Chapter 164 Chapter 164

Chapter 164 Chapter 164
Hunter's POV

An email arrived on a Tuesday, sleek and professional, a brand called ARTEMIS expressing interest in signing me as the face of their new athletic line.

I almost deleted it, assuming it was some scam or overeager marketing attempt.

But Priya convinced me to at least take the meeting, pointing out how rare it was for me to have something purely mine, unconnected to hockey obligations or pack politics.

"You deserve something that's just about you," she said.

"Not just the heir and the captain. Just Hunter."

So I went.

The Artemis offices was downtown,. It was polished with modern furniture and everything about the place radiating money and ambition.

The representatives who greeted me were warm, professional, clearly excited about the partnership.

"You have exactly the image we're looking for," one of them said, sliding a contract across the table.

"Strength, resilience, a genuine story behind the athlete and our audience will connect with that immediately."

The numbers on the contract made my eyes widen slightly, more than I expected for a modeling deal this early in negotiations.

"We'd love to move quickly," another representative added. "Photo shoots starting next week, if you're available."

I signed a preliminary agreement, cautiously optimistic, and left the meeting feeling lighter than I had in weeks.



The questions started small during the first shoot.

"Tell us about growing up in the palace," the interviewer asked, camera rolling for some behind the scenes content.

"What was that like, knowing your father's position from such a young age?"

Normal enough, I thought, answering carefully with the practiced ease I had developed handling press over the years.

"And your mother," she continued. "The Luna. What's your relationship like with her specifically?"

That question felt slightly off, oddly specific for a brand focused on athletic wear rather than family dynamics.

"She's supportive," I said carefully. "Why do you ask?"

The interviewer smiled, brushing it off easily.

"I was just building your personal narrative for the campaign, you know, audiences love family stories."

I let it go at the time, though something small and uneasy settled at the back of my mind.



The questions kept coming over the following days, each shoot, each interview session probing slightly deeper into family history than any athletic brand should reasonably care about.

Details about Asher's childhood and questions about the succession dispute.

Even one representative asking, almost casually, whether I had noticed any unusual behavior from my mother over the past few years.

That question stopped me immediately.

"Why would you ask that," I said, my guard finally fully raised.

The representative laughed it off smoothly. "Just curious about the family dynamics behind such a public story, that's all."

I left that session deeply unsettled, calling Maria the moment I got into my car.

"I need you to look into Artemis," I said. "The brand. Something feels wrong about this whole deal."

"Give me a day," Maria assured.



Maria called back the next evening, her voice filled with the same tension I'd heard from her constantly this past week.

"Artemis is a shell," she said. "It's not entirely fake, there's real product and real marketing happening, but the ownership structure traces back through several layers to someone specific."

"Who?" I asked.

"Your grandfather's youngest brother," Maria said.

"Someone your family cut out of succession decades ago, long before Kessler or any of this current mess. His name's been scrubbed from most official records, similar to how thoroughly your father buried Kessler's history."

My stomach turned cold. "Another hidden relative."

"It looks that way," Maria confirmed.

"I'm still digging into exactly why he was removed from succession, but the timing and pattern feels deliberate, Hunter.

Someone with old grievances against your family, using a legitimate business as cover to get close to you specifically."

"Do you think he's connected to the Luna," I asked. "To whatever Diane Foster's actually been orchestrating?"

"I don't know yet," Maria admitted. "But given how many old, buried family secrets keep surfacing this year, I'd be surprised if there wasn't some connection."



I sat with Priya that night, turning everything over out loud, needing to process it with someone outside the tangled family politics.

"You should stop the campaign," she said firmly. "Whatever they actually want from you, it's clearly not really about selling athletic wear."

"I know," I said. "But if I pull out now, whoever's behind this might just disappear again, the way everyone else has this whole year. Kessler, Yvaine. I'd rather understand what they actually want before they slip away completely."

"That's dangerous, Hunter," she said, worry evident in her voice.

"I know that too," I admitted.

"But I'm tired of always reacting after the fact.

Maybe this time, staying close to whatever's happening gives us an actual advantage instead of always playing catch up."

She didn't fully agree, I could see it in her expression, but she squeezed my hand anyway, offering steady support despite her reservations.

"Be careful," she said. "Please."

"I will," I promised.



The next shoot arrived with a surprise addition to the schedule, a private meeting requested personally by the brand's actual owner.

Someone who apparently wanted to meet me directly instead of communicating only through representatives.

I agreed, cautious but curious, Maria arranging quiet security to monitor from a discreet distance without alerting whoever I was about to meet.

The private office sat at the top of the Artemis building, sleek and understated, and the man waiting inside rose slowly to greet me the moment I entered.

Older, silver haired, carrying himself with an unmistakable air of old royal bearing despite decades apparently spent outside the family's official circles.

"Hunter," he said, his voice smooth and measured.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet. I imagine you have questions."

"A few," I said carefully, studying him closely. "Starting with who you actually are."

He smiled thinly, gesturing for me to sit. "My name is Edwin," he said. "Your grandfather's brother, though I doubt anyone in your family has spoken that name aloud in decades."

"Why the elaborate setup," I asked. "The brand, the questions, all of it."

"Because your family has spent generations perfecting the art of erasing people who become inconvenient," Edwin said, something old and bitter beneath his composed exterior.

"I wanted to meet you properly, on my own terms, before deciding whether you deserved to know certain truths your father has kept carefully buried."

"What truths," I asked, my chest tightening.

Edwin studied me for a long moment, something calculating behind his eyes.

"I think," he said slowly, "we should start with something small. A question, really, more than a truth. Has your father ever explained to you exactly why his own brother Aldric was truly cast out of this family, all those years ago?"

I sat frozen, understanding with sudden unease that whatever Edwin intended to reveal, he had no intention of giving me the full truth easily.

He was choosing instead to unravel it piece by careful piece, exactly the way someone patient and calculating would if they wanted to plant doubt slowly enough that I never noticed it taking root until it was already too late to pull free.