Chapter 10 Cryptic Message
Morning crept slowly through the glass walls of the Valmere Estate, soft light spilling into Deborah’s suite. The faint scent of roses and champagne still lingered from the night before, a reminder of celebration, of power, and of something forbidden.
Deborah sat by the edge of her bed, still wrapped in the silk robe she had thrown on after the gala. Her gown, the black and gold masterpiece she had worn as the world applauded her ascension, lay draped across the chair, forgotten.
Sleep hadn’t come. Not even for a moment.
Her fingers brushed her lips, the ghost of Luther’s kiss still there, lingering like a promise and a curse. She could still feel the warmth of his hands, the tremor in his voice when he whispered her name, as if saying it was both salvation and sin.
For a brief moment on that balcony, the world had stopped. No empires, no titles, no legacies. Just two people who had once lost each other and somehow found their way back through chaos and pain.
But the silence after… that was what broke her.
The way the night seemed to hold its breath, the strange stillness that followed, as if something, or someone, had been watching.
She closed her eyes, pressing her palms together. He shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have let him stay.
A knock at the door startled her.
“Come in,” she said, her voice calm, almost too calm.
Her assistant entered, carrying a tray of tea and morning reports. “Good morning, Miss Valmere. The board requested confirmation for the post-event press release. Should we include the statement about your full succession?”
Deborah’s gaze shifted to the window, to the vast gardens that stretched below, still glistening with dew. The empire she had inherited felt heavier than ever, beautiful, vast, but demanding everything.
“Yes,” she said softly. “Release it. The world should know the Valmere transition is complete.”
The assistant nodded and quietly left, closing the door behind her.
Deborah exhaled, finally allowing herself to sink into the quiet. But peace never came. Every time she blinked, she saw Luther’s face, and beneath it, something darker. The flicker of a shadow that had moved on the balcony’s edge.
She knew someone had seen them aside from knight. She didn’t know who.
A chill ran down her spine. The Valmere brothers didn’t forgive easily. Especially not Knight and Caelum.
Her mind wandered to him, sharp, disciplined, unwavering. He had always been the one who saw through her first, even when she tried to hide. If he knew… if he had seen what happened between her and Luther —
Her heartbeat stuttered.
“No,” she whispered to herself. “He wouldn’t—”
But deep down, she knew Knight was the last person she could deceive.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
A new message.
Unknown number.
She hesitated before opening it.
\[Unknown: The balcony wasn’t empty. Be careful who you trust.\]
Her blood ran cold. The message vanished seconds after appearing. Deleted remotely.
Deborah stood abruptly, her robe falling slightly off her shoulder as she turned toward the window. Her reflection in the glass looked composed, but her pulse betrayed her. Someone had seen her with Luther, and they were letting her know.
Knight?
Her stomach twisted. He would never send something cryptic. And he already knew it. He would come to her directly, eyes steady, words sharper than steel. But if it wasn’t him… who else had been there that night?
A knock came again, firmer this time.
“Come in,” she said, forcing her voice steady.
The door opened, and Knight stepped in.
He looked calm, collected as ever, dressed impeccably in black. But there was something in his eyes, something she couldn’t read.
“Knight,” she began carefully, “I didn’t expect you so early.”
He studied her for a long moment before speaking. “We need to talk.”
Deborah swallowed hard. “About?”
He took one slow step forward, then another. “About that night.”
The air between them froze.
Her heart pounded in her chest, but she didn’t move, didn’t look away. Knight’s expression was unreadable, not angry, not cold, just impossibly calm in that dangerous Valmere way.
“Knight—” she started.
But he cut her off quietly, his tone too even. “Tell me, Deborah. How long have you been seeing him again?”
Her throat closed up. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe.
“Knight,” she whispered, “please, listen—”
“I am listening,” he said softly. “And I need you to tell me the truth before someone else decides to use it against you.”
Her eyes widened slightly. The warning in his tone wasn’t for himself, it was for her.
“You saw us already right? You asked me to stop,” she said finally, almost a breath.
Knight’s jaw tightened. His silence was the only answer she needed.
