Chapter 74: Chapter 74
Damien paced the length of his temporary Paris office, a restless, caged energy humming beneath his skin.
He had purposely driven to this sprawling, anonymous concrete jungle, desperate to keep his family’s business hidden from the prying eyes of rivals. Here, in the shadows of a city that didn’t know his face, he had commissioned the DNA test.
His inner instincts—an unyielding, primal certainty deep within his chest—told him he didn’t need a piece of paper to validate the truth. Fleur was his blood. He felt the phantom pull of the sibling bond every time she was near. But the world, and more importantly, Fleur herself, required absolute, undeniable proof.
His background checks had painted a solitary, fiercely protective picture of her: a woman raising twin cubs alone, a ghost with no paper trail regarding her past, her parents, or a mate. Everything aligned. She was the lost piece of his family’s broken legacy.
The sharp, sudden chime of his phone shattered his thoughts. Glancing at the screen, a rare, genuine smile broke through his hardened features when he saw her name. It felt like destiny—a cosmic tug.
"Fleur," he answered, his deep voice carrying a rare, unchecked warmth. "You were just crossing my mind."
"Damien!" Her voice filtered through the line, breathless and laced with an amused, hesitant sweet note that made his protective instincts flare. "Are you reading my mind now? Because a delivery just arrived at my door. A massive basket of chocolates and... a teddy bear? Don’t tell me the ruthless Duke has a hidden soft spot."
Damien let out a low, rumbling chuckle. The urge to spoil his little sister had overridden his usual calculated restraint. He had wanted to hand-deliver the tokens himself, but he was forcing himself to wait for the final confirmation.
"Consider it a token of my appreciation," he murmured, his chest tightening with a profound, aching longing for the family dynamic they had been robbed of. "I hope they brought a smile to your face."
To the rest of the world, Damien was a predator—cold, calculating, and unforgiving to any who dared cross his family or his business. But for his inner circle, for his mother, and for Isabella—the woman who held his heart—he would tear the world apart.
"They’re beautiful, really," Fleur replied, though her tone dipped into a cautious, guarded reserve. She was a professional, hired to design the interior of his luxury estate, and she clearly felt the weight of the boundary he was pushing. "But Your Grace, you really shouldn’t have. It’s... highly unconventional for a client."
"If they aren’t to your liking, tell me what you prefer, and it’s yours," he pressed, a sudden, desperate edge bleeding into his voice. He couldn’t stand the distance she was trying to maintain.
"No, it’s not that!" Fleur intervened quickly, her voice firming up. "It’s just... I prefer to keep our dynamic strictly professional, Damien. My life has enough complications as it is."
He closed his eyes, fighting the urge to demand her presence, to shield her from whatever ’complications’ she was harboring. "Are you free this evening?" he bypassed her defenses, driven by impulse. "Join me for dinner."
"Um... Damien, I’m buried under deadlines," she sighed, a soft, stressed sound. "The final layouts for your apartment require my undivided attention tonight."
"I understand," he said softly, tempering his dominant nature. "But my mother, Adele, is in the city. She was deeply disappointed to miss you last time, and she is eager to finally meet you."
Adele had traveled with him, her maternal instincts aching with the desperate hope of a mother about to reclaim her lost child. Tonight was supposed to be the grand reunion.
"Oh, goodness," Fleur gasped, the sound of her palm hitting her forehead audible over the line. "I feel terrible. Please convey my humblest apologies to Lady Adele. I never intended to disrespect your family."
"There is no need for apologies, Fleur. She doesn’t want your regrets; she wants your company at our table," Damien assured her. He had it all orchestrated. He would reveal the pristine test results over dinner, bringing his mother and sister back together, and then he would call Isabella to join them, ensuring his mate felt entirely integrated into the pack’s joy.
Yet, a dark shadow loomed over his grand plans.
Damn it, he swore silently.
His mother was still fiercely pushing for an arranged, strategic alliance with another high-born family. The thought of having to navigate that political nightmare while protecting Isabella’s fragile position in his life made his blood boil.
"Damien? Are you still there?" Fleur’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts.
"Yes. Forgive me, I’m here," he rasped.
"I truly cannot make it tonight; an urgent matter requires my presence at home with the kids. But I promise to coordinate with your secretary to meet Her Highness as soon as possible," Fleur pleaded, her sincerity cutting through his disappointment.
"Very well, Fleur. We will hold you to that promise," he conceded quietly.
"Thank you for understanding," she breathed, relieved. "By the way, the estate is nearly complete. You’re welcome to inspect the progress whenever you like."
"There is no need. Your vision is flawless, and my trust in you is absolute," Damien replied, his tone thick with a fierce, protective warmth that completely contradicted his reputation as a ruthless tyrant. "Take all the time you need. Don’t push yourself too hard, and stay safe."
A heavy silence hung on the line as Fleur absorbed the unexpected weight of his care, her defenses momentarily melting. "Thank you, Damien," she whispered softly.
A sharp, demanding knock echoed at his office door.
"Hold that thought, Fleur. Duty calls. I’ll reach out to you soon," he said, his pulse suddenly accelerating.
"Goodbye, Damien."
The line went dead. Damien pocketed the device, his jaw tightening. "Enter."
The door swung open, and his chief enforcer stepped inside, holding a pristine, sealed white envelope. The air in the room grew suffocatingly thin. Damien snatched the packet from his assistant’s hand, his fingers trembling slightly as he tore through the paper, his heart hammering against his ribs like a war drum.
He pulled out the document, his eyes racing down the stark white page, searching for the validation his soul already claimed.
Then, his world stopped.
A single, devastating word stared back at him in cold, unfeeling print:
NEGATIVE.
The paper crumpled in his tightening fist. Rage and a hollow, crushing despair ripped through his chest.
How could his instincts—the core of everything he was—be so fundamentally wrong? The agonizing sting of the illusion shattering cut deeper than any physical blade ever could.
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