Chapter 7 Punishable Offense

Dante POV

The door opened a second later, and the man stepped inside. A guard, standing ramrod straight, his face impassive as always. He didn't say a word.

"Enoch," my father said without even glancing at the man. "Send him. Now."

The guard nodded, expressionless, then stepped out the door.

I stood there, fuming. My mind is racing with questions and fury that I couldn't quite direct. My heart pounded in my chest. I wanted to scream, but I held my voice low instead. In check.

"Why?" I asked. "Why her? Why today? Why-the lie?

My dad finally shifted to look at me, and as he did, the ferocity of his stare was shackles around my body. He crossed his arms slowly, his eyes narrowing into a slit.

"I don't know what you're asking me for, Dante," he said, his tone softer than a whisper, but every syllable cutting deep. "But let me make one thing certain: if you're here to fight me, we're both wasting our time." His gaze locked onto mine, unblinking and unflinching. "Nothing will be decided in anger. Not now. Not ever."

He remained so for a very long time, as if measuring the distance between us. And then, slowly, with intent, turned forward again, away from me.

"I want answers as much as you," he went on, his tone colder now, more distant. "But we will have them only when the moment arrives."

The silence which remained was strangling.

I did not say anything else. Couldn't. There was nothing to say.

What was I to say? What was there left to say?

It was all his game, his scheme, his moves. And I was merely a pawn, too ignorant to realize it.

For a moment, I stood there fuming, enraged but helpless, unable to make another move. The game was already afoot. And I was merely. part of it.

Doors to my father's chambers opened. Enoch walked in, and the demeanor of his entry was. different. Normally, he walked in like a damn hurricane-strong, authoritative, confident. Today, not so much. He looked. defeated, smaller in some way, as if he carried some weight that he could not shake.

I had never seen him like that before. And I hated it.

There was no room for sweet talk. The silence between us was thick and heavy, like a cloud waiting to burst. I wasn't waiting.

"What the hell happened today, Enoch?" I growled, my tone slicing. I didn't have any use for sweet talk or nice words now. Not when everything already went so horribly wrong.

Enoch simply stood there, head down, as if the room air was a ton. He didn't answer right away, as if he was still trying to piece together what had happened, what had even gone wrong. When he did answer, his voice was softer than usual. Almost tentative.

"I don't. I don't know, Lord Dante. I really don't."

My patience snapped. "You don't know?" I stepped forward, each word hanging like a stone between us. "You were meant to ensure that everything went without a hitch. Where is Stella? Why the bloody hell is she not the bride? What the hell did you do?"

Enoch's gaze dropped to the floor, and I could see the guilt written across him, though he did not have answers. The last I know, she had set out to get the dress yesterday. She was Stella when she left. But. when she came back, something was not right." He hesitated, his eyes slightly squinting as if he was trying to untangle the mess in his own head. "I don't know when or how exactly it happened, but she. she was not herself. I thought that was okay because she was always fighting.". And I knew that she was the same woman until today at the wedding place.".

My blood was cold, though I could not yet allow anger to overcome me. "You are telling me you have no idea what occurred?" All this was seething within me with shame.

"You had direct involvement in all this. You were supposed to ensure she was okay and that everything was okay." I could feel the flames searing into my chest once more, the frustration churning.

He protested not. He simply looked. lost.

My teeth gritted, anger rising so fast it was choking. I wanted to shout at him, make him answer questions he quite obviously didn't have. But something in his eyes, something that indicated he wasn't a liar. He just didn't know. And that hurt worse than any deceit.

My father's voice cut through tension before I could lose it, his voice cold and authoritative. "Enough."

I stopped before him. His tone was still low, but there was an underlying edge to it that demanded respect. He'd screamed for only one reason: to shut down the insanity before it incinerated us all alive.

"Enoch," my dad continued, his voice cold and hard, "you've let me down, Again." He didn't scream, but the unspoken anger in his tone made the room shrink in. "This was your job, and you've allowed it to slip right through your fingers. Do you realize how horrible what you've done is? Do you know what this mistake can cost us?"

Enoch did not flinch. He merely stood there, a man who had already accepted his own defeat. "I do, Lord Volmore," he replied softly. "I. I will take the blame for this. But I don't know what happened. I wish I did."

There was silence for what seemed like hours. My father's eyes never left my own, cold as stone. "I don't care what you wish you knew.". What I am going to be afraid of is what you do from now on." His eyes flashed to me, and I could feel the weight of his words strike me like something physical. "This is more than the two of you. The family. the bloodline. all that we have built. You will mend this, Enoch, or you will regret it. Do I make myself clear?

"

Enoch nodded, his teeth clenched. "Yes, Lord Volmore."

"Good." My father's eyes snapped back to me, his expression growing tighter. "And you, Dante. If you're here to fight with me, to accuse or to have a tantrum, then you're wasting your time. We need answers, not your anger. We all want answers. But this isn't how we get them."

I stood there, fists clenched, anger still simmering just under the surface. But I knew he was right. I was angry. But anger wasn't going to serve us any purpose. I had to find out what was going on. And fast.

"What do we do then?" I asked, my voice gentler now, but no less pressing.

We come to the girl," my dad said again to Enoch, turning around again. "We find out who did this to us and why. And you" he nodded at Enoch, his eyes flashing-"will get out of my way until we do. Do you hear me?"

Enoch nodded again. "Hear.".

"Good," my father muttered, before turning away from both of us. "Then we'll fix this. But for now. let's work out how to clean up this mess."

I stared at him. The man they called my father.

"Dante." His voice was calm, too calm-like he knew exactly how much it hurt to hear him speak that way, knew how much he was pushing me. "You've had a long day. Go rest. Let the night settle."