to everyone,” she replied.

Assigned.

The word settled heavily in my chest.

If the rooms were assigned individually, then they knew exactly who was placed where. Which means there is a reason I am in this room.

Which means there is a possibility we are being watched.

Grey wasn’t convinced.

I could see it in his eyes.

He may not have found the mark, but that doesn’t mean I’m safe. Unlike my brothers, I was never branded the mark at all. Father said it was unnecessary. I grew up treated like an outsider even within my own family.

I never knew a day like this would come when i would for once in my life, appreciate not having the mark life my brothers.

“Thank you,” I muttered quietly.

The maid offered a brief smile.

“You can come down to the dining hall for dinner,” she said. I nodded, forcing one in return.

She turned to leave, then paused as if remembering something important.

“By the way,” she began carefully, lowering her voice, “I know I’m just a maid here, but I’ll give you this advice for free. If you want to survive here, drop the attitude — especially around Grey.”

I said nothing.

“Don’t look him directly in the eyes. He hates it. And trust me, you don’t want to be on his bad side. Do what you’re told. Don’t argue. He despises over confident people.” She hesitated. “And be careful who you call a friend. There are no genuine allies here. If there’s something about yourself you don’t want exposed, keep it to yourself. Understand?”

I nodded.

She left before I could ask anything else, the door closing softly behind her.

Do what you’re told?

Did he bring us here to work for him?

Of course he did.

This room, the food, the protection — none of it comes without a price. For a brief second, I almost wondered if guilt had pushed him into offering shelter.

That was foolish.

Grey doesn’t feel guilt.

Whether he profits from drugs, weapons, or blood, it doesn’t matter. None of these changes what he did.

And none of it will stop me.

I have to kill him.

If I don’t, he will eventually discover who I am. It’s only a matter of time before someone recognizes me. or he decides to do an intense background check since it looks like he already has his eyes on me anyways.

When that happens, I won’t survive it.

This is no longer about grief.

It’s strategy.

Either I eliminate him first—

Or I die.

This has become a game.

And whoever moves first wins.