《Eclipsed Hearts》 Chapter 1 - Welcome to the Chateau The call had come in the middle of the day. A curt order from Brooklyn Holloway, his boss, delivered in that clipped tone she used when she was furious. Ian had sprinted through the long, immaculate corridors of The Chateau, where the Holloway clan lived, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. Something was wrong. Brooklyn rarely lost her composure, and Ian knew better than to keep her waiting. When he reached her office, the door was ajar. Inside, Brooklyn paced like a storm waiting to break. Her suit¡ªusually pristine¡ªwas rumpled, stained with faint splatters of red. Her long black hair flew wildly around her face, her scowl carving sharp lines into her otherwise delicate features. At her father¡¯s desk sat William Holloway, the clan leader. Silent. Watching. Ian entered soundlessly, taking his place beside Bruce, his second-in-command. Bruce glanced at him, shrugged¡ªa silent ¡°I don¡¯t know either.¡± Ian took a quick scan of the room. A figure knelt near William¡¯s desk, surrounded by Holloway''s bodyguards. Blood soaked the man¡¯s threadbare clothes, streaking his arms and face. He looked battered and young¡ªtoo young for this kind of mess. Brooklyn turned abruptly, pointing a sharp finger at Ian. ¡°Finally. Get over here.¡± Ian walked forward, coming to stand at her side. Brooklyn was tall¡ªalmost eye-level with him¡ªand for once, there was no amusement in the way she glanced down at him. ¡°This man,¡± Brooklyn began, her voice shaking as she exhaled harshly, ¡°has ruined my deal with the Faunus.¡± William Holloway cleared his throat behind her. Brooklyn paused, biting back her anger. ¡°Tell him everything,¡± William said, his voice calm and heavy like a blade waiting to drop. Brooklyn shot her father a quick look before returning to Ian, who stood quietly, waiting. ¡°Someone found out about my meeting,¡± Brooklyn said, voice cold. ¡°The Faunus owner was there, ready to talk. Then, suddenly¡ªgunfire. One of our men was shot.¡± Ian stiffened. ¡°Who?¡± ¡°Julian,¡± Brooklyn replied, her expression turning grim. ¡°Dad¡¯s man. Armando is handling it.¡± Armando, the head of William Holloway¡¯s personal guards, was as reliable as they came. Ian allowed himself a breath of relief, though it didn¡¯t show. ¡°And him?¡± Ian tilted his head toward the kneeling man. Brooklyn studied the bloodied figure, her expression unreadable. ¡°He broke into the bar just before the shooting started. Coincidence? Maybe. But his timing was so bad, it cost us five million.¡± Ian¡¯s eyes narrowed as he took a closer look. The man was built¡ªbroad shoulders, strong legs¡ªbut the bruises mottling his face made him look smaller. More breakable. ¡°I want him working for me,¡± Brooklyn said. ¡°Under you.¡± Ian turned to her, brow arching. ¡°You want him as one of my men?¡± She crossed her arms. ¡°We¡¯re one man short, Ian. He owes me. He can pay back his debt with sweat and blood.¡± William nodded in agreement, his approval final. Ian sighed inwardly. Babysitting wasn¡¯t in his job description. ¡°I don¡¯t see why not,¡± Ian replied, his voice dry. ¡°But if he¡¯s useless, I¡¯ll throw him back where he came from.¡± Brooklyn smirked faintly. ¡°I¡¯m counting on you to sort him out. Train him.¡± She spun on her heel, her father rising behind her, and the two swept out of the office. Ian waited until the rest of the guards filed out before approaching the kneeling man. The kid flinched when Ian crouched in front of him, hands stuffed in the pockets of his suit pants. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± Ian asked calmly. The younger man hesitated. ¡°Thomas.¡± Ian sighed, shaking his head. ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me. Once more¡ªwhat¡¯s your name?¡± The kid¡¯s brows knit together. Finally, he muttered, ¡°Tim.¡± Ian nodded. ¡°Clever. Close enough to fool people who aren¡¯t paying attention.¡± Tim frowned, suspicious, but Ian just smirked. He reached over and untied Tim¡¯s hands, pulling him to his feet. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Ian ordered, already heading for the door. ¡°First stop: the infirmary. I don¡¯t want you bleeding on the floors. Brooklyn would kill me.¡± Tim shuffled behind him, his steps uneven but steadying. ¡°Brooklyn¡­ she¡¯s your boss?¡± Ian didn¡¯t bother looking back. ¡°It¡¯s Miss Holloway to you. And yes, she¡¯s my boss. And yours now too.¡± Tim¡¯s voice carried a hint of disdain. ¡°And you? What are you supposed to be here?¡± Ian stopped abruptly, turning. Tim skidded to a halt, nearly crashing into him. ¡°I¡¯m your boss too. The Head Bodyguard and you better follow the hierarchy scrupulously if you don¡¯t want me to beat your arse,¡± he steps closer to Tim, noting that he is taller and bigger and definitely looks intimidating in front of the scared man. ¡°I don¡¯t care that Brooklyn thinks you¡¯re good at fighting. You won¡¯t be good enough here, not among professionals. I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll have to teach you how to hold a gun when some of us have known how to use one since childhood. It will be my responsibility to teach you how to fight correctly and efficiently when every blow hits and causes damage, so you do not become a burden for us when some of us have been martial arts champions or professional boxers, even ex-soldiers.¡± He steps a little closer, frowning and feeling his irritation taking hold of him. ¡°So, you better show some respect, Tim, ¡¯cause I have the power to make your life miserable.¡± The younger man swallowed hard, visibly paling. Ian¡¯s lip curled in a faint, satisfied smirk. Without another word, he turned and continued toward the infirmary, Tim trailing behind. ??? When they finally reached the room, Ian left the younger man in the capable hands of the doctor present, and, as he was about to leave the place, he was stopped by one of his men. ¡°Ian,¡± came the sharp voice of a passing guard, ¡°Miss Holloway¡¯s asking for you. She¡¯s in her office.¡± The man disappeared back into the shadows, leaving Ian to frown thoughtfully. She¡¯d already said her piece earlier, hadn¡¯t she? But Brooklyn didn¡¯t summon people twice without reason. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Ian turned down the Chateau¡¯s maze-like hallways toward Brooklyn¡¯s office. The building always felt unnervingly quiet¡ªa pristine fortress above a city drowning in smog and chaos. ??? Ian knocked on the heavy oak door and waited. A muffled ¡°Come in¡± followed, and he stepped inside. Brooklyn sat behind her desk, brow furrowed as she studied a spread of papers. The crimson tie of her white suit jacket contrasted sharply against the pallor of her skin, like blood smeared across snow. Without looking up, she gestured toward the dark red sofa across the room.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Sit,¡± she said, standing up and grabbing the papers. Ian obeyed, taking the seat opposite her as she joined him, sitting down with a slight sigh. ¡°You wanted to see me?¡± Ian prompted, watching as she flipped the papers onto the coffee table. ¡°Yes.¡± Brooklyn¡¯s voice was clipped, but there was something thoughtful behind her sharp tone. ¡°Regarding the events today, we have a problem.¡± ¡°With the newcomer?¡± She shook her head, her dark hair slipping over her shoulders like ink. ¡°No. Maybe. I don¡¯t know yet.¡± She paused to grab a bottle of water, twisting it open before speaking again. ¡°I had Dave run ballistics on the scene.¡± ¡°And?¡± Brooklyn turned fully to Ian, her frown deeper than before. ¡°The bullets were meant for me.¡± Ian¡¯s stomach hardened, though his face betrayed nothing. ¡°For you?¡± ¡°This meeting was supposed to be a complete secret. Only me, my father, and the men I brought with me knew about it.¡± Her voice dropped, words measured. ¡°That means someone knew we¡¯d be there. Someone who wants me dead.¡± Ian considered this, though he said nothing yet. Brooklyn didn¡¯t need empty responses¡ªshe needed results. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking,¡± she continued, running a hand through her hair, frustration bleeding through, ¡°that maybe this connects back to the Wyndams. To Gaius.