The Soul-Bound One

(Damian POV)

Marco slipped into my office just before ten, carrying a folder under his arm and looking like he knew he was about to ruin my night. Typical. He set the folder on my desk and said, “You wanted this fast. It’s fast. It’s not complete.”

I didn’t bother looking at him yet just kept my eyes on the city lights through the window. “Tell me.”

“Leon De Luca. Twenty-four. Second son of Alessandro De Luca.” Marco flipped open the folder and pushed a few photos toward me. Leon at some family event, not smiling. Then him walking next to a man I didn’t recognize, his hand tucked into the guy’s arm. “He’s engaged. Has been for two years. Wedding’s been postponed twice, but my contact says the De Lucas won’t delay again this time. Spring. It’s happening.”

My jaw tightened, even though I tried not to let it show. “Engaged to who?”

“Adrian Castellano. Castellano shipping empire’s heir.” Marco hesitated, and I could tell he was watching me for a reaction. “There’s something else. This one’s from an old contact—used to do security for the De Luca estate. Didn’t say much, but he mentioned Leon’s got a nickname in the family. ‘The soul-bound one.’ Whatever that’s supposed to mean. Nobody would explain it.”

Something inside me went cold and oddly still, like I’d stopped in my own tracks.

“Get me Sharmayne,” I said. “Tonight. I don’t care what she charges, just get her here.”

Sharmayne came in just after midnight. She looked old and sharp-eyed, relaxed in a way only people who’ve outlived powerful men can be. She’d advised my family since before I was born, in matters modern doctors couldn’t touch. She settled in across from me without waiting for an invitation.

“Sit down,” she said. “Pacing isn’t going to help.”

I sat. Barely.

“Tell me what happened," she said. "All of it. Don’t skip the parts that embarrass you."

So I did. I told her about that heat that slammed into me out of nowhere. My aura... the one that usually makes everyone go still hadn’t fazed the omega in front of me at all. I told her about the mark I left, something I hadn’t intended, done in a flash I can’t explain. How, three days later, I could still catch a trace of the boy’s scent up here on the thirtieth floor in a sealed office, which shouldn’t happen. Not for me. Not for anyone I know.

Sharmayne didn’t interrupt, just listened. When I finished, she went quiet, weighing every word. She stilled, like she was working out a math problem she didn’t want an answer to.

“Sharmayne.”

“Give me a moment.” She stared into the middle of the empty room. Her fingers locked together in her lap.

“You’re scaring me,” I said, aiming for a joke. It didn’t land.

“Good.” Her voice dropped. “You should be scared.”

That hit harder than I expected. I leaned forward on the desk. “What is it? What the hell did I do?”

“I’ve read about something like this.” She sounded almost wary nothing like I’d ever heard from her. “Once. A long time ago. In old texts my own teacher told me not to take seriously.”

“What kind of texts?”

“Old ones.” She shook her head, like she was trying to rid the thought from her mind instead of sharing it with me. “Nothing modern. Stories old women told younger women because science had no explanation.”

“Tell me anyway.”

She looked at me, and for the first time since I’d known her, I saw something I couldn’t read. Not fear. Caution. Like she was weighing how much truth I could handle before it changed everything.

“No,” she said.

My jaw clenched. “No?”

“I’m not ready to say it’s real.” She got up, already moving for the door. “I need to look into things I haven’t touched in thirty years. If I say it out loud and I’m wrong, it’s reckless. If I’m right, it’s dangerous.”

“Sharmayne.” My voice came out too sharp. “You can’t just walk out after that.”

She barely turned to look at me, voice softening just a fraction. Pity, maybe. “Watch the mark, Damian. Don’t ignore it like an ordinary one. And dig into the boy’s family all the way back. Not because I know what’s going on. Because I’m afraid I might.”

She left, and I just sat there in the after-hours gloom. City noise drifted in through the glass, but it barely registered. I just kept hearing her words, over and over.

Find out how far back his line goes.

I didn’t know what I was really searching for, not yet. But deep down, the part of me that froze when Marco said the name De Luca I knew. Whatever Sharmayne was scared to say, it mattered a hell of a lot more than anything Marco’s folder had covered.

And somewhere across the city, Leon was still holed up in that private hospital room. He’d put the mirror face down on the table; he couldn’t stand to look at the mark anymore.

Dr. Whitmore’s words kept circling his mind, never helpful: The bond’s still active. That shouldn’t be possible.

He didn’t have Sharmayne’s old stories. No thirty years of secret knowledge. Just a mark that only burned brighter with time, and my name my name he’d sworn never to let in again rising up in him anyway, like it had no intention of being forgotten.