Bound by the Mark of Lies (BL) Chapter 142 - 137: The Claymore puppet (3)

Damian stepped through the chamber doors, and Gabriel, Max, and Anabelle followed him without hesitation.

Gabriel and Max dipped their heads respectfully, while Anabelle maintained her signature sharpness. It was a subtle gesture, but it acknowledged the gravity of the situation and the man who now commanded it.

The room was filled with cool morning light, which filtered through tall windows and etched sigils. The long table was already covered in docunts, crystal decanters, and untouched portfolios.

At the far end, there stood George Claymore, his hands on the back of his chair.

He hadn’t turned.

Not when the Emperor entered.

Not when his own son had been dragged away.

Not even now, as silence claid the chamber.

With his hands resting on the back of the chair in front of him and his shoulders held taut, he stood motionless, his posture too perfect. A man carved out of stone.

Damian approached the head of the table unhurriedly. The others took their seats in order, Max beside Gabriel and Anabelle across from them, their eyes sharp and unmoving.

With his hands resting on the back of the chair in front of him and his shoulders held taut, he stood motionless, his posture too perfect. A man carved from stone.

Damian moved toward the head of the table, unhurried. The others took their seats in order, Max beside Gabriel and Anabelle across from them, their eyes sharp and unmoving.

The chamber doors closed with a soft click, final and absolute.

The official eting hadn’t yet begun—not on paper. However, behind closed doors and high wards, reality had already changed.

"Too early," Max muttered, eyes scanning the quiet room. "We’re not supposed to be in here for another thirty minutes."

The other representatives were not in the room either; sothing told Gabriel that Damian’s plan began the mont the doors closed.

Gabriel didn’t respond imdiately. He sat up straighter, fingers laced over his lap, his gaze shifting to Damian at the head of the table. The Emperor was already seated, his hands gently resting on the black stone surface.

"I think that’s the point," Gabriel finally said.

Max followed his line of sight.

A faint shimr passed over the walls, nearly invisible. If one didn’t know imperial magic, they wouldn’t have noticed. But both of them did. This was no formal eting. Not yet, at least.

The magical barrier was activated in stages: first, stillness, then silence, and finally, a sense of being watched—not by n, but by the weight of ancient laws.

George stirred lightly, catching Gabriel’s gaze.

It began as a minor movent, a twitch of the jaw. A blink that took just a little too long. Then his breath hitched, rough and sudden, and his left hand slipped from the chair, gripping the edge of the table instead, as his body shook slightly.

Gabriel tensed, already half-risen.

But Damian raised his hand, wordless and firm.

"Wait."

George sucked in another breath.

Then another.

His eyes fluttered open, sharper now, almost feral. His spine straightened, his posture cracking from its unnatural rigidity. The mask crumbled.

And behind his eyes ca a fury that was coiled, old, and frigid rather than loud or volatile.

"Gods," Max murmured. "He’s back."

George’s breathing leveled out slowly. When he finally raised his head, it was with the terrifying steadiness of a man who had just realized he had been duped—and rembered every detail of it.

His eyes locked on Damian.

"What did you do?"

Damian stood calmly, one hand resting on the chair beside him, the gold embroidery on his coat reflecting the light like sigils of judgnt.

"I gave you enough silence to hear yourself again," he said. "The barrier sealed the link. Elliot’s influence is cut. For now."

George exhaled through his teeth. "So it was him."

"One of them, but you should tell us who the other one is." Damian’s voice was calm, cold, and his golden gaze never left the man.

George’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table. His knuckles were white, but the rest of him had gone eerily still.

He did not ask how Damian knew. He only looked at him for a long mont, calculating, grim, and alert.

Finally, he spoke, his voice rough from weeks of barely being used.

"Hadeon."

The na landed like ice shattering on stone. They had their suspicions after Gregoris’s report the other day, but that did not make the confirmation any less powerful.

Hadeon had been a thorn in his son’s side since the beginning; he believed that being Damian’s father gave him the right to beco Emperor before him. He had gained so support from the old nobles and tried to take George out of the ga.

Anabelle didn’t flinch. Gabriel’s lips pressed into a hard line. Max sat up more erect, his face deliberately neutral, but his eyes were burning.

"I didn’t see it at first," George continued. "I thought he was circling for information. Leverage. However, it was not about espionage. It was about position."

He let go of the chair and slowly lowered himself into the seat at the far end of the table.

"He ca after the mont I signed the heir contract with Max. Didn’t do it directly, of course. No threats, no bribes. Just... proximity. His people started showing up around the company. In my etings. Invitations I never answered suddenly appeared in my calendar. And then Callahan."

His voice caught, not with emotion, but with fury held under iron control.

Gabriel spoke softly. "They took him. That’s why neither of my contacts could find him."

George nodded once. "Told