¡± Ian¡¯s expression didn¡¯t change, but his mind sharpened at the name. The Wyndams had always been the Holloways¡¯ shadow¡ªIronhaven¡¯s eternal second, as people whispered. A family hungry for power and willing to bleed the streets dry to take it. Brooklyn didn¡¯t look at him as she spoke, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the window, where the city skyline stretched into haze. ¡°Gaius¡¯s been¡­ emboldened. There was the attempt on my father¡¯s life last month¡ªallegedly his doing. And now, this.¡± Her voice dipped lower like the words were sharper than she intended. ¡°Then there¡¯s Avalon.¡± At the name, Ian¡¯s jaw tightened faintly. Avalon Wyndam. Brooklyn turned to him then, nodding slightly. ¡°You¡¯ve seen what he¡¯s like. Cruel. Jealous. Dangerous. If anyone would take a shot at me, it¡¯s him.¡± Ian didn¡¯t disagree. Avalon Wyndam was Gaius¡¯s oldest son¡ªa man who was equal parts charm and venom, known for his ruthless games and unpredictable temper. Ian had crossed paths with him only a handful of times, but Avalon had a way of leaving an impression¡ªlike a blade that grazed but never quite cut. Brooklyn met Ian¡¯s eyes again, her expression colder. ¡°I need you to keep both eyes on Avalon and the Wyndams. Follow him when you can. Gather anything¡ªinformation, rumours, patterns. I need to know what they¡¯re planning.¡± Ian inclined his head slightly. ¡°And what about the newcomer?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll keep an eye on him,¡± she said briskly, standing up as if the matter were decided. ¡°You¡¯re spread thin enough already.¡± A faint smirk tugged at her lips. ¡°You can always delegate, Ian. I¡¯m sure the others would love the chance to show Tim what life¡¯s like in the Chateau.¡± Ian mirrored the smirk, already imagining the chaos brewing in the bodyguard wing as they waited to haze the newcomer. ¡°It¡¯s settled, then,¡± he said, rising to his feet. ¡°Good night, Brooklyn.¡± ¡°¡®Night, Ian,¡± she replied, waving him off as she returned to her desk. ??? Ian walked through the dim hallways at an unhurried pace, the soft thud of his footsteps breaking the silence. The bodyguard wing lay ahead, but before he reached it, he noticed a shadow hovering near a door at the end of the corridor. He stepped closer, silent as always, and recognised the silhouette immediately. Tim. The man was standing stiffly by one of the dorm doors, his head tilted as though trying to listen for signs of life inside. Ian stopped just behind him, waiting. It took a full minute before Tim froze, his shoulders bunching. He turned abruptly, yelping as he jumped back. Ian raised a brow, unimpressed. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Tim¡¯s face darkened faintly, as though embarrassed. ¡°I got lost.¡± Ian didn¡¯t care if that was true. If Tim was here to play spy for the Wyndams, he wouldn¡¯t make it out of the Chateau alive. But something about the man¡¯s hesitant movements¡ªthe way his eyes darted nervously¡ªseemed genuine. ¡°Follow me,¡± Ian said curtly, already turning toward the bodyguard wing. They turned a corner, and Ian opened the door to the bodyguard wing, a stark contrast to the luxury of Brooklyn¡¯s quarters. Functional. Utilitarian. Here, the scent of sweat, leather, and faint oil from gunmetal clung to the air. Tim glanced nervously at the open rooms, where other bodyguards passed the time cleaning weapons or sparring in pairs. When they entered the wing, the energy shifted immediately¡ªmore focused, alive. Voices echoed faintly from the cafeteria, a distant sound of laughter followed by metal striking metal from the training rooms. Ian ignored the curious stares. ¡°Cafeteria¡¯s here.¡± He pushed open a door into a spacious room with long wooden tables and industrial lights hanging low from the ceiling. Two men leaned against the bar counter at the back, eyeing Tim as they sipped coffee. ¡°You eat here when you¡¯re told,¡± Ian said curtly. ¡°Food outside of schedule? You make it yourself. Keep track of what you use.¡± Tim nodded stiffly, his gaze darting around the space. Ian barely slowed, already leading him back into the corridor. ¡°Sleeping quarters are next.¡± They reached a narrow hallway lined with identical doors. Ian stopped outside one and pulled a key from his pocket, tossing it at Tim. ¡°Yours,¡± Ian said, jerking his chin toward the door. ¡°You¡¯re across from the others, for now. Prove yourself, and maybe you¡¯ll move up.¡± Tim stepped into the room, taking it in¡ªspartan but liveable. A single bed, a small desk, and an adjoining bathroom. He looked like he wanted to say something, but Ian cut him off. ¡°Remember this,¡± Ian said as they walked. ¡°This isn¡¯t a place for mistakes. You¡¯ll train. You¡¯ll fight. You¡¯ll earn your place, or you¡¯ll find out how quickly you can fall from grace.¡± Tim didn¡¯t reply, but Ian noticed the way his fists clenched by his sides. Good. Maybe there was some fight in him after all. ¡°Get some sleep,¡± Ian added, pausing outside Tim¡¯s door. ¡°Tomorrow, we¡¯ll see what you¡¯re really made of.¡± ??? The next day, Ian showed Tim where his men trained daily. The room was a wide, open space dominated by three large squares outlined in red tape¡ªcombat zones where Ian¡¯s men spent hours sparring. The smell of mats, sweat, and metal hung in the air. Ian stepped inside the first square, shrugging off his suit jacket with deliberate precision. He folded it neatly on the floor, unbuttoned his cuffs, and rolled up his sleeves. Every movement was calm, practised¡ªlike a predator stretching before the hunt. ¡°Shoes off,¡± he ordered without looking up. Tim hesitated before hurriedly toeing off his shoes. His eyes darted around nervously as if searching for an escape route. Ian tilted his head. ¡°Step into the square.¡± Tim¡¯s steps were tentative as he moved to face Ian, his shoulders bunched with tension. ¡°What are we doing?¡± ¡°We¡¯re fighting,¡± Ian replied simply, raising his fists into a practised stance. ¡°And you¡¯re going to show me if you¡¯re worth my time.¡± Tim blinked, eyes wide. ¡°Right now?¡± ¡°Yes. Right now.¡± Ian¡¯s tone left no room for argument. ¡°Show me what you¡¯ve got.¡± Tim lifted his fists awkwardly, trying to mimic Ian¡¯s stance. It was an amateur¡¯s attempt¡ªhis weight too far forward, knees locked instead of bent. Ian¡¯s sharp eyes caught every mistake. ¡°Too stiff,¡± Ian muttered, circling Tim slowly, his movements fluid and deliberate. ¡°Your legs need to give you balance, not hold you down.¡± Tim barely registered the warning before Ian struck. It wasn¡¯t a hard hit¡ªjust a sharp jab to the jaw that sent Tim stumbling back, his eyes wide with shock. He scrambled to recover, fists shaking as he raised them again. ¡°Move your feet,¡± Ian said, his tone flat, almost bored. ¡°Static targets don¡¯t last long.¡± Tim tried to adjust, shifting from foot to foot, but Ian was already moving. The next blow caught him under the chin¡ªswift, efficient, and precise. Tim grunted, stumbling back further until his heel caught on the edge of the square. ¡°Focus,¡± Ian barked, circling him again. ¡°Stop watching me. Watch what I¡¯m doing.¡± Ian didn¡¯t just watch Tim¡¯s punches¡ªhe watched his eyes. The flicker of frustration, the way he clenched his jaw as if he refused to break. The kid didn¡¯t have technique, but he had fight. That mattered more. He lunged forward with a clumsy swing. Ian sidestepped it effortlessly, his expression unimpressed, and drove a jab into Tim¡¯s stomach that folded him like a paper doll. Tim wheezed, his knees hitting the mat hard. Humiliation burned alongside the pain, but beneath it, something else churned¡ªa stubborn refusal to stay down. Ian stopped moving, standing over him with barely a hair out of place. ¡°You¡¯re not good,¡± Ian said flatly. Tim looked up, chest heaving, and spat a bitter, ¡°Not compared to you, no.¡± Ian didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°I fought underground rings for years. Where I come from, fights are a matter of survival. You either win, or you¡¯re dead meat.