Chapter 203: Chapter Two Hundred And Two
Damon threw his upper body violently forward, sitting up straight in the center of the large wooden bed. His hands were clenched so tightly into the soft white sheets that his knuckles turned white.
His chest was heaving up and down rapidly, panting greedily for air as if he had just been running for miles in a hot desert. Drops of cold sweat were rolling down his forehead, dripping off his sharp jawline, and sliding down his neck. His heart was hammering frantically against his ribs, beating a rapid, terrified rhythm.
Damon sat frozen in the quiet room.
The bright, warm morning sunlight was pouring happily through the large glass windows, casting a golden light across the floorboards. The birds were chirping softly outside in the gardens. The air inside the room was cool, clean, and quiet.
Damon slowly looked around.
The suffocating air was gone. The handsome noble was gone.
Damon slowly raised his right hand. His fingers were trembling slightly. He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and his eyes, trying to calm his racing mind.
It was all a dream.
It was just a terrible, highly realistic, peculiar nightmare.
Damon let out a very long, shaky breath of pure relief. He closed his eyes for a brief second, his chest still rising and falling rapidly. He felt physically exhausted, as if he had actually fought a massive, losing war in his sleep.
He slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to the left, looking at the empty space beside him on the mattress.
Camilla was gone.
The thick wool blankets on her side of the bed were thrown back neatly. Damon reached his hand out and touched the soft white sheets. They were cold. She had been awake and out of the bed for a very long time.
Damon frowned deeply. A small, anxious line formed on his forehead.
"Where could she have gone so early in the morning?" Damon thought to himself.
Normally, Camilla loved to sleep. She was a very lazy, pampered lady who hated waking up early. She usually stayed wrapped in her warm blankets until the sun was high in the sky. It was highly unusual for her to be out of the room before he even opened his eyes.
Damon swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He sat on the mattress, his bare feet touching the cool floorboards.
He leaned his elbows on his knees, resting his head in his hands. His mind was completely occupied with the details of the dream he just had.
"And what was that dream about?" Damon asked himself, his internal voice filled with a deep, painful confusion and a sharp sting of jealousy.
The memory of her soft touch, her sweet kisses on his chest, and her quiet whisper asking him to say he loved her felt incredibly real. But the second half of the dream—the handsome man, the betrayal, and the cold way she had looked at him while saying she loved Winston—made his stomach twist violently with a dark, bitter anger.
Winston.
The name was still tormenting him. He had spent the entire night thinking about the name she had cried for in her sleep. In his dream, his mind had created a handsome, wealthy noble to fit the name, and the image was driving him completely mad. He wanted to find this Winston and get rid of him immediately.
Damon let out a defeated sigh. He stood up from the bed, intending to wash the sweat off his skin and prepare for his duties at the military camp.
But as he stood up and turned his body toward his dressing table, he suddenly noticed something very strange.
His eyes locked onto a specific spot on the floorboards, near the large wardrobe.
A chest bound with gold-plated metal strips was supposed to be there. It was the chest containing five thousand shiny gold coins that Damon had ordered for her needs. The chest had been sitting proudly in that exact spot, its weight leaving small marks on the wood.
But right now, that spot was empty. The chest was gone.
Damon walked quickly across the room. He stood in the empty space, staring down at the floor. He looked around the bedroom, thinking she might have moved it to the wardrobe or near the vanity. But the room was clear of the heavy box.
"She moved the chest?" Damon thought, his eyebrows pulling together in deep puzzlement. "That chest is heavy. It weighs almost as much as a small boulder. How could she have moved it all by herself? Why would she move it?"
A sudden, uneasy feeling hit his stomach.
He did not waste any more time. Damon walked quickly into the attached washroom. He took his bath, dried his skin, and quickly dressed in his dark blue military uniform. He buttoned his coat, pulled on his leather boots, and buckled his sword belt tightly around his waist.
He opened the bedroom door and walked with long, fast strides down the quiet, carpeted hallway of the second floor.
He climbed down the grand staircase, the heavy sound of his boots echoing loudly in the empty foyer. He wanted to find her. He wanted to ask her why she was awake so early, and where his chest of gold was.
As Damon reached the foot of the stairs, he saw Mr. Murry.
The older housekeeper was holding a feather duster in his hand, quietly cleaning the dust off a large gold-framed painting on the wall.
"Uncle Murry," Damon called out. His deep voice was serious and carried a slight note of urgency.
Mr. Murry quickly stopped cleaning. He turned his gray head around, saw the General, and immediately bowed deeply from his waist.
"Good morning, My Lord," Murry greeted him respectfully.
