Chapter 63

Broken vows.

The silence between us stretched like a blade.

Damian stood near the massive windows of the Cross estate, the storm beyond casting jagged lightning across his face. He didn’t look back. Didn’t speak. The glass of whiskey in his hand remained untouched.

I leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed, heart pounding beneath my ribs.

We haven’t spoken to each other since Cilax was dragged out bleeding from the throne room.

We haven’t spoken since Damian had nearly killed him for me.

I spoke first. “You killed for me.”

He turned slowly, eyes hard. “I killed for the syndicate.”

I scoffed, stepping toward him. “Don’t lie to me.”

His voice dropped, cold and cruel. “You think too highly of your place in this kingdom, Claire.”

My name in his mouth sounded ash.

“Don’t,” I whispered. “Don’t treat me just like another pawn.”

“You’re a pawn,” Damian snapped. “This marriage, this alliance, it was built on lies. And now it’s crumbling.”

“Then why didn’t you end it the moment Eva escaped?”

He stared at me, jaw clenching.

“Because I made a vow,” he said finally, his voice low. “And for a moment, I believed you did too.”

I stepped closer. “You think I wanted this? That I asked to be pulled into your world, your war. Your darkness?”

“No,” he said bitterly. “You asked for revenge. And you used me to get it.”

My eyes flared. “And you used me to control the Castillo legacy.”

The words struck like a slap.

Silence again.

Damian turned his back on me, fingers tightening against the glass. “You want the truth?” He asked. “Fine. I married you because it was strategic. I needed the syndicate united. I needed a Castillo heir to tie up the loose end.”

“And I was just convenient?”

“You were fire,” he said, voice hoarse. “And I thought I could control it.”

I stepped behind him, hand trembling as it reached his back. “You can’t control fire,” I said softly. “You either let it burn or learn to burn with it.”

Damian’s shoulders rose with his breath, but he didn’t turn.

And I didn’t touch him. Not this time.

The next morning, the syndicate was quiet, bruised from Cilax’s failed coup. But peace never lasted.

Rourke approached me in the war room, throwing a folder marked with the seal of the red circle.

“A shipment was intercepted last night,” he said. “One of ours.”

I flipped it open. Drugs. Weapons. Children. I closed it slowly.

“Eva.”

Rourke nodded. “She’s building something. Quietly off grid.”

“We let her walk out of the greenhouse,” I muttered.

Rourke sighed. “You didn’t see her face. The scars. She’s no longer your sister. She’s a ghost with a God complex.”

My voice hardened. “Then it’s time we start hunting ghosts.”

That night, I stood outside the east wing, staring at the door to the vault. My mother’s vault.

It had been sealed for years. Hidden even from the syndicate. But now, I needed whatever secrets it held.

I pressed my thumb on the scanner. The lock hissed open.

Inside, dust coated everything. But on the desk was a single item. A silver locket. My mother’s. Inside it, a picture of me and Eva. Barely five. Smiling.

A note tucked inside.

“If you ever find this, I’m sorry. I chose one of you. I prayed she’d be strong enough to protect the other. If not, burn the kingdom.”

My chest caved inward. My mother had chosen me.

And left Eva to rot. No wonder she came back as a monster.

Later, the thunder rolled again over the cliffs, I entered Damian’s office, heart heavier than ever.

He didn’t look up from his desk.

“I found a message,” I said. “From my mother. She knew what my father was doing. She let it happen.”

Damian remained silent.

“She chose me,” I whispered. “But not out of love. But out of strategy.”

He finally met my eyes. “That’s what we are, Claire. All of us. Weapons. Deals. Sacrifices.”

I stepped closer. “I don’t want to be that anymore.”

Damian blinked, slowly rising. “Then what do you want to be?”

I looked at him, voice trembling. “Your partner. Not your pawn. Not your pet.”

His hands clenched at his sides.

“I don’t want to walk beside a king who rules through fear,” I said. “I want a man who’s brave enough to love me without chains.”

He stepped forward, lips barely moving.

“And if I’m not that man?” My throat closed. “Then this marriage is done.”

He didn’t speak. Didn’t stop me when I walked out.

But the crack between us. Once small, it has now become a canyon.

Elsewhere, deep within the Black syndicate’s storage tunnels, Eva Castillo lit a single match.

It hissed to life in her fingers.

She held it up to a file. Project Adam. Inside, photos. A boy. Twelve years old. Caged. Tortured.

The experiment that followed Project Eve.

Her brother. She dropped the match. The file burned like justice.

Behind her, in the shadows, a figure stepped forward.

Cilax.

He was bruised but breathing. “You found him,” he rasped.

Eva nodded.

“Then the empire ends tonight.”