¡± Tim blinked at him, his breathing slowing. Ian saw the faint shift in his expression¡ªsomething wary but curious¡ªas he took in Ian¡¯s calm, looming presence. Ian extended a hand. Tim hesitated for only a second before taking it, allowing Ian to pull him to his feet. ¡°This is your reality now,¡± Ian said quietly, his voice low and cold. ¡°This isn¡¯t sport. Every fight counts. Every mistake bleeds. Learn fast, or learn what dying slow feels like¡± Tim swallowed hard, his bruised jaw twitching as he nodded. Ian picked up his jacket, slinging it over one shoulder as he turned to leave. ¡°Get something to drink. Training starts now.¡± Tim stood frozen for a moment, staring at the red square before shaking himself back to reality. He watched Ian disappear into the hallway, his footsteps echoing long after he was gone. Chapter 2 It had been a few days since Tim arrived at the Chateau, now caught up in the relentless grind of Ian¡¯s training. Every morning began with weightlifting and gruelling runs around the sprawling gardens. Afternoons were reserved for combat¡ªfree fights and intensive drills that left Tim sprawled on the mats more often than not. If Tim was embarrassed by his repeated defeats, he didn¡¯t show it. And to Ian¡¯s quiet surprise, the man was progressing¡ªhis form tightening, his footwork becoming less chaotic. He was still far from ready, but beneath the bruises and exhaustion, Ian could see it: a stubbornness that refused to break. Today, Tim was in the gym, straining under the barbell, beads of sweat dripping from his temples as Ian hovered nearby, reviewing paperwork. The sudden click of heels broke the rhythm of clanging weights and low grunts. Ian looked up, recognising the sound before the sight of her. Brooklyn strode into the gym like she owned every corner of it¡ªbecause she did. She wore a perfectly tailored crimson suit, her hair sleek and framing her face like black silk. Brooklyn paused, her dark eyes landing on Tim with an amused smirk. ¡°I see training¡¯s going well,¡± she remarked. ¡°You haven¡¯t given up on him yet.¡± ¡°He isn¡¯t all too bad,¡± Ian replied, standing straighter. ¡°But there¡¯s still a lot of work to do.¡± Brooklyn hummed in response, her gaze flickering briefly back to Tim before she turned fully to Ian. Without ceremony, she grabbed his elbow, guiding him toward a quieter corner of the gym. ¡°We¡¯re going out on a mission tonight,¡± she said, handing him a worn yellow file. Ian flipped it open, his sharp eyes scanning the contents: photographs of Amore, a well-known nightclub in the Crimson Mile, owned by Rosalia D¡¯Angelo of the Italian clan. Beside the images were neat lists of names and numbers. ¡°It¡¯s an auction,¡± Brooklyn continued quietly, her voice low but firm. ¡°High-end Italian jewellery. The clan that wins the most expensive piece secures an exclusive deal with the D¡¯Angelos. This is serious, Ian. More serious than what happened at the Faunus. It has to go right.¡± Ian¡¯s gaze lifted, meeting hers. ¡°Understood. Do you have a team in mind?¡± Brooklyn¡¯s lips quirked faintly. ¡°We¡¯re taking Tim.¡± Ian blinked. ¡°Tim?¡± he repeated, unsure he had heard right. She glanced back toward the younger man, who was still struggling through his last set of reps. ¡°He needs to see what it¡¯s like. If he¡¯s going to work for me, he has to understand what that means.¡± Her tone darkened. ¡°And I¡¯d rather keep my eyes on him. At all times.¡± Ian didn¡¯t argue. Brooklyn¡¯s intuition rarely failed her. ¡°You, however, are watching Avalon.¡± The name landed like a stone in Ian¡¯s stomach. Brooklyn¡¯s expression sharpened. ¡°He¡¯ll be there tonight. Watch his every move. I need to know what he¡¯s up to.¡± Ian nodded slowly, already anticipating the tension that would follow Avalon Wyndam¡¯s presence. He waited, sensing Brooklyn wasn¡¯t done. ¡°And give this man some proper clothes.¡± She gestured toward Tim with thinly veiled disdain. ¡°I don¡¯t want him humiliating me or my name. I¡¯ll call Mister Smith to make him something decent.¡± Ian smiled faintly at the mention of Mr Smith, the Holloway clan¡¯s elderly tailor. The man¡¯s work was legendary, and Ian found him agreeable company¡ªunlike most people at the Chateau. ¡°I¡¯ll call the team together tonight,¡± Brooklyn added, her heels clicking as she began to walk away. ¡°No one will have time to leak information.¡± She paused briefly at the door, turning back one last time. ¡°And Ian? Don¡¯t forget the suit.¡± Ian smirked faintly. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it.¡± Brooklyn disappeared, and Ian turned back toward Tim, who was watching him expectantly, sweat still dripping down his face. Ian grabbed a few stray weights, stacking them back on the rack. ¡°Brooklyn doesn¡¯t like your clothes,¡± Ian said matter-of-factly. ¡°We¡¯re going shopping.¡± Tim blinked. ¡°Huh?¡± ??? It was, Ian had to admit, one of the most entertaining things he¡¯d witnessed in a while. Tim, standing awkwardly in his underwear, was being poked, prodded, and occasionally spun in circles by the wiry, no-nonsense figure of Mr Smith. The tailor barely reached Tim¡¯s chest but made up for it with sharp elbows and an even sharper tongue. He muttered constantly under his breath as he draped various fabrics over Tim¡¯s shoulders¡ªtesting fits, tugging seams, and holding jackets at arm¡¯s length as though the young man were an uncooperative mannequin. ¡°Stand still, boy!¡± Mr Smith snapped as Tim tried to wriggle free. ¡°I¡¯ve wrestled men twice your size into suits.¡± Ian bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing outright. He leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, watching the scene with undisguised amusement. Finally¡ªafter three long hours¡ªMr. Smith stepped back with a satisfied grunt. The result was worth the wait. Tim now stood in a perfectly tailored midnight blue suit, paired with a crisp white shirt and polished black shoes. The clean lines of the jacket accentuated his broad shoulders, and Ian nodded approvingly as he pushed off the wall. ¡°You finally look presentable,¡± Ian said, circling the younger man critically. ¡°But we need to do something about your hair.¡± Tim frowned. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with my hair?¡± Ian¡¯s only response was a pointed stare at the messy strands flopping into Tim¡¯s face. ??? An hour later, Tim sat on a stool in Ian¡¯s quarters, scowling at his reflection in the mirror. Ian stood behind him with a pair of clippers, running them over Tim¡¯s head with practised efficiency. When he finished, Tim reached up to run a hand over his newly shorn hair, his grimace deepening. ¡°Did you have to shave everything?¡± he muttered. ¡°It¡¯s practical,¡± Ian replied with a shrug, ruffling his own short-cropped hair absentmindedly. ¡°Long hair gets in your eyes. As a bodyguard, your vision is your greatest asset¡ªso don¡¯t waste it.¡± Tim groaned faintly. ¡°I look like I¡¯m fresh out of jail.¡± Ian smirked as he set the clippers down. ¡°You¡¯ll get used to it. Give it a week, and having longer hair will feel strange.¡± Tim gave him a look, muttering something under his breath about ¡°glorified buzzcuts,¡± but Ian just chuckled, surprising the younger man. ¡°You¡¯ll thank me later,¡± Ian said, tossing a towel at him. ¡°Get ready. The auction isn¡¯t the place to look sloppy.