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[WARNING! MENTIONS OF DARK THEMES WILL OCCUR IN THIS CHAPTER. PLEASE READ IT AT YOUR OWN RISK!]
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'Who would have thought everything would escalate this quickly? Tsk… just how depraved must that woman be to lay her hands on her own stepson like that?!'
Harrison's jaw tightened at the thought, his gaze darkening with a cold fury that he rarely allowed to surface. If his sword had been with him at that moment—
There was no doubt in his mind.
He would have drawn it.
And pointed it straight at her.
No—
Even the thought of calling that woman his mother felt wrong now. The word itself left a bitter taste.
At the same time, another feeling crept into his chest—unwelcome and unfamiliar.
Guilt.
The image of his youngest sibling lingered vividly—the disheveled state, the trembling figure, the broken voice pleading for help.
It echoed.
Relentlessly.
Harrison's expression hardened further as another memory surfaced from the depths of his mind.
It was a conversation from years ago—back when he was still a young teenager attending a noble banquet. As usual, he had been mingling with other noble children, entertaining himself with idle chatter and light mischief.
But among those conversations…
There had been one he could never forget.
« ... "Hey, is it true… that your mother, the Marchioness, likes to prey on the young? My father mentioned he saw her back when they were teenagers. He said the way she looked at children was… unsettling. Like she was going to devour them whole…" ... »
At the time, Harrison had nearly struck the boy where he stood.
Insulting his family was one thing—
But tarnishing his mother's name like that?
Unforgivable.
Yet in the end, he restrained himself.
Not for the boy's sake—but for the dignity of the Chevalier household. Causing a scene over baseless rumors would only drag their name through the mud.
Back then, he dismissed it as nonsense.
Meaningless gossip.
After all, he had always been known as the mischievous one—the playful second young master who sought amusement wherever he could find it.
But that did not mean he was blind.
Harrison Wynfred Chevalier was, above all else, a member of the Guardian Household.
A fact that many conveniently overlooked.
Beneath his carefree exterior lay something sharper—something more observant.
He noticed things.
Small details.
Things others ignored.
And from those details…
He could piece together truths.
It had begun as mere curiosity.
Nothing more.
Yet that single statement had planted a seed within him.
A seed that grew quietly over time.
Driven by that curiosity, Harrison began observing his mother.
Silently.
Carefully.
And what he noticed…
Disturbed him.
Subtle shifts.
Subtle expressions.
The way her jade-colored eyes lingered—just a second too long—on younger children during banquets.
The way she watched them.
Not with affection.
But with something else.
Something he could not fully describe—
But instinctively distrusted.
And it wasn't just her.
The reactions of others told a story of their own.
Noblewomen who had children would grow tense in her presence.
Some would instinctively pull their children closer.
Others made sure their young ones were never left unattended whenever she was nearby.
At first, Harrison thought he was overthinking.
But as time passed—
The pattern became undeniable.
He was not a fool.
He saw it.
Understood it.
And because of it—
He grew cautious.
Too cautious, perhaps.
Without realizing it, he began distancing himself from her.
Carefully.
Subtly.
Enough that no one would question it.
From that point on—
He stopped seeing her as his mother.
That role—
Was no longer hers.
Yet even with everything he had observed…
Harrison had never believed it would come to this.
Not to this extent.
No matter how suspicious her behavior had been—
He had still thought…
She would not cross that line.
Especially not with someone within their own household.
Even if Ezekiel was not her biological son—
In the eyes of society—
He was still hers.
And yet…
She had done it.
As much as Harrison wanted to speak of his suspicions back then—whether to his father or siblings—
He couldn't.
Who would believe him?
Even with rumors floating about, there was never any solid proof.
Accusing the Marchioness of such things—
Without evidence—
Would only backfire.
So, he had stayed silent.
Kept everything to himself.
Watching.
Waiting.
...…..
.........
...........
When their father had earlier stated that the Marchioness would personally speak with Ezekiel regarding the incident in the dining hall—
Harrison had frowned.
At the time, he didn't know how to react to that information.
Something about it didn't sit right with him.
And so, he observed.
Carefully.
Quietly.
His father's expression remained unchanged—stoic as ever. Not a single crack appeared in that composed exterior.
As if everything were normal.
As if nothing were amiss.
« ... "A bit odd for non-blood relatives to seek each other under the cover of night, don't you think… Big Brother? ~~~" ... »
The words he spoke then had been deliberate.
Casual on the surface.
But layered with meaning.
They were meant—
For Altron.
And just as he expected—
His elder brother caught on immediately.
Without hesitation, Altron urged them to check on Ezekiel.
But even then—
One thing stood out.
Their father remained seated.
Unmoving.
Silent.
And more importantly—
He hadn't spoken much at all.
Aside from that single instruction.
That alone was enough to stir doubt in Harrison's mind.
He had never questioned his father before.
Never.
But now—
For the first time—
That certainty wavered.
'…What were you thinking, Father?'
The question lingered.
Unanswered.
.......
......….
..........
Now—
They stood in the aftermath of that scene.
The room still carried the remnants of what had transpired—heavy, suffocating.
Harrison's gaze drifted briefly toward the spot where it had all happened.
His expression darkened further.
'She should be grateful I didn't have my sword with me,' he thought coldly. 'If I did… I wouldn't have hesitated.'
There was no hesitation in his resolve.
None at all.
The idea alone made his fingers twitch slightly.
To think—
That she would sink so low.
That she would act without restraint.
Without shame.
His jaw clenched.
"To lay hands on—on a minor…" he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with suppressed anger.
"And within her own household, no less…"
Disgust surged through him.
His gaze sharpened, a chill settling in his eyes.
Whatever lingering attachment remained—
Was gone.
Completely.
What stood in its place now—
Was something far colder.
And far less forgiving.
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