Meanwhile—
"I am sorry, my lord. Unfortunately, someone beat us to it. They got there before we did. We searched everywhere, but we couldn't find anything linking him to the business. What should we do? We don't know who could have gotten there first—or why."
The voice rang from the other side of the phone as Ezekiel stood at the window of his study in his grand mansion.
He held a glass of whiskey in his hand, watching the light rain showers fall silently onto the ground.
Taking a slow sip, he sighed before replying. "The same people who pinned him for the scandal at the palace." He paused, savoring another sip, then continued. "Any news on Bailey, the Mailman?"
"No, Boss. The rat seems to have disappeared back into his hole. We've tried to reach him countless times, but he's still AWOL. There's absolutely no trace of him—anywhere. What should we do? We really need him for this mission. That guy is clever, a proficient hound. He might be able to sniff out the mole in our turf and help us get rid of him," came the reply.
Ezekiel took another slow sip, pondering the man's words. His eyes narrowed as a car pulled into the driveway.
His lips curled in disdain as the vehicle stopped at his front door.
"Find Bailey the Mailman. Dig into every hole, search every burrow! Track him down and bring him to me. I want him for this mission—do whatever it takes!" Ezekiel barked.
"Yes, my lord," replied the voice, just before Ezekiel cut the call.
He exhaled heavily, then took another sip of his whiskey.
"Sir, you can't come in here without an appointment! His lordship is busy and isn't welcoming guests!"
"Well, he'll want to see me, that's for sure! Now get out of my way!"
Raised voices echoed outside his office.
Suddenly, the door burst open. An elderly man stormed in—his slightly greying brown hair disheveled, his brown eyes blazing, his flat nose and pink lips twisted with fury. He wore a black-and-white suit and gripped a staff tightly in his right hand.
His face was a mask of rage, his eyes bloodshot.
"Ezekiel, you bastard!" he roared. "How could you kill Flavio? I swear you'll regret this—you animal!"
Ezekiel felt as though a vein might burst inside his head from the rage and disdain boiling within him towards this man.
The bastard had the audacity to storm through his door and accuse him of a murder he hadn't committed. The bastard!
He was tempted to smash the whiskey glass against the man's skull and be done with him.
But he restrained himself. He didn't want his precious, expensive Aruban rug stained with blood—it would be too messy, and there were too many witnesses who could land him in trouble.
Besides, the scumbag was an old royal minister of the court. Killing him would be far too complicated, and Ezekiel still needed him as an ally if his plans were to succeed.
Swallowing down his fury, he tightened his grip on the glass and turned to face him with a fiery gaze.
The man faltered, goosebumps prickling his skin under the weight of Ezekiel's stare. It was the look of a predator ready to kill right there and then. He should have expected it—after all, he had barged into the beast's lair uninvited.
But he couldn't control himself. His anger still burned over the murder of his friend, his partner in crime, and his in-law.
George Flavio had been his daughter's husband. Now she was left widowed because of this scumbag.
It wasn't his fault that Ezekiel's foolish palace scheme had failed. So why kill Flavio? For what purpose? He needed answers—and he needed them now.
Steeling his resolve, Lord Palvin locked eyes with Ezekiel and demanded, "Why? Why did you do it? I thought George was one of our strongest allies—helping us with the business and with our plot to finally get rid of—"
Hiss!
A sharp hiss from Ezekiel cut him off, silencing the words on his tongue.
"Be careful, Lord Palvin," Ezekiel warned, leaning across his desk with a predatory glare. "Otherwise, I might change my mind—and your daughter could become both a widow and an orphan in the same day."
Lord Palvin swallowed hard, fear tightening his throat as he met Ezekiel's murderous gaze.
Ezekiel sighed, then turned his eyes away.
"I thought you knew me better than this, Denzel. What?" He snapped his gaze back to him. "Did I assume falsely? Are you nothing but a grown idiot without a brain—too stupid and foolish to see clearly that this is the work of another, not me? What would I gain from killing George? He was the anchor of our business at this kingdom's borders and beyond. So tell me—what would I gain from getting rid of him, huh?"
He exhaled sharply and sank into his chair, watching Denzel wrestle with his thoughts, his mind cranking desperately to make sense of Ezekiel's words.
"Old fool," Ezekiel muttered under his breath.
Denzel shook his head as he lowered himself into the chair opposite Ezekiel's desk. "So… if you're not responsible for George's death, then who is? If you didn't kill him to pin the blame on him because of the palace plot, then who's behind it?"