¡± Tim stared at himself in the mirror, the suit sharp and the haircut cleaner than it had ever been. For the first time, he looked less like a scrappy street fighter and more like someone who belonged at the Chateau. ??? The Amore pulsed with life under the late-night glow of neon lights. It was a place of gilded decadence, where laughter and whispered deals mingled with the heavy bass thrumming through the floor. Ian followed Brooklyn through the entrance, shadowed by five men, including Tim¡ªstiff in his new midnight-blue suit. Brooklyn led them through the crowd with practised ease, walking alongside Olympe De Letang, the French clan leader. Olympe¡¯s personal bodyguard, a towering figure named Tee, hovered protectively behind her. Ian kept his eyes moving, cataloguing faces, exits, and threats. Brooklyn glanced over her shoulder and gave him a single nod before slipping into a private booth with Olympe. Ian understood the order. He signalled his men to fan out, taking positions around Brooklyn¡¯s space, while he disappeared into the shadows, weaving through the crowded club toward the opposite side. There, against the far wall, Ian watched the Wyndams arrive. Unlike the Holloways, whose bodyguards favoured sleek, sombre suits, the Wyndam clan wore flashes of colour that seemed deliberately loud. Avalon¡¯s men wore bold shades¡ªsoft orange, bright green, and crimson jackets¡ªclashing against the nightclub¡¯s moody lighting. Then there was Avalon Wyndam. True to his reputation, Avalon Wyndam stood apart from the chaos¡ªa towering figure sculpted like a young Adonis. At 6''3", his muscular frame commanded immediate attention, exuding both strength and grace. Where his men¡¯s colourful suits clamoured for notice, Avalon¡¯s tailored black ensemble seemed to devour the light. The fabric clung to his chiselled body with exacting precision, emphasising his broad shoulders, lean waist, and the powerful lines of his physique.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. He descended the stairs with an unhurried elegance, each step imbued with a predatory air. His movements were fluid, deliberate, and unnervingly calm, like a lion surveying its domain. His dark hair, styled back but softened by a few loose strands, framed his face¡ªa visage that could have belonged to a mythic god. High cheekbones, a strong jawline, and sharp, angular features combined to give him an otherworldly beauty that was both captivating and dangerous. Avalon¡¯s pale complexion, an anomaly among Ironhaven¡¯s sun-bronzed populace, lent him an ethereal quality. His skin gleamed against the black tattoos that coiled over his hands, up his forearms, and onto his neck. The intricate designs¡ªboth violent and artistic¡ªcrawled toward the collar of his shirt, hinting at stories and symbols hidden beneath the fabric. And then there were his eyes. Predatory and golden-hazel, they gleamed like a lion¡¯s, both regal and primal. Heavy-lidded yet razor-sharp, they burned with a quiet intensity, seeming to pierce through anyone they landed on. When Avalon¡¯s gaze swept across the room, it carried an unspoken command. Conversations faltered, movements stilled¡ªhis presence alone demanded submission, as if he were a king among mortals, untouchable and unyielding. Ian caught himself noting every detail, an instinctive wariness prickling at the back of his mind. It wasn¡¯t just Avalon¡¯s appearance that unsettled people¡ªit was the way he wore his power. Effortlessly. Unapologetically. A man who knew how to wield silence as effectively as a blade. Ian pushed the thought aside. Focus. His gaze flicked to Avalon¡¯s brother, Abiron, who stood out in his oversized red jacket and white shirt. The younger Wyndam was sprawled lazily in a chair, already nursing a drink, but Ian didn¡¯t miss the way his eyes flickered alertly toward his surroundings. Despite appearances, the Wyndams were no fools. Ian shifted his attention back to Brooklyn. She sat elegantly in her booth, wearing a black dress that shimmered faintly under the club¡¯s dim lights. Her diamond necklace glinted as she leaned in to whisper something to Olympe, her expression unreadable. Tim stood stiffly behind her, his freshly shorn hair and sharp suit making him almost unrecognisable from the scrappy fighter Ian had first met. Still, Ian caught the way Tim¡¯s gaze kept darting nervously toward Brooklyn¡¯s drink, as though ready to snatch it from her hands if anything looked off. It¡¯s touching, Ian thought dryly, smirking despite himself. ??? The auction began shortly after, and the room fell silent as Rosalia D¡¯Angelo stepped onto the small stage at the centre of the club. The Italian clan leader was a vision of Roaring Twenties glamour, her black dress adorned with a silky white shawl. Her bright silver hair¡ªalways pinned perfectly into a bun¡ªwas as striking as her reputation. She smiled, red lips curving into something both welcoming and predatory. ¡°Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,¡± she purred, her thick Italian accent giving her words a musical quality. ¡°Welcome to tonight¡¯s auction! I present to you the most exquisite pieces of Italian jewellery you have ever seen.¡± Her gaze swept across the room, pausing first on Brooklyn, who offered a polite smile, and then on Avalon, who barely moved. Still, the corner of his lips twitched upward¡ªa shadow of a smirk that seemed to please Rosalia, who smiled wider. ¡°May the best of you win!¡± she declared before stepping aside for the auctioneer. ??? Ian barely moved from his post in the shadows, though he watched everything. Brooklyn¡¯s earlier words echoed in his mind: ¡°This isn¡¯t about the jewels. It¡¯s about securing ties with Rosalia.¡± And, as expected, the battle unfolded between the Holloways and the Wyndams. Avalon sat with eerie calm, bidding against Brooklyn with deliberate precision. Whenever Brooklyn raised the stakes, Avalon countered, his expression flickering between quiet fury and icy indifference. Ian caught the subtle twitch of Avalon¡¯s brow as Brooklyn outbid him yet again, her voice cool and confident as she delivered the final number. From where Ian stood, the frustration on Avalon¡¯s face was unmistakable, though fleeting¡ªreplaced quickly by his signature unreadable mask. Ian¡¯s gaze lingered, watching the way Avalon whispered something to one of his men. The guard nodded and rose from his seat, striding across the club¡ªtoward Ian. He straightened slightly, instinct coiling through his muscles as the man stopped in front of him, holding out a glass of water. ¡°From Mr. Wyndam,¡± the guard said, his smile smug. ¡°He said you shouldn¡¯t hide in the dark. You¡¯re not a ghost.¡± Ian blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He took the glass but didn¡¯t drink, suspicion flickering behind his calm expression. The man returned to Avalon¡¯s booth, and Ian remained frozen for half a beat longer before slipping from the shadows to approach the bar. He set the glass down, glaring at it warily before leaning against the counter. Across the room, Avalon lifted his head, locking eyes with Ian. A slow, deliberate wave accompanied his faint, crooked smile¡ªdisarmingly charming and undeniably mocking. Ian didn¡¯t wave back. ??? The night stretched into the early hours of the morning, ending with Brooklyn¡¯s success. As the last of the bidders filtered out of the club, she stopped Ian by the exit. ¡°We won tonight,¡± she said simply, though there was something tired behind her eyes. Her makeup remained flawless, her hair still perfect, but her shoulders sagged faintly. ¡°But I need you to follow the Wyndams. See if Avalon makes another move.¡± Ian nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of it.¡± ¡°Good.¡± Brooklyn¡¯s smile was small but satisfied as she turned to leave, Tim close behind her, looking oddly protective despite his inexperience. Ian watched them disappear into the night before sighing and running a hand through his hair, loosening the styled strands. It fell messily over his forehead, softening his sharp appearance just enough to let him blend in. Outside, he found his vantage point¡ªhalf-hidden in the shadows of a large bush. He slouched against the wall, rolling his shoulders as exhaustion crept in. Moments later, the Wyndam siblings emerged. Abiron looked half-asleep as he stretched his arms with a loud yawn. Avalon, by contrast, was composed¡ªthough Ian caught the faint disarray in his hair and the dip of his shirt collar. Ian watched them silently, noting the genuine smile Avalon offered his brother before the two entered separate cars. Abiron and the guards drove away, but Avalon lingered. Alone. Ian¡¯s brows furrowed as Avalon climbed back into the driver¡¯s seat of the second car, pulling away from the curb. Where the hell is he going alone at this hour? Ian didn¡¯t hesitate. He scanned the street, spotting a black sedan nearby. The window shattered easily under his elbow, and within minutes, Ian had the car running, cables sparking as he hot-wired the ignition. He tailed Avalon¡¯s car carefully, following him through empty suburbs until the vehicle stopped near the Blackflow River. Ian