Chapter 316: Chapter 316: The work of a daughter (2)
Odin’s eyes didn’t flicker, but for a heartbeat something unreadable crossed his face. Then the easy warmth returned, his pale gaze steady on hers.
"She’s close," he said again, voice low and smooth. "Safe. With me. But the world thinks she’s gone, and for now that’s how it has to stay. Bringing her here after the trial, after the accusations, would make everything you want harder to reach."
Ophelia’s heart kicked against her ribs. She had heard her mother’s voice once, a brief, tinny call Odin had arranged. Just enough to prove Misty was alive. But the sound of it had stayed with her: hollow, flattened, the same tone Lucas had used before Serathine dragged him out of that house and into a new life. Not the bright, scheming voice she’d grown up with, but something dulled at the edges.
"She didn’t sound like herself," Ophelia said quietly. "She sounded... empty."
Odin’s expression didn’t change. "She’s been through prison. Interrogations. Isolation. Even the Emperor’s men left marks you can’t see. It will take time for her to come back to herself. I’m protecting her until she does."
Ophelia’s fingers tightened around her phone. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that the mother who had promised her a future was just behind a door, waiting. But some part of her remembered that hollow voice and wondered what had been taken out of it.
He leaned forward slightly, the faintest smile at the corner of his mouth. "You’re doing exactly what you should, Ophelia. Focus on your studies, your posture, and your contacts. Let me handle your mother. When she’s strong enough, you’ll see her again. Until then, every step you take brings you closer to the position you deserve."
Her chin lifted automatically, the way she had practiced, but under the polished smile her pulse fluttered. He was telling her everything she wanted to hear, and yet that thin, empty voice still echoed in the back of her mind.
"Lucas will have his official presentation; as much as the Grand Duke wants, there will be gaps in security. Let’s reach Lucas and show him his place," Odin said, reaching for the menu with the same easy grace he’d shown crossing the lobby. It was as if they were discussing entrées instead of her brother’s future.
Ophelia’s fingers tightened around her phone. "Exactly," she breathed. "They only keep me away because they know if I speak to him, he’ll remember. He always listens to me." She forced a light laugh. "Serathine, the princes, even Trevor, they’ve been trying to destroy my work with him. But one real conversation and he’ll follow me. He always has."
Odin glanced up from the menu, pale eyes glinting, and smiled as though she’d said something clever rather than dangerous. "That loyalty is valuable," he murmured. "And very rare. Don’t underestimate it."
The words sent a little jolt of triumph through her chest. ’He believes me.’ She straightened, imagining Lucas’s green eyes softening when he saw her, the hall whispering as she took back her place at his side.
Across the table Odin tapped the menu once, a small, absent gesture. "Patience, presentation, timing," he said in the same smooth tone. "Everything we’ve been practicing. When the right gap appears, you’ll be ready to step in."
Ophelia nodded, her smile sharpening. "I’m already ready," she said, and for a moment believed it.
—
Windstone was waiting when Trevor came down an hour later, the smell of roasted coffee and gun oil faint in the manor’s lower corridor. He had changed back into his butler’s black suit, cufflinks immaculate, pale-green eyes giving nothing away except the faint crease at his temple where a bead of sweat had dried. Beside him, two of Trevor’s security men held a tall alpha slumped between them, arms zip-tied behind his back. The dark hoodie was half torn, the shoulder soaked through with blood where Windstone’s bullet had gone in. His wound had been treated well enough to keep him alive.
The man still had enough strength to lift his head. His scent was acrid with pain and adrenaline, but he tried for a sneer. "Didn’t think a butler would bite," he muttered.
Windstone’s expression didn’t change. "I told you not to make it ugly," he said mildly, as if correcting table manners.
Trevor stopped a few paces away, hands in his pockets, violet eyes running over the scene the way he read a balance sheet. Lucas was upstairs asleep; everything else was a problem to solve. He inclined his head once at Windstone. "Clean work."
"Thank you, sir." Windstone stepped back with a small, precise bow. "He was alone, clumsy, but his technique... not local. Somebody sent him."
Trevor’s gaze moved to the alpha, who flinched in spite of himself. "You’ve been paid to grab my man," he said softly. "And you came empty-handed. That makes you either very brave or very stupid."
The alpha’s mouth opened, then shut again when Windstone’s hand tightened on his shoulder, a subtle warning. "We’ll see which one when he starts talking," Windstone murmured.
Trevor’s violet eyes narrowed just slightly. "Take him to the basement holding room," he said. "I want him cleaned up enough to stay alive, but not comfortable. And start a quiet trace on his employer. No noise."
Windstone inclined his head. "Already in motion."
As the guards began to haul the man away, Trevor’s phone buzzed once with a notification from upstairs. Lucas was shifting in his sleep, the home sensors told him. He exhaled, rolling his shoulders, and turned toward the stairwell. "Windstone," he said over his shoulder.
"Yes, sir?"
"Good catch."
A faint glimmer of satisfaction crossed the older man’s pale green eyes. "Always a pleasure."
Trevor climbed the stairs two at a time, already shedding the hard edge of his voice. By the time he opened the bedroom door, his steps were quiet again. Lucas had rolled onto his back, one hand stretched toward Trevor’s side of the bed. Trevor eased out of his jacket and sat down carefully, sliding an arm around him.
"Sleep," he whispered into dark hair that smelled faintly of soap and his own scent. "It’s handled."
Downstairs, Windstone closed the door on the cell, straightened his tie, and followed, leaving their "new friend" to contemplate the mistake of underestimating a butler.