Ezekiel sighed and shook his head. "First of all, I wasn't part of that palace scheme—it was the Queen's foolish plot. Secondly, if I knew, Denzel… don't you think you would have been the first to hear? I even sent some of my men to clear George's house of anything that might incriminate us, and to find out what drove him to commit suicide. But they found nothing. Nothing at all. And that worries me." He paused, folding his hands atop the desk.
"Now we don't know who is responsible. What makes matters worse is that this person clearly knew about the palace plot. The bastard knew who was behind it—but instead of pinning it on the Queen, they pinned it on George. To toy with us. To keep us on edge. To push us into panic so we slip up and expose ourselves. Then they'll have the perfect chance to strike and bring us down. Yes… that has to be it."
Silence settled over the room as Denzel sat back, lost in thought, his mind turning over Ezekiel's words.
Denzel exhaled loudly. "So what are we going to do?" He leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Do you think the Dragon is responsible? Could he have caught us and is toying with us? If he is, then this is dangerous—very dangerous. The Dragon is known to be close to the Crown Prince. What if they're working together? Considering how the plan against Fortmore's daughter backfired on the Queen in such a precise way… it was too strategic for a mere person to pull off. What if the Dragon aided the Crown Prince, foiled the plot, and did something to George to drive him to suicide? What if he knows about our dealings? What are we going to do?" Denzel asked frantically.
Ezekiel sat back, pondering deeply before taking a long breath. "The Dragon couldn't possibly have gotten to us—that much I'm sure of. Knowing his ruthlessness, he wouldn't have let us be. He would have attacked outright and burned us all to ash. But as for that brat with the future crown…" He paused, his eyes narrowing. "There's something about him—something that doesn't sit right with me. Beyond his connection to the Dragon, he's calculative, clever. We must be very wary of him."
Denzel nodded slowly. "Yes, you're right. He's also known to be ruthless in battle. A perfect combination—him and the Dragon together. If they truly are aligned, this could get very ugly for us."
"Yes—that's why you need to use your old brains for once and stop making scenes by leaping to conclusions based on impulse! Can't you see that's exactly what they want? For us to expose ourselves so they can strike. We must never give them that advantage! Understood?" Ezekiel barked at Denzel.
Denzel lowered his gaze in shame. "I'm sorry, Zeke. I truly thought you were responsible for George's death, since the incidents were connected with the palace scandal. I thought you killed him to pin the scandal on him. But now I see—it was foolish of me to think that way. I'm sorry."
Ezekiel snorted, shaking his head with a low hum.
Denzel sighed. "I suppose I should be going. I need to smooth things over with our partners about George's death. His passing is bound to cause unrest and panic. We must keep control, or chaos will follow."
Ezekiel hummed again. "Mmm. Get in touch with the Sect as well. We need all our heads together to manage this situation. We'll meet at our usual place in a few days. For now, let George's death settle. Until things calm down, we shouldn't be seen meeting in secret. With eyes already on the Queen, one slip could cost us everything."
Denzel nodded. "Alright. I'll inform everyone."
"And court one of the Sect's Spiders," Ezekiel added. "I need them to find Bailey the Mailman. That hound is the one we need most right now—to uncover whether the Dragon is truly involved, or if someone else is pulling the strings."
Denzel nodded again. "Okay. I will."
He rose from his chair and bowed to Ezekiel. "I'll be in touch."
With those words, he left the room, leaving Ezekiel in silence. Ezekiel turned his chair toward the window, watching the rain fall in steady sheets.
"I really hope you're not involved in this as well, kid. Otherwise don't blame me for being the overbearing, protective father you despise so much," he whispered.
His gaze lingered on the framed photograph hanging on the wall. It showed him in a black-and-gold suit, seated on a velvet chair of the same colors, a black staff resting in his hand. A thin smile played across his lips.
On his lap sat a young boy of four, golden-blonde hair gleaming, blue eyes bright, his flat nose and thin brows softened by plush pink lips. He wore a miniature version of the suit, though unlike his father, his face was lit with a radiant smile.
Ezekiel smirked faintly before turning his gaze back to the rain, watching it fall in silence.
....
Meanwhile, as soon as Lord Denzel Palvin left Ezekiel's office, a figure emerged from behind a pillar, watching his retreating form.
He had golden-blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, a flat nose, thin brows, and plush pink lips. Dressed in a black t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers.
Blake sighed as his gaze followed Denzel.
"Lord Palvin… tsk. I should've known," he muttered, before turning his eyes toward the closed door of Ezekiel's office.
Fragments of the conversation echoed in his mind:
"I need them to find Bailey the Mailman. That hound is the one we really need at the moment to find out if the Dragon is really involved in this or it's someone else."
"Okay. I will."
"I will be in touch."