He turned to the window, looking out toward the gardens below. “Do you know what people would do with that information, Deborah? What the board would do? What Caelum would do?”
“I didn’t plan it,” she said, her voice trembling. “It just… happened.”
Knight looked back at her, and for a fleeting second, his composure cracked. There was something in his gaze, worry, protectiveness, maybe even sorrow.
“I believe you,” he said finally. “But that doesn’t mean they will.”
She took a step closer. “What are you saying?”
He met her eyes, voice low and deliberate. “I’m saying whatever you felt that night… whatever that was… you have to bury it now.”
Her breath caught. “You’re asking me to lie.”
“I’m asking you to survive.”
Silence fell, sharp and heavy. The words hung between them like a final verdict.
Then Knight turned toward the door, his expression cold again, every trace of softness gone.
“Someone’s already watching,” he said before leaving. “Make sure they never see you fall.”
The door closed.
Deborah stood alone in the golden quiet, her pulse thundering in her ears. For the first time, she realized, the crown she’d just inherited didn’t come with peace. It came with eyes everywhere.
And one of them had already seen too much.
——
The Valmere Council Room was never meant for comfort. It was designed to intimidate.
A cathedral of glass and steel, the long obsidian table gleamed under white light, polished to the point of reflection. Around it sat the world’s most dangerous family, gathered not for celebration, but for war in silence.
Deborah entered last.
Every head turned as the doors opened with a soft mechanical hiss. Her heels echoed across the marble, deliberate, calm, each click carrying authority. Gone was the gown of last night. In its place, she wore a white tailored suit, sharp at the shoulders, her hair pulled into a sleek knot that framed her face with quiet power.
She met each of her brothers’ gazes as she approached the table, Caelum, stern as always; Lucio, his jaw tight; Lysander, tapping a pen against the glass as if testing her nerves; Aston and Casper, buried in a digital report; and Knight — silent, unreadable, eyes fixed on the holographic screen but seeing everything.
“Morning,” Deborah said, her voice even, steady.
“Morning,” Caelum replied, though the weight in his tone told her it would not be an easy one. “Sit.”
She did.
No one spoke for several seconds, only the soft hum of data streams flickering above the table, markets, acquisitions, mergers, all insignificant compared to the current that ran beneath the surface.
Finally, Caelum broke the silence. “The gala was successful. The press coverage is clean, the succession announcement is complete. But I want to talk about the aftereffects.”
“The aftereffects?” Deborah repeated lightly, crossing one leg over the other. “You mean the increased investments or the overnight market surge?”
“Neither,” Lucio said, leaning forward. “I mean the rumors.”
The word cut through the room like a blade.
Deborah didn’t flinch. “Rumors travel faster than truth. We all know that.”
“Normally,” Lysander murmured, “but this one has weight.”
Aston turned the holographic screen toward her. “Anonymous reports from two business correspondents at the gala. They claimed they saw you… step outside. With someone.”
Deborah’s pulse skipped, but her expression didn’t change. “And since when does a woman stepping onto her own balcony become scandal-worthy?”
“Since that someone might have been Luther Cain,” Lucio said, voice low.
The air tightened. Every brother turned toward her now.
Deborah’s hands remained folded neatly on the table. She didn’t move, didn’t breathe too sharply.
“Interesting theory,” she said coolly. “Do they also claim the moon conspired with me too?”
Caelum studied her carefully, his gaze like the edge of a knife. “No photographs, no proof. But Cain being sighted anywhere near our estate is a concern. If he’s resurfaced—”
“He hasn’t,” she interrupted.
The authority in her tone surprised even herself. “Luther Cain has no reason to return to Valmere grounds. His history with this family is finished. He knows better.”
Caelum’s brows furrowed slightly. “And if he doesn’t?”
“Then I’ll handle it,” she said firmly.
The table went silent again. For the first time, her brothers seemed to study her not as their sister, but as something else, a leader who spoke with conviction.
“Bold,” Lysander murmured, breaking the tension with a faint smirk. “And possibly reckless. Just like a Valmere.”
But Knight still hadn’t spoken.
He sat with one hand resting against his temple, eyes distant, unreadable. Deborah could feel his gaze every few seconds, piercing but restrained, as if he was trying not to look at her at all.