parked further back, concealed by darkness, as Avalon stepped out of the car. His eyes narrowed. Avalon looked¡­ different. Strands of hair had fallen around his face, and his black suit clung a little looser, the collar dipping to expose tattoos against pale skin. He walked with unhurried grace toward the river, slipping off his shoes before settling onto the wooden pier as he fished out his phone from his pocket. Ian stayed hidden, watching as Avalon lay back, arms stretched lazily above his head, eyes locked on the empty sky. He couldn¡¯t make out the conversation he had over the phone, but when Brooklyn¡¯s name filtered faintly across the water, his focus sharpened. Then Avalon went still, phone forgotten beside him, his gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the horizon. Ian waited a moment longer, frowning as the man didn¡¯t move. Then, satisfied that nothing immediate was happening, Ian slipped back to the stolen sedan and started the drive back to the Chateau. ??? The drive to the Chateau took him through the sleeping streets of Ironhaven, a city caught somewhere between shadow and steel. The roads were quiet now, but not empty. Stray figures shuffled along the sidewalks¡ªworkers heading to early shifts, drunks stumbling out of forgotten alleys, and children who had nowhere better to be. Flickering neon signs buzzed overhead, advertising bars and all-night diners where deals were struck alongside stale coffee and cigarettes. The buildings here were tired giants, their crumbling facades streaked with rust and soot, graffiti clawing at their bricks like veins. Windows were shattered or boarded up in the poorer neighbourhoods, while wealthier sectors rose further off¡ªskyscrapers of glass and chrome that loomed like gods above the city¡¯s decay. Ian¡¯s car rumbled over potholes as he passed through the old industrial zones, where broken factories stood in crooked silhouettes against the lightening sky. Rusted smokestacks clawed at the heavens, their dead chimneys silent now, though the Blackflow River nearby still stank of oil and waste. He rolled down the window slightly, letting the cool predawn air hit his face. It smelled like metal¡ªiron, rain-soaked streets, and something darker underneath, a lingering staleness that never quite left Ironhaven. Further ahead, the streetlights began to thin as Ian reached the outskirts of the Holloway territory. Here, the Chateau rose like a fortress¡ªisolated and pristine, its pale facade stark against the gritty backdrop of the city below. Ian slowed as the gates came into view, straightening in his seat. Ironhaven might swallow the rest of the world whole, but here¡ªbehind high walls and manicured gardens¡ªthe Holloways¡¯ rule was absolute. He parked and stepped out, sparing one last glance over his shoulder at the sprawling city. Ironhaven stretched endlessly toward the horizon, its veins still alive with light and smoke. A place where power ruled, secrets thrived, and no one escaped unscarred. Welcome home, Ian thought bitterly, before turning and disappearing into the Chateau. The building stood still and silent against the early morning haze, its tall windows glinting faintly in the weak light. Inside, the hallways were empty, save for the soft creak of Ian¡¯s polished shoes on the marble floors. His steps carried him toward Brooklyn¡¯s office. Light spilt faintly from beneath the heavy oak door, and Ian knocked once, pausing for her reply. ¡°Come in.¡± Ian entered quickly, straightening his slightly rumpled suit and running a hand through his dishevelled hair¡ªa rare, self-conscious habit. He wasn¡¯t used to presenting himself this way to Brooklyn, but a night spent tailing the Wyndams didn¡¯t leave much room for appearances. Brooklyn was seated on the crimson sofa by the far wall, a half-empty glass of red wine balanced delicately in her hand. Her black dress shimmered faintly in the lamplight, and despite the hour, she looked as composed as ever¡ªlegs elegantly crossed, her dark eyes sharp and watchful. ¡°Ian,¡± she greeted, tilting her head slightly as he approached. ¡°You¡¯re finally back. Sit.¡± She gestured to the seat across from her, and Ian obliged, sinking gratefully into the plush cushions. ¡°Did you learn anything?¡± Ian leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his tone steady as he replied. ¡°Not much. I followed the Wyndams after the auction¡ªjust as you asked. Abiron went straight back to their house with the others, but Avalon¡­¡± He paused briefly, watching Brooklyn¡¯s expression. ¡°He went somewhere else.¡± Brooklyn¡¯s eyes narrowed faintly over the rim of her glass. ¡°Where?¡± ¡°To one of the riverside neighbourhoods. The poor ones,¡± Ian clarified. ¡°He got out of the car and made a phone call on the pier. I couldn¡¯t hear much¡ªI was too far¡ªbut I think I heard your name a few times.¡± Brooklyn¡¯s gaze turned thoughtful as she swirled the wine slowly, the deep red liquid catching the light like blood beneath glass. ¡°I see,¡± she murmured, her voice quiet but deliberate. She sipped her wine, then set the glass on the low table with a faint clink, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness of the room. Leaning back, she regarded Ian carefully, her expression unreadable. ¡°Keep watching Avalon and his men,¡± she said finally, her tone turning sharp with purpose. ¡°I¡¯ll find a way to get you inside the Wyndam¡¯s house.¡± Ian raised a brow. ¡°Inside their house?¡± Brooklyn nodded, her gaze unwavering. ¡°Yes. But for that to happen, I need to step up Tim¡¯s training.¡± Ian allowed a faint smirk. ¡°So you¡¯ve finally learned his name,¡± he remarked dryly. Brooklyn smiled faintly¡ªjust a ghost of amusement¡ªas she shrugged. ¡°I suppose I have. But I¡¯ll need him ready to take your place soon.¡± Ian blinked, his smirk faltering. ¡°Take my place?¡± ¡°You¡¯re too good to stand still, Ian,¡± Brooklyn said, her voice softening as she studied him. ¡°Too sharp to spend all your time at my side. I need you where you¡¯re most valuable¡ªtracking the Wyndams, watching Avalon.¡± Ian fell silent for a moment, digesting the words. He¡¯d spent years as Brooklyn¡¯s shadow, her trusted shield. To be replaced¡ªeven temporarily¡ªby Tim, a man who had only just learned to hold his ground, was¡­ unexpected. Still, Brooklyn¡¯s decision was sound. She wasn¡¯t the type to make emotional choices, and Ian respected that. ¡°I understand,¡± Ian said finally, his tone measured. He stood, bowing his head slightly in respect. ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to your night then.¡± Brooklyn waved him off with an elegant flick of her wrist, already reaching for her wine again. ¡°Good night, Ian.¡± ¡°¡®Night,¡± he murmured as he turned toward the door. ??? Ian walked through the Chateau¡¯s dim hallways, the quiet pressing around him like a weight. Outside the tall windows, the first traces of morning crept over the city, casting faint streaks of iron-grey light against the marble. Ian¡¯s steps slowed briefly as he glanced at the sprawling gardens beyond, their hedges shrouded in mist. Too good to stand still. Brooklyn¡¯s words lingered in his mind, strange and unexpected. Ian wasn¡¯t sure if it was a compliment or a dismissal¡ªperhaps both. Shaking the thought away, he adjusted his suit and quickened his pace, the ache of exhaustion settling heavily into his bones. Sleep would come quickly, but it wouldn¡¯t last long. There was always more work to be done. Chapter 3 The week after the auction passed in a blur of meetings, strategies, and heightened tension across the Chateau. Today was no different. Brooklyn was set to meet with the Italian clan leader, Rosalia D¡¯Angelo, to finalise the details of the new alliance¡ªa deal that could secure the Holloway family a lucrative flow of weapons and influence. The morning had begun with a long, gruelling meeting between Brooklyn and her father. Ian had sat through it, mostly silent, absorbing details about the upcoming negotiations while mentally strategising their security. Unlike the French clan, Rosalia D¡¯Angelo had always been distant toward the Holloways and closer with the Wyndams, something to do with Gaius¡¯ late wife, who had been a