"A good morning to you too, Uncle Murry," Damon replied, stopping a few feet away from the older man.
Damon did not waste any time with polite small talk. He looked at Murry with intense, searching eyes.
"Do you know where the Lady is?" Damon asked directly. "I woke up, and she was not in the room. Her blankets are cold."
Mr. Murry raised his head. He looked at Damon’s serious, slightly worried face.
"The Lady left the mansion very early this morning, My Lord," Murry explained smoothly. "The sun had barely risen when she came downstairs."
Damon frowned deeply. The anxious line on his forehead returned.
"She left the house?" Damon asked, his voice flat. "All by herself? Where did she go?"
"Yes, My Lord," Murry nodded slowly. "She did called for the grand carriage. But... she was not entirely empty-handed."
Murry paused for a second, looking slightly puzzled himself as he remembered the morning’s events.
"She left the mansion with two footmen carrying that large wooden chest of coins," Murry said. "I saw them carrying it out of the front doors with my own eyes."
Damon was shocked but he forced his face to remain calm, preventing Murry from seeing his shock.
"Did you ask her why she was taking the gold, Uncle Murry?" Damon asked, his deep voice serious.
"I did, My Lord," Murry replied, wringing his hands together politely. "I was very worried about her safety. I asked her where she was taking all that money to, and if she required any guards to accompany her through the busy streets."
Murry looked at Damon, delivering her exact words.
"But the Lady refused any help," Murry said. "She offered a very bright, confident smile. She told me... she told me it is for business and she would just need a carriage."
Damon froze.
His mind raced, trying to process the information.
"Business?" Damon spoke out loud, his voice full of deep doubt and confusion.
"Yes, My Lord," Murry confirmed, nodding his head firmly. "That is exactly what she said. She said she was going to put the money to work to make a real, clean profit. She looked very excited about her plans."
Damon stood in the grand foyer, his mind spinning in endless, chaotic circles.
"Business?" Damon’s thoughts raged wildly.
He remembered his terrible dream from just a few minutes ago. He remembered the nobleman. He remembered Camilla kissing him and saying she loved Winston.
A sudden wave of burning jealousy and deep worry exploded straight into Damon’s chest.
"Is she really going to do business?" Damon’s anxious thoughts questioned, his jaw clenching tightly. "Or is ’business’ just a clever, terrible lie? Is she taking that massive chest of gold coins to buy her way out of our marriage? Is she going to use my own gold to run away to the capital city, hide in a secret house, and reunite with this Winston?"
The thought of her using his hard-earned gold to build a life with another man made Damon feel physically sick with rage. He wanted to mount his warhorse, ride into the capital, and search every single street, every tavern, and every merchant shop until he found her.
But he was a General. He had strict duties. He had to go to the military camp. He had to manage the border controls and prepare his soldiers for the King’s lockdown. He could not run around the city like a jealous, crazy husband without a clear plan.
Damon forced his hands to relax at his sides. He took a long, deep breath to control his dark emotions.
"It is fine," Damon said to Murry. His deep voice was cold and flat, hiding all of his internal panic.
He adjusted his military coat, pulling the fabric straight over his shoulders.
"I am heading out to the camp now," Damon announced, turning his body toward the grand front doors. "Tell the kitchen staff not to prepare breakfast for me. I am not hungry. I will eat my breakfast at the military camp after I finish the morning inspection."
Mr. Murry bowed, understanding his command. "As you wish, My Lord. Have a safe journey to the camp."
Damon did not say another word. He turned his back on the old housekeeper and marched quickly out of the grand foyer. He pushed the front doors open, stepping out into the cool, bright morning air of the courtyard.
Down in the courtyard, Peter, the stable boy, was already waiting. He was holding the leather reins of Damon’s black warhorse. The horse was fully brushed, clean, and looking strong after its night of rest.
Damon walked down the wide stone steps. His mind was consumed by the image of his wife, the chest of gold, and the faceless lover named Winston.
He reached the horse. Peter bowed respectfully and handed him the reins.
Damon grabbed the leather reins tightly in his gloved hand. He placed his boot into the stirrup, swung his leg over the saddle, and mounted the massive animal with a smooth, powerful movement.
He sat tall on the horse, looking toward the open gates of the estate.
"I will have Kade send someone to investigate," Damon thought, his eyes narrowing with terrifying resolve. "If she is meeting a man named Winston today... we will find him. And I will make sure he never touches her, or my gold, ever again."
With that final, dangerous promise in his heart, Damon cracked the reins. The black horse let out a loud neigh, reared back slightly, and charged out of the courtyard, galloping rapidly toward the military camp in a cloud of thick, brown dust.