When Caelum turned to discuss security expansions and board meetings, Deborah’s focus drifted, but not because she was bored. Her attention had shifted to Knight.
He hadn’t looked at her once since the meeting began.
Usually, Knight’s voice carried the sharp logic of strategy, the one that tied their empire together like invisible thread. But today, he was silent, hands motionless, expression distant. When Aston asked him for his analysis on the new Cain Dominion trade move, he didn’t respond at first.
“Knight?”
He blinked once, as though pulled out of another world. “What?”
Aston frowned. “The Dominion’s eastern acquisitions. Do we intervene or monitor?”
Knight straightened slightly, his composure snapping back into place. “We monitor. They’re moving fast, but too fast. They’ll overextend in six months. We strike after.”
His voice was steady, clinical, but Deborah heard the hesitation buried under it, a tremor that didn’t belong in Knight Valmere’s vocabulary.
Caelum nodded. “Good. Then we move resources from Valmere Aeronautics into the defense tech branch. Knight, you’ll handle coordination.”
“Understood,” Knight replied automatically. But his mind wasn’t in the room.
Deborah could feel it, that subtle disconnection, that weight in his silence. Every time their eyes almost met, he looked away. He was carrying something heavy.
Because of last night.
When the meeting ended, one by one the brothers left. Papers shuffled, chairs scraped, footsteps echoed. Until the room was empty, except for two.
Knight was still there, standing beside the long table, hands in his pockets, staring at the city skyline through the glass wall. The gray London sky reflected off the obsidian table like a mirror between them.
Deborah lingered near the door, her voice low but controlled. “You could’ve said something.”
Knight didn’t turn. “About what?”
“About last night.”
He exhaled through his nose, a quiet sound that carried frustration more than anger. “And what would you have me say? That I saw my sister kissing a man who once tried to destroy everything our family built?”
Her throat tightened. “It wasn’t like that.”
He finally turned, his gaze sharp, composed, but his voice softer than before. “Then tell me what it was like, Deb.”
She faltered. For the first time, words failed her.
Knight’s jaw clenched. “You think I don’t understand what he means to you? You think I didn’t see that look on your face?”
“Knight, please—”
He stepped closer, not in anger, but something heavier, concern twisted with resignation. “I’m not Caelum. I’m not going to threaten him. But I’m asking you to think. The world saw you crowned last night. The board saw you as the new face of this empire. If anyone even suspects that Cain is back in your orbit—”
“They’ll turn on me,” she whispered.
Knight’s silence was answer enough.
Deborah looked down, her reflection fractured across the black glass of the table, a queen with cracks only she could see. “You’re right,” she said finally. “I’ll handle it.”
Knight watched her closely. “Deborah, listen to me. If Luther comes near you again—”
She met his eyes. “He already has.”
The quiet that followed was absolute.
For a moment, Knight didn’t move. Then he closed his eyes, inhaled slowly, and turned toward the window again, the muscles in his jaw tightening.
“You shouldn’t have told me that,” he said quietly.
“Why?”
“Because now I have to decide what to do with it.”
Her breath caught. “Knight—”
But before she could say anything else, his phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at the screen, a message from an encrypted source flashing briefly before disappearing. His expression changed just slightly.
He looked back at her, and his tone dropped to something almost unreadable.
“Be careful today. The board’s sending someone to meet you this afternoon, an observer from Geneva. Don’t let your guard down. They’ll test your loyalty.”
Deborah frowned. “Why warn me?”
Knight’s eyes darkened. “Because I’m not your enemy, even if one day I’ll have to act like it.”
The words struck like a quiet prophecy.
She stared at him, trying to read what he wasn’t saying. But Knight had already picked up his coat, his composure sealing back over like armor.
He stopped at the doorway, hand on the frame.
Without looking back, he said one last thing, calm, final, a warning wrapped in brotherly love and cold inevitability:
“Be ready, Deborah. Someone’s already moving against you.”
The door shut softly.
And for the first time since the night of the kiss, Deborah felt the walls of her empire tremble, not from outside threats, but from the shadows within.