Chapter 5
1778words
Enemy attack!
Dozens of dark figures leaped over the electric fence like specters, carrying the brutal signature of the Red Scorpion Gang from the South.
The lead assassin kicked open Damian's bedroom door, finding it empty.
"Search!"
"Damian's still wounded—today he dies!"
The cold order issued, elite assassins quickly dispersed.
The study door burst open violently.
Damian stood before the bookshelf, coldly eyeing the intruders.
Aurora, hearing the commotion, ran worriedly from her room just in time to witness the scene.
"Damian!"
She cried out in alarm.
The lead assassin's cruel smile revealed his true target wasn't Damian.
"Perfect—kill the godfather, then we'll have some fun with his 'fiancée'."
Before finishing his sentence, he became a blur, his combat knife slicing through air directly toward Aurora.
Damian's pupils contracted sharply; with his injuries, even at full sprint he couldn't reach Aurora in time.
"No!"
Damian's roar and Aurora's scream rang out simultaneously.
However, the assassin's target was never her.
He feinted, bypassing Aurora to strike at Damian, who had exposed his weakness while trying to protect her.
The blade carved a deep gash across his chest, nearly to the bone.
Blood instantly soaked his clothes.
"Die!"
Another assassin attacked from the side.
Damian was caught between enemies, about to be struck.
At this critical moment, Aurora—who had been protected by Damian all along—did something unexpected.
She grabbed the heavy brass inkwell from the table and smashed it with all her strength against the temple of the side-attacking assassin.
*Crack!*
The assassin crumpled to the floor.
This sudden turn bought Damian a precious fraction of a second.
A savage red light flashed in his eyes—not PTSD's loss of control, but pure, primal rage.
He was no longer a wounded beast but a dragon whose scales had been touched.
He moved.
His speed was extreme, leaving only a trail of dark lightning.
*Splat!*
The first charging assassin had his throat crushed by bare hands, blood spraying forth.
Without pausing, his towering figure carried unparalleled force as he charged into the enemy group.
Fists whistled through air, shattering bones.
Leg strikes flickered, claiming lives.
This was a one-sided massacre.
The fierce need to protect what was precious unleashed power beyond his peak.
In mere moments, dozens of elite assassins lay dead, none left breathing.
The thick smell of blood saturated the study.
Damian shook blood from his hands and slowly turned.
Those wild, bloodthirsty eyes now reflected only the small figure clutching an inkwell, trembling with fear yet stubbornly standing her ground.
He walked step by step toward Aurora, who stood terrified, and stopped before her.
His tall figure cast an enormous shadow, completely enveloping her.
He lowered his proud head and, face still stained with enemy blood, brushed his cheek against hers with utmost tenderness.
The thick scent of blood had nearly solidified, his shoes leaving wet marks on the blood-soaked carpet.
Aurora remained frozen, her body shaking uncontrollably, terrified by the hellish scene.
Damian stepped forward, his foot making a slight sound on sticky flesh and blood.
He reached out, blood drops still hanging from his fingertips, but suddenly stopped mid-air.
He feared frightening her.
He turned and pulled a relatively intact black robe from the bullet-riddled wardrobe, draping it over himself.
"Morpheus."
His voice was deep and hoarse, still carrying traces of killing intent.
A dark shadow appeared silently at the doorway—Morpheus, his most trusted lieutenant.
"Boss."
His gaze moved from the dismembered corpses to the unharmed Aurora, understanding flashing across his face.
"Clean this up. Thoroughly."
Damian's order was brief and cold.
He walked straight over, ignoring his subordinate, and bent to lift the still-trembling Aurora.
Her body felt light and soft in his arms, like a feather that might float away at any moment.
He carried her from the blood-soaked study without looking back.
The next day, in a secluded hall at the estate's far end, flames burned quietly in the fireplace.
Morpheus stood respectfully before the desk, holding a freshly delivered encrypted document.
Damian sat in a large armchair, his expression indecipherable. Though he'd changed into clean clothes, they couldn't conceal the murderous aura of a man who'd walked out of hell.
"Speak."
"Boss, Seraphina Monroe has indeed escaped, as you suspected."
Morpheus's voice was barely audible.
"She's in a southern coastal city, squandering funds she took from her family."
Damian's fingers tightened on the armrest, making the expensive redwood groan under the pressure.
"Then who is she."
His voice was terrifyingly calm.
Morpheus took a deep breath and revealed the shocking truth.
"Her name is Aurora Bell—Seraphina's sister who's been missing for twenty years. She's the daughter of Mr. Monroe's first wife."
"After her mother died, the current Mrs. Monroe—her stepmother—saw her as a threat. Twenty years ago, she convinced Mr. Monroe the girl was 'too introverted and mediocre for the family's future'."
Damian's jawline tensed instantly.
Morpheus paused, then continued, his voice revealing contempt.
"The stepmother bribed a doctor to fake Miss Aurora's 'accidental death' and personally arranged to abandon the five-year-old girl at an orphanage outside the city."
The air in the room seemed to vanish.
Damian's question cut like an ice-coated blade: "Did Monroe... know?"
"He was fully aware throughout." Morpheus's voice carried no emotion.