cousin of Rosalia. Today was more than just business¡ªit was a chance to bridge that gap and solidify trust. Brooklyn didn¡¯t need reminding. Her father had driven the point home, over and over. Ian, however, wasn¡¯t concerned with politics. His job was simpler: keep Brooklyn alive. ??? As the sun dipped low, casting Ironhaven into its familiar gloom, Ian found himself staring out the window of the convoy. The drive toward the meeting location¡ªa decrepit hangar on the outskirts of the city¡ªfelt longer than it was. Through the tinted glass, Ironhaven unfurled in all its grim majesty. The further they travelled, the more the city seemed to decay. Old factories loomed like forgotten sentinels, their rusting husks throwing shadows over cracked pavement. Rows of tenements leaned into each other as though they might collapse, graffiti and grime claiming every inch of their broken facades. Children played in the dirt alongside prowling strays, while street vendors called out halfheartedly to workers trudging home. The Blackflow River snaked sluggishly in the distance, reflecting the weak light of a dying sun. Its surface, blackened and polluted, mirrored the city¡¯s soul¡ªa beautiful ruin, beyond redemption. Ian turned his attention back to the men in the vehicle. He, Bruce, and Tim sat flanking Brooklyn, who remained unbothered, her gaze fixed calmly ahead. Ian had seen her angry, irritated, even frustrated, but never nervous. ¡°You¡¯ve got everything?¡± Ian asked softly, more out of habit than concern. Brooklyn didn¡¯t look at him, just smirked faintly. ¡°Of course.¡± ??? The convoy rolled to a stop outside the hangar, its rusted shell barely holding together. Three black SUVs were already parked outside, their presence undercutting the building¡¯s abandoned facade. Ian¡¯s eyes narrowed as he spotted three armed guards standing at the entrance, rifles slung carelessly across their chests. ¡°Guns out,¡± Ian ordered quietly, stepping out of the car first. The men obeyed without question. Ian checked his sidearm¡ªa sleek M9A1 pistol¡ªadjusting its weight in his grip. He had a Magnum tucked at his back and knives strapped discreetly beneath his jacket. Bruce carried a shotgun, while Tim held twin pistols, his fingers hovering uncertainly near the grips.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Brooklyn emerged last, stepping lightly onto the cracked ground. Her suit jacket hid a thin, tailored bulletproof vest, but she kept her weapons holstered. For now, Brooklyn needed to project control, not aggression. ¡°Stick close,¡± Ian murmured to Tim and Bruce as they approached the hangar. ¡°Eyes open.¡± The Italian guards exchanged brief looks before stepping aside. Ian made sure to position himself between Brooklyn and the men as they entered. Inside, the hangar felt colder than it should have. Its vast emptiness swallowed sound, the faint echo of footsteps bouncing off corrugated walls. At its centre stood Rosalia D¡¯Angelo, poised beside a long, metal table. Gone was the glamour of the auction. Tonight, Rosalia wore simple cream pants and a white cotton shirt, her silver hair falling loosely over her shoulders. The elegance remained, but so did the edge. Ian noticed the moment Rosalia¡¯s green eyes landed on Brooklyn. The faint scowl that creased her features broke whatever warmth had been in her beauty. ¡°Signora,¡± Brooklyn greeted smiling, her tone polite, kind but firm. Rosalia didn¡¯t bother returning the pleasantry. ¡°Signorina Holloway. A pleasure¡­ though I expected your father, not his inexperienced daughter.¡± Ian felt Brooklyn bristle beside him, though she covered it quickly. She offered a sharp smile, the kind that didn¡¯t reach her eyes. ¡°My father trusts me to handle this meeting. He sent me as a sign of respect, signora. Sending his successor shows just how much faith he has in our partnership.¡± Rosalia¡¯s lip curled faintly. ¡°And yet, your family always claimed to value seniority over youth. How disappointing to see Mr. Holloway himself did not feel this was worth his time.¡± Brooklyn¡¯s cheekbones tinged red, though her voice stayed sweet as honey. ¡°My father values efficiency. I assure you that you¡¯ll find I¡¯m quite capable.¡± Before Rosalia could respond, the hangar doors groaned open. Ian turned sharply, his hand already grazing his pistol. He didn¡¯t need to guess who it was. Gaius Wyndam entered with a confident stride, dressed in an immaculate sunset-orange suit that clashed garishly against the grey of the hangar. His dark hair was tied neatly back, scars faintly marking the sharp planes of his face. Behind him walked Avalon, flanked by two guards. Ian¡¯s jaw tightened. Avalon Wyndam looked as composed and dangerous as ever. He wore black trousers and a white, sleeveless top that clung to his lean frame. The cut exposed his ink¡ªtattoos crawling up his arms and around his neck, their intricate lines sharp against his pale skin. His dark hair was styled perfectly, not a strand out of place, though Ian knew better than to mistake that elegance for softness. There was no visible weapon on him¡ªnothing obvious, at least¡ªbut Ian wasn¡¯t fooled. Avalon was too smart, too calculating to come unarmed. ¡°Dio mio! Gaius, mio amico!¡± Rosalia¡¯s demeanour shifted instantly, her smile lighting up as she swept past Brooklyn to greet the Wyndam leader. They kissed each other¡¯s cheeks, laughter echoing through the hangar like a cruel joke. Ian barely listened, his attention flickering to Avalon, whose sharp eyes swept over the room. Their gazes locked briefly, and Avalon¡¯s lips curved faintly upward in a knowing smirk. ¡°Eyes on the Wyndams,¡± Ian muttered to Bruce and Tim, motioning them to stay close. Brooklyn, however, moved toward the group, her posture rigid with contained fury. ¡°Mr. Wyndam.¡± Her greeting to Gaius was cold, though polite. She offered a similar nod to Gaius¡¯ eldest son. ¡°Avalon. Always a pleasure.¡± Gaius turned to her with the easy, practised charm of a snake. ¡°Brooklyn. I had business nearby, and I couldn¡¯t resist greeting an old friend.¡± He gestured warmly to Rosalia, whose arm lingered in his. Brooklyn didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°We won the bid, Mr. Wyndam. This deal is for the Holloways. You have no place here.¡± ¡°Come now,¡± Gaius chided softly. ¡°There¡¯s no harm in saying hello, is there?¡± Before Brooklyn could respond, Rosalia raised a hand in front of her face. ¡°Enough.¡± Her voice cut cleanly through the room. ¡°Signorina, if your father truly wishes to do business with us, he will meet me himself. Not send his offspring to waste my time.¡± Brooklyn stood frozen, her smile forced, though Ian could see the anger simmering beneath the surface. Rosalia turned back to Gaius, dismissing Brooklyn with ease. ¡°I¡¯ll leave with my friend now. We¡¯ll see about the deal¡¯s outcome later.¡± Chapter 4 ¡°I can¡¯t fucking believe it!¡± Brooklyn¡¯s voice cracked through the car like a gunshot as she slammed her heel into the seat in front of her. Bruce startled slightly from the driver¡¯s seat, his hands tightening on the wheel as the car jerked subtly. ¡°Easy,¡± Ian murmured from beside her, though he didn¡¯t look up from where his forearms rested lazily on his knees. ¡°How dare she?!¡± Brooklyn stormed on, her voice vibrating with fury as she threw herself back into her seat, fists curling into the smooth leather. There wasn¡¯t much to say. Ian knew the loss stung deeply. Rosalia D¡¯Angelo¡¯s deal had slipped through Brooklyn¡¯s fingers, likely straight into the waiting hands of the Wyndams. Worse still, into the grasp of Gaius Wyndam¡ªa man who embodied everything she despised. Ian watched her from the corner of his eye, silent. If Gaius was a snake, his son Avalon was its fangs. The two of them had ruined what should have been Brooklyn¡¯s moment to prove her strength¡ªher worth¡ªto both Rosalia and her father. Ian didn¡¯t need to guess how much that failure burned. ¡°How did Gaius even know about the meeting?¡± Brooklyn muttered fiercely, her narrowed eyes fixed on the shadowed streets outside the window. Ironhaven rolled past¡ªtired buildings painted in sickly neon, their windows catching brief flashes of headlights as the car sped by. ¡°It was supposed to be secret. Rosalia swore to my father that the location was locked down. So how the hell were they there?