Chapter 71: Chapter 71
As the heavy oak doors closed behind Leo and Henri, Damien dragged a hand through his dark hair, fingers tightening at the roots. Frustration coiled tight in his chest, a living thing that refused to settle.
"Why do you still allow them into this house, Mother?" The words came out sharper than he intended, laced with the old, festering bitterness. "I can barely stand the sight of their faces."
Adele turned from the tall window where she had been staring into the moonlit gardens. The silver light etched deep lines of sorrow across her once-youthful face.
"Damien," she said softly, her voice carrying the gentle weight of years spent enduring storms, "he is the only blood relative left from your father’s side. After your father’s sudden death, when the vultures circled our empire—ready to tear it apart and leave us with nothing—Leo stood with me. You were so young. I was drowning in grief, barely able to breathe. He fought for us when no one else would."
Her kindness had always been her greatest strength and her quietest curse. It had led her to forgive her husband’s countless betrayals, to keep their family intact for the children’s sake even as her heart fractured in silence.
People sensed that softness in her and reached for it with greedy hands.
Damien’s jaw clenched. "He knows exactly how to exploit that kindness, Mother. He’s been bleeding us dry with it for years."
Adele’s shoulders curved inward, as though the weight of every lost day pressed down on her. The candle flames on the mantel danced, throwing trembling shadows across her features.
"Whatever his faults, Damien... if he can help me find your sister, I will pay whatever price he asks." Her voice cracked on the last words, raw and desperate.
For many years, finding her lost daughter was the only thing that kept her sanity intact, and whenever life brought her closer to discovering the truth, all her senses pushed her to believe it was enough.
She turned away fully then, arms wrapping around herself as if trying to hold together the broken pieces of a mother’s heart.
Eugénie had been stolen from her arms before she could even cradle her newborn daughter, before she could memorize the scent of her skin or the sound of her first cry. The devastating emptiness had never healed. It had only deepened with time, carving hollows no amount of wealth or power could fill.
Damien stepped closer, his own chest aching at the sight of her pain. He, too, wanted to find his sister, but years of watching greed tear his home apart, he was sensible enough not to grab onto fragile lifelines.
"Mother, he is deceiving you. If anyone had reason to take Eugénie from us, it’s him. Grandfather left the greatest share of the fortune to her. Naturally, Leo was furious. The will is clear—if she does not claim it until she turns thirty, it would have been divided between him and Father. With Father gone..." Damien’s voice hardened at the mere thought.
"He’s fighting for every last penny. That’s why I’m still locked in that legal battle. He can’t touch the inheritance while she’s missing. Don’t you see? He has every motive."
Tears spilled down Adele’s cheeks, glistening in the firelight.
"I don’t care about the money," she whispered, her voice breaking into a sob. "I would give him everything—every estate, every title—if it meant holding my daughter again. Please, Damien... I just want her back."
The plea tore through him like a physical attack. He reached for her hands, enveloping them in his larger ones, grounding her with the warmth of his presence.
For a moment, the fierce Duke vanished, replaced by a son who would move heaven and earth to ease his mother’s suffering.
"Trust me," he said, his tone softening with quiet conviction. A rare, genuine smile touched his lips, chasing some of the shadows from his eyes. "I’m very close to finding her this time."
Adele’s weary gaze lifted, a fragile spark of hope flickering to life. "Really? How?"
Damien squeezed her hands gently. "Do you remember the interior designer I wanted you to meet? Fleur Swann."
"The young woman restoring the east wing?" Adele’s brow furrowed in confusion, though curiosity stirred beneath the grief.
"Yes." His smile deepened, warm with wonder. "If you had met her, Mother, you would have been as stunned as I was. She is the very image of Father—his eyes, the line of her jaw, even the way she tilts her head when she’s thinking. It’s uncanny."
Adele’s breath caught. Her hand flew to her lips. "How is that possible? Is she... one of his mistresses’ children?" The question trembled with dread and fragile hope.
"No," Damien said firmly. "I made certain. I knew every one of them, and none bore him a child. He was careful in that regard, at least."
A heavy silence fell between them, thick with possibility and fear. Adele’s throat worked as she struggled to speak.
"Then... could it truly be her?" She barely dared voice the thought, terrified of another shattering disappointment. She had chased too many ghosts already.
"I had a discreet DNA test arranged," Damien confessed, his voice steady and sure. "The results will arrive in a few days. But my heart already knows, Mother. The connection I feel when I’m near her... it’s blood. It’s family."
A faint rustle of movement shattered the moment. Damien’s head snapped toward the doorway. Henri stood there, frozen, one hand still hovering near the sofa.
"Forgive the intrusion, Lord Damien," Henri muttered, eyes downcast. "I forgot my phone."
Damien’s glare burned with open disdain as the younger man crossed the room, snatched the device, and retreated hastily. The door clicked shut behind him, but the unease lingered like smoke.
Damien stared at the closed door, lips curling in contempt. Father and son. Neither could be trusted. Not while his sister’s fate still hung in the balance—and certainly not while Fleur’s true identity remained a secret that could change everything.
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