Deathly silence.
This truth was more absurd and cold-blooded than any lie.
A father could be this cold toward his own flesh and blood. While that girl—that "useless" abandoned child in their eyes—had just saved his life with clumsy bravery.
Overwhelming murderous intent intertwined with unprecedented heartache rose frantically from the depths of Damian's soul.
He needed to see her—immediately.
He strode down the long corridor, his mind filled with images of Aurora's stubborn yet fragile face.
He found her in the garden behind the manor.
She'd changed into a clean white dress and sat alone on a stone bench, her small figure looking particularly lonely.
Hearing footsteps, she looked up, her clear eyes still carrying traces of fear yet mixed with a dependence she herself hadn't noticed.
Damian's Adam's apple bobbed as he prepared to reveal everything.
"Damian!"
A clear, arrogant female voice shattered the courtyard's tranquility.
Footsteps approached—high-heeled leather boots striking stone pavement with aggressive clicks. A woman sauntered in with a swaying gait, dressed in fire-red leather that accentuated her curves. Her face bore striking resemblance to Aurora's, yet her demeanor couldn't have been more different.
If Aurora was a clear mountain spring, this woman was a raging inferno.
She was Seraphina Monroe, who had fled her wedding.
Seraphina's gaze swept over Damian, noting he was unharmed, smugness flashing in her eyes at her successful scheme.
Then her gaze fell on the white-dressed figure on the stone bench.
A contemptuous, cruel smile spread across her lips.
She walked straight to Aurora, looking down at her as if examining a worn-out tool.
"Miss Bell."
Those two words dripped venom.
Aurora's body stiffened as she slowly raised her head.
"You've completed your task admirably," Seraphina's voice wasn't loud but carried clearly. "Now take your money and get out."
Aurora's face instantly drained of all color.
Seraphina's words struck like an invisible slap. The bodyguards who'd approached after hearing the commotion watched the absurd scene with shocked expressions.
Seraphina, satisfied with the effect, turned gracefully toward Damian, her voice instantly adopting a sweet, wounded tone.
"Darling, please forgive this little arrangement my family made."
She stepped closer to Damian, speaking familiarly. "I had some personal matters that made it impossible for me to come earlier. But I worried about you having no one to care for you, so I found this nobody to temporarily take my place."
She glanced contemptuously at Aurora, her voice dripping condescension.
"Being allowed to care for you in my place is probably the greatest honor of her pathetic life."
"Now that I've returned, this substitute naturally has no reason to remain."
The word "substitute" pierced Aurora's heart like an ice-coated dagger.
Humiliation, embarrassment, heartbreak—all emotions overwhelmed her at once. She sat frozen, strength drained from her body, unable to even move her fingers.
Throughout the courtyard, only Seraphina's voice echoed.
Damian hadn't spoken a single word.
He stood quietly, those once-stormy black eyes now terrifyingly calm. He watched Seraphina's self-absorbed performance without expression, as if observing an irrelevant clown.
It was the cold scrutiny of an apex predator.
Seraphina felt uneasy under his gaze but quickly attributed it to the natural pressure exuded by someone powerful. She thrust out her chest, attempting to display her charms.
"Damian?" she called tentatively.
Damian finally moved.
He didn't look at Seraphina but strode directly to Aurora.
His tall figure instantly shielded her from the cold sunlight and prying eyes.
Aurora trembled, not daring to look up.
A warm, large hand gently fell on her head with reassuring pressure, ruffling her hair.
This action caused Seraphina's smile to freeze instantly.
It also made the surrounding bodyguards collectively draw in sharp breaths.
"Damian..." Seraphina's voice trembled slightly as she attempted to regain control.
Damian slowly turned, and when those black eyes swept toward her, Seraphina felt an unprecedented chill. Not anger, but something more terrifying—indifference.
"Apologize."
The word escaped his thin lips with such calmness it carried no inflection whatsoever.
Seraphina was stunned. "What?"
"Kneel and apologize to her." Damian repeated, his voice still calm, but the surrounding air seemed to solidify.
Several bodyguards quietly retreated, sensing the dangerous aura emanating from their boss.
Seraphina's face flushed crimson. She was the Monroe Family heiress, a high-society socialite—how could she possibly apologize to a lowly substitute, much less kneel?
"Damian, you're joking, right?" She forced a smile. "I'm just stating facts. She was always just a substitute. Now that I'm back, shouldn't she leave?"
Aurora sat rigid as a sculpture on the stone bench.
Yes, she was just a substitute. She should leave, despite the feelings she'd developed for this man.
She slowly stood, preparing to depart silently.
"Sit down," Damian said without turning.
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried an authority that couldn't be challenged.
Seraphina, noticing Damian's attention remained fixed on Aurora, felt her jealousy and anger finally boil over.
"Damian Frost!" She spat his full name, "You're crossing a line! I am your fiancée, the heir to the Monroe Family! You expect me to apologize to this... this nobody?"
The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them.
Damian turned slowly, and for the first time, his dark eyes revealed an emotion—murderous intent.
Raw, undisguised killing intent.
Seraphina's face drained of color as she remembered the reputation of the 'King of the North District' and what happened to those who crossed him.