¡± Her words seemed to hang in the car¡¯s heavy silence. Ian¡¯s gaze flickered toward her, quick but not quick enough. She caught him immediately, turning sharply to face him. ¡°You better keep your eyes on Avalon and his father,¡± she snapped, jabbing a finger toward him. Her voice had dropped, low and cold, but the anger simmered beneath every word. ¡°I want to know everything. When they wake up. When they sleep. Who they talk to and why. I don¡¯t care if you have to tail them for days on end¡ªI need answers.¡± Ian held her gaze without flinching, giving her a single nod. ¡°Understood.¡± Brooklyn exhaled sharply, her shoulders rising with the effort as she turned back to the window. The city outside continued to sprawl like a beast half-asleep, broken streets glowing faintly beneath dim streetlights. Somewhere in the distance, the Blackflow River glinted like an oily ribbon, slicing through the horizon. ¡°Dad¡¯s gonna hate this,¡± Brooklyn muttered, quieter this time, the anger in her voice fraying just slightly. She rubbed at her temple with her fingertips, the motion betraying an exhaustion she refused to show openly. ¡°I can¡¯t go back to him with nothing¡­¡± Ian didn¡¯t respond, though he heard every word. Instead, he sank deeper into thought, his mind already sharpening its focus toward the Wyndams. How they knew about the meeting didn¡¯t matter nearly as much as what they planned to do next. Avalon had a knack for moving in the shadows, hiding his intentions behind that faint, disarming smirk. Ian would need to be just as relentless. He catalogued a mental list of priorities¡ªcontacts to track, movements to tail, men to question. There was no room for assumptions, not anymore. Outside the window, Ironhaven¡¯s skyline loomed closer as they neared the Chateau. The glow of its white stone walls¡ªpristine even at night¡ªstood in harsh contrast to the decay of the city below. Brooklyn fell silent, her fury burning itself out slowly, replaced by a calculating stillness Ian recognised well. She wasn¡¯t defeated. She was reloading. And so was he. ??? The conversation with Mr Holloway had been mercifully short. Brooklyn had braced herself for an explosion of fury, but her father had simply set down his glass of wine, frowned thoughtfully, and dismissed them both. Ian suspected Brooklyn would have preferred the yelling¡ªit would have been easier to process. And so, perhaps to rid herself of lingering frustration, Brooklyn announced plans for a welcome party¡ªfor Tim. Naturally, she¡¯d ¡°suggested¡± it, and Ian found himself in charge of the entire thing. That¡¯s how Ian ended up standing at the bar of a crowded club on the outskirts of Ironhaven. It was far from the glamour of the Amore or the Chateau¡ªthis place pulsed with something darker, more primal. Neon lights slashed across the walls and floor in vibrant blues and greens, their glow barely illuminating the bodies moving together in tight, sweaty throngs. Ian was nursing a glass of something that he didn¡¯t bother to identify. He stood half in the shadows, watching Brooklyn dance in her tight blue dress, all laughter and sharp confidence, surrounded by Olympe and Tim, along with a handful of bodyguards she¡¯d invited. The pounding music threatened to drill into his skull, but Ian let it fade into white noise, his only job was to ensure Brooklyn didn¡¯t get herself killed¡ªor vomit on¡ªbefore the night ended. Tonight, he wasn¡¯t on watch. For once, he was free to breathe, though the thought of ¡°letting go¡± sat uneasily in his chest. The club¡¯s air was thick with sweat, liquor, and desperation. Ian pushed his way through it, dodging a woman who got far too close, her perfume sharp enough to sting his nose. He ignored her surprised glare and kept walking, turning his attention to the nearest window. Outside, the Blackflow River stretched into the distance, its dark surface catching faint glimmers of light from the club. Ian sighed and tilted his head back, rubbing at his temple as if he could push the tension away. ¡°This was supposed to be relaxing,¡± he thought bitterly. ¡°Having fun?¡± The voice cut through the noise. Ian turned to see Tim leaning casually against the bar, grinning in a way that made him look too young to belong in this world. Ian smirked faintly, some of the edge slipping from his shoulders. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t I be asking you that?¡± ¡°You¡¯re the one with all the admirers.¡± Tim¡¯s grin widened as he nodded toward the dance floor. Sure enough, Ian spotted more than one woman stealing glances his way, their laughter carrying above the bass. Ian groaned under his breath, feeling heat crawl up his neck. ¡°Not interested,¡± he muttered, tossing back the rest of his drink. Tim chuckled, clearly enjoying Ian¡¯s discomfort. ¡°Didn¡¯t know you could get embarrassed, man. You should enjoy yourself for once. I¡¯ll keep an eye on Miss Holloway if you want.¡± Ian stiffened slightly, something unreadable flickering across his face. Tim didn¡¯t understand¡ªcouldn¡¯t understand¡ªand Ian didn¡¯t have the energy to explain. Instead, he set his empty glass on the bar with a faint clink. ¡°It¡¯s fine. Thanks,¡± he said simply, his tone brooking no argument. ¡°I¡¯m going outside. Need some air.¡± ??? The air outside hit him like a balm¡ªcool, quiet, and fresh compared to the stifling club. Ian inhaled deeply, stretching his arms as he let the tension seep from his muscles.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. He wandered toward the riverside, where wooden planks and rickety benches overlooked the slow-moving water. Settling onto one of the benches, Ian leaned back against the table, elbows propped on either side of him. The Blackflow River glimmered faintly in the dark, its surface marred with ripples and the occasional gleam of something unnatural¡ªoil, maybe, or garbage carried along the current. The music from the club was still pounding behind him, muffled now by distance, but the relative quiet was a relief. Ian let his eyes close, feeling the faint buzz of alcohol take hold. It dulled the sharp edges of his mind, smoothing everything into something tolerable. For a moment, the world seemed brighter¡ªor at least less grey. Brooklyn had called him sad once, years ago, after he¡¯d admitted to her that the world didn¡¯t look the same to him as it did to everyone else. ¡°It¡¯ll pass,¡± she¡¯d said at the time. But it hadn¡¯t. The world was still a mess of grey shadows and black voids, with flashes of crimson and steel. His life had always been that way, a muted palette where colours existed but never shone. Ian sighed, rubbing at his face. He didn¡¯t let himself think about it too long¡ªabout what that meant or why it was. Loneliness always followed when he lingered on it, wrapping cold fingers around his chest until breathing became a chore. ¡°Shit,¡± he muttered under his breath, running his palm over his eyes. ¡°Talking to yourself isn¡¯t a good sign, boss,¡± came a voice above him. Ian¡¯s head jerked up to see Tim grinning down at him, two beers in hand. ¡°Miss Holloway sent me to check on you,¡± Tim said as he dropped onto the bench next to him, offering Ian one of the bottles. ¡°She told me, and I quote, to quit babysitting her.¡± Ian snorted softly, accepting the beer. ¡°Sounds like her.¡± ¡°You looked like you were about to have a mental breakdown out here.¡± Tim¡¯s voice was light, teasing, but Ian caught the genuine concern underneath. ¡°I wasn¡¯t,¡± Ian replied gruffly, taking a sip of the beer. ¡°Sure.¡± Tim raised a sceptical brow, but his tone remained light. ¡°So what¡¯s the deal? You don¡¯t like people, or are you just sad?¡± Ian shot him a sharp look, but Tim didn¡¯t waver. There was no judgment in his eyes¡ªonly curiosity, like a kid poking at something he didn¡¯t quite understand. ¡°It¡¯s not that,¡± Ian said after a pause, his voice quieter now. He hesitated, then shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m just not interested in¡­ anything like that. Relationships. People. It¡¯s tiring.