Inside a huge manor.
Steam spiraled gracefully above the porcelain bathtub, forming a delicate veil that hung in the air like a whisper. The water, a shimmering expanse of azure, captured the ambient light, creating a scene of tranquility that cradled the body in its soothing embrace.
The warmth radiated gently, wrapping around like a comforting blanket. Yet, beneath this serene facade lurked a disquieting truth, a stark contrast to the peacefulness that enveloped the room.
To truly grasp the essence of what lies beneath the shimmering surface, one would need to lean in closer, past the gentle ripples that dance playfully across the water's skin.
There, an unsettling sensation awaited—a breath, icy and ethereal, surged upward from the black depths below, sending a spine-tingling shiver spiraling up through the body.
Delicate fragments of frost swirled through the air, weaving intricate patterns like secret whispers floating on a ghostly breeze. Simultaneously, the water's temperature dipped dangerously close to freezing, its chilling embrace potent enough to silence the pulse of life in mere moments, an icy trap lurking just beneath the glassy facade.
Yet David lay submerged without so much as a shiver.
His breathing was steady, slow. His skin, instead of paling, held a warm flush, as if his body existed in defiance of the cold that should have killed him.
After several quiet minutes, he opened his eyes.
Water trickled down his torso as he ascended, glistening like liquid silver under the sunlight. The light highlighted the chiseled contours of his physique, with broad shoulders that seamlessly led to a formidable chest, each muscle delineated with the artistry of countless hours spent in rigorous training and fierce combat.
His abdomen was a tapestry of definition, each segment sharply outlined, revealing a landscape of power and discipline. Faint scars adorned his skin, whispers of past battles etched in his flesh, hinting at untold stories and experiences that remained locked away, never to be shared.
He stepped out of the tub, unbothered by the icy water dripping from him. Grabbing a towel, he wrapped it around his waist, then used another to dry the droplets clinging to his arms, neck, and hair.
The bathroom door slid open.
Waiting just outside was a middle-aged man dressed in immaculate black formal wear. Behind him, two maids stood with perfect posture, hands clasped, heads lowered.
The man slightly bowed his head. Ben, the family butler, was the same one who had picked up David and his team.
David walked past him silently.
"How was the bath, sir?" Ben asked, voice respectful but warm.
David paused, turning slightly to face him. "It was good, Uncle Ben. And please… you don't have to start with the honorific. Not when the old man isn't here anymore."
Ben lowered his gaze further. "I can't do that. You are now the Lord of the family, sir."
David's expression didn't change at first… then softened with something between exhaustion and sadness.
"What family?" he murmured. "I'm the last one left."
Ben said nothing.
David chose not to pursue the issue further. Instead, he let out a soft exhale, a sound filled with resignation, as if a weight had settled on his shoulders. His features quickly molded back into their usual facade of stoic indifference, a practiced serenity that concealed any hint of turmoil beneath.
With purposeful strides, he made his way toward the room-made wardrobe that took over one side of his chamber. The maids trailed behind him in silence, respectful and unobtrusive, while Ben lingered at the doorway, a watchful presence in the threshold.
Inside, garments of various styles and shades hung neatly in rows. As the maids assisted him in dressing, David's voice drifted from the wardrobe.
"How is the girl?"
Ben straightened slightly.
"She is in the visitors' chambers, sir. Currently freshening up." He hesitated for a moment, then added cautiously, "If you don't mind me asking… who is she? And why the request for Emily?"
A long silence filled the room.
Then David replied, voice level, unreadable: "I promised her power. And I intend to fulfill that promise."
Ben's breath caught—but he did not speak. His thoughts, however, spun with unease.
He remembered the moment they all got out of the car. The little girl's bright eyes scanned the mansion before she cheerfully asked, "Wow, Dad, is this our house?"
It wasn't the sentence that stunned him. It was the Dad, and the fact that David had not corrected her.
But he swallowed his questions.
If David wished to explain, he would. And if he didn't… no one could force him.
A few minutes later, David stepped out from the wardrobe fully dressed—black shirt, black trousers, black jacket, even black slides. Shadows clung naturally to him, as if the color belonged to him more than the fabric.
He looked at Ben.
"Call Thalassa," he said. "And tell Emily I'll be waiting for both of her at the dining."
Ben bowed deeply. The maids followed suit.
David left the chamber without another word—the quiet authority of a man who never asked for power, but had it placed upon him all the same.