He had arrived earlier to speak with his father about a family matter, but instead overheard the exchange. There was no doubt—they had been discussing George Flavio's death and the scandal at the palace.
'So they think the Dragon is involved in this mess. Tsk… if only they knew,' he mused silently, shaking his head.
'Bailey the Mailman, huh? Why does that name sound so oddly familiar?' He pondered for a moment, until realization struck.
'Wait… isn't Bailey the Mailman that chick who infiltrated the palace disguised as a man, and attacked Daniel that night with explosives? Oh, damn! If it's that Bailey, Daniel is going to want to hear about this. Family meeting will have to wait.'
With that thought, Blake turned and walked away.
....
Meanwhile—
"I can't believe that bitch escaped such a perfectly cruel fate again! What a lucky bitch," Leticia growled as she stared at the glowing article about the palace scandal that had erupted earlier that morning.
She sat in the small lounge, enjoying her late afternoon tea and snacks—alongside her favorite pastime, gossip.
Ever since the news of her arch-nemesis's secret affair with the Crown Prince had blown up across the gossip blogs, Leticia had been eager to see the woman ruined. She was certain her rival's miserable life was finally about to collapse, and she had been ready to revel in her downfall.
But fate, as always, seemed to favor her enemy. She had escaped. Again.
The thought made Leticia's blood boil, her head pounding as though it might explode.
"Urrrgh! Unbelievable!" she grumbled, tossing the tablet aside with a sharp exhale of frustration. "What a bunch of fools. Can't even handle a weak, fragile woman like her. Pathetic."
"That's because they don't have the right amount of scheming agility," said Miranda, seated a few sofas away with her own tablet in hand. "They think that power alone is enough—that they can do anything without setbacks. Too bad that's not how politics works. You have to emerge as the sole winner in the end, no matter what. You must craft a plan that anticipates setbacks, counters them, and ensures you don't end up thwarted by your enemies—or worse, trapped in your own scheme like a fool."
She paused to take a sip of her tea. "Look at me. I got here with a strategic plan, carefully woven. And I made sure no one would ever catch up to my game until it was far too late."
Leticia snorted. "Of course, Mother. You deserve to be crowned the Queen of Scheming. If only you weren't such a drunk and a whore. Let me remind you—your whorism nearly got you caught, and it led to my dear, sweet stepfather's death. That man was too good to die. And no matter what you say, I will never forgive you for that."
"Oh, come on, Letty. Alexander was eventually going to die—so we could take absolute control of his power and wealth. Well, yes, I'll admit his death was… unexpected. Aaah, I did fall in love with the man. But too bad he kept blabbering about that bitch, Stephanie, and how much he missed her and so on. And then there was that little annoying brat, Anastasia. Her resemblance to Stephanie always made me sick. I couldn't stand her. It's a good thing she's dead and gone now. Well, not buried—but devoured by those dreadful beasts of the cursed forest. Haa!" Miranda snorted before sipping her tea.
Leticia rolled her eyes at her mother, sighing as her thoughts drifted. "Do you really think that bitch is dead?" she murmured.
"Haa! Of course. Why wouldn't she be? I was there when they confirmed her death before dumping her body in that wretched forest. What? You think she rose from the dead and is that new bitch in the competition? I'll admit—the resemblance is uncanny. If I hadn't discovered that Stephanie's twin sister was married to Fortmore and pregnant at the same time as her, I might have believed it myself. But rising from the dead? Unbelievable. What kind of being would she have to be?" Miranda scoffed.
At the mention of Anastasia being something other, something not human, Leticia's mind drifted back to that night—the night they drugged her, beat her, and pinned the murder of old Felistus on her.
She remembered the glowing blue hair. The blazing blue eyes. The inhuman roar as Anastasia launched at her and Aaron, intent on killing them.
She had never forgotten that night.
She still dreamed about it.
She remembered overhearing that conversation between her uncle and his lapdog, Froth, in the study—that the bitch's body had gone missing from the forest. That was why she had turned ghost-pale at the Royal Masquerade Ball when she saw the new woman. The resemblance had shaken her to her core. For a moment, she thought the bitch had truly come back to life.
Thank goodness she had her cousin-sister. But too bad for that bitch—she was going to pay for crossing her.
Leticia vowed she would make sure to get rid of her, just as she had done with her other cousin-sister.
Now that she had common allies who also wanted to see her ruined, she would take full advantage of it. She would use their strength to destroy her completely.
A sinister smirk played across her lips as the thought settled in her mind.
She lifted her cup and took a sip of lukewarm tea. She didn't mind the temperature—because the fire of her hatred made the tea burn hot in her imagination.