¡± Tim hummed thoughtfully, leaning back as he stared out at the river. ¡°So you¡¯re picky?¡± Ian chuckled dryly, surprising even himself. ¡°Something like that.¡± The silence that followed wasn¡¯t uncomfortable. For once, Ian didn¡¯t feel like he needed to explain himself¡ªto justify what he wanted, or didn¡¯t want, or couldn¡¯t have. ¡°Brooklyn was right,¡± Ian said after a while, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. ¡°You¡¯re a good addition to the team.¡± Tim beamed at him, his face lighting up like a kid receiving praise for the first time. ??? The night felt endless. Brooklyn and the others had already returned to the Chateau, but Ian stayed behind, unwilling to face the silence of his empty room. He¡¯d asked Brooklyn for the rest of the night off, and she hadn¡¯t questioned him, simply waving him away with an understanding nod. Now, Ian wandered the streets of Ironhaven, walking alongside one of the canals as the early morning hours wrapped the city in an eerie stillness. The world felt suspended¡ªshops closed, streets empty, the hum of electricity crackling faintly through flickering streetlights. The Blackflow River gleamed in the distance, its ink-black waters sliding sluggishly beneath stone bridges and crumbling piers. A beer bottle dangled from Ian¡¯s hand, its weight grounding him as his thoughts drifted aimlessly. His conversation with Tim earlier gnawed at the edges of his mind, stirring memories he preferred to leave buried. Memories of bruises, of blood, of hunger. Of his father¡¯s fists and the suffocating nights in underground rings. His chest tightened. He hadn¡¯t thought about his great-aunt in months. The woman who¡¯d shown him more love than anyone else in his family, who cooked him meals and offered soft words when no one else would. Ian fumbled for his phone, barely realising he¡¯d pulled it from his pocket until her name appeared on the screen. He pressed the call button before he could stop himself. It rang once, twice¡ªthen a sleepy, familiar voice crackled through the line. ¡°Hello? Ian, darling, is that you?¡± Ian bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes fluttering closed at the sound of her voice. ¡°Hey, Auntie. Sorry. I didn¡¯t realise how late it was.¡± ¡°You mean early,¡± she muttered, stifling a yawn. Ian could hear the faint rustling of sheets as she shifted. ¡°How are you doing, sweetie?¡± ¡°I¡¯m good,¡± Ian lied softly, glancing down at his scuffed boots as he walked. He focused on the sound of his steps against the cobblestones¡ªone foot, then the other. ¡°Eating well. Keeping busy.¡± ¡°Did you finish all the food I sent?¡± Ian smiled faintly. ¡°I did.¡± ¡°And the money you sent, Ian¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s for your medication,¡± he cut her off gently, his fingers curling tighter around the beer bottle. ¡°You don¡¯t have to argue about it. It¡¯s done.¡± A soft groan came through the line, followed by an exasperated sigh. ¡°You worry too much about me. You¡¯re young, darling¡ªyou should be spending that money on yourself. Go out. Buy something you like. Have fun.¡± ¡°I love you, that¡¯s why,¡± Ian murmured, a little too quietly, as his steps faltered. He heard her soft laugh in response, a sound so familiar and warm that it almost broke him. ¡°Alright, alright. I¡¯ll let it go¡ªfor now. But promise me you¡¯ll take care of yourself, too, Ian.¡± ¡°I will,¡± Ian said, though the words felt hollow. They exchanged goodbyes, and Ian hung up, staring blankly at the phone screen before slipping it back into his pocket. The city was still silent, but the pounding in his head felt louder than before. He took another swig of his beer, grimacing as the bitterness coated his tongue, then stretched his arms with a quiet sigh. He didn¡¯t want to go home¡ªnot yet. ??? At some point, Ian wandered into unfamiliar streets. The quiet gave way to faint voices and laughter, and Ian soon spotted a group of Wyndam¡¯s men up ahead. Their brightly coloured suits were impossible to miss even in the dim glow of street lamps. Ian cursed under his breath, stopping short. Great. Just my luck. He pressed his palm against his side, feeling for the weight of his knives, and contemplated turning back. But then Brooklyn¡¯s voice echoed in his mind: ¡°Keep your eyes on Avalon. I want to know everything.¡± Ian hesitated, then sighed. Against his better judgment¡ªand his beer-clouded brain¡ªhe began to follow them, keeping far enough back to avoid suspicion. The men eventually ducked into a pub, its windows clouded with smoke and condensation. Ian paused outside, staring up at the building. He knew this place by reputation alone: Wyndam territory. Gaius¡¯s pub. Just walking inside would be enough to get him killed if someone recognised him. But Ian wasn¡¯t thinking clearly. Just a peek, he told himself. In and out. He pulled his hood up and entered the pub, keeping his gaze low as he scanned for the Wyndam men. They¡¯d settled at a table near the back, their voices loud and careless. Ian slipped into a seat nearby, turning his back to them, and ordered a drink¡ªsomething cheap that he wouldn¡¯t touch. He pulled out his phone, pretending to play a game while straining to listen. ¡°...Avalon¡¯s orders¡­¡± Ian¡¯s grip tightened around his phone. ¡°...Holloway¡­ inside information¡­¡± His heart began to race as he pieced together fragments of their conversation. Avalon was looking for more intel on Brooklyn¡ªtracking her movements, sniffing out vulnerabilities. And the most chilling part: a mole inside the Holloway clan, someone close enough to slip secrets without raising suspicion. His mind immediately flickered to Tim¡ªthe new recruit, the outsider with no past. Ian shook his head, forcing himself to focus. Tim was a possibility, but there were others. Too many others. He was just about to leave¡ªhis gut screaming at him to get back to the Chateau and tell Brooklyn¡ªwhen a hand landed softly on his shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t move.¡± The voice was calm, smooth, and far too familiar. Ian¡¯s blood ran cold. He looked up, dread pooling in his stomach as his eyes met Avalon¡¯s. The man moved around the table with quiet grace, sliding into the seat across from Ian. As usual, Avalon was an arresting sight, even in casual wear. His white shirt fit perfectly, the fabric stretched taut over his broad shoulders and sculpted chest, revealing glimpses of the intricate black ink snaking up his arms and neck. His dark hair, usually styled to perfection, was left unkempt, soft waves framing his sharp, chiselled face. The contrast between his striking pale skin and the bold tattoos made him look both ethereal and dangerous. Even his neon green sneakers, a jarring departure from his usual elegance, couldn¡¯t detract from his commanding presence. Avalon¡¯s expression¡ªcalm, sharp, and unnervingly curious¡ªheld Ian firmly in place, those golden-hazel eyes gleaming with predatory intensity as they locked onto him. ¡°What¡¯s Brooklyn¡¯s favourite man doing so far from home?¡± Avalon asked, tilting his head. Ian scowled, masking his unease with a sharp glare. ¡°I can drink wherever I want.¡± Avalon¡¯s lips twitched faintly, as if amused. ¡°Of course. I just assumed you were more of a whiskey guy.¡± Ian didn¡¯t respond, watching warily as Avalon gestured for drinks. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be here,¡± Avalon said softly after a beat. There was no threat in his voice¡ªjust a simple statement of fact. Ian hated it. Hated the way Avalon seemed perfectly at ease while Ian¡¯s every muscle remained taut. ¡°You¡¯re in enemy territory, Ian,¡± Avalon continued, his eyes glinting faintly in the low light. ¡°Go home. And don¡¯t come back.¡± Ian opened his mouth to retort, but Avalon was already rising. He brushed past him with an infuriating calm, his hand lingering briefly on Ian¡¯s arm before disappearing into the crowd. Ian remained frozen for a long moment, the weight of Avalon¡¯s words¡ªand his touch¡ªlingering like a brand. When he finally stumbled back out into the darkened streets, Ian exhaled shakily, feeling the air press heavy against his lungs. What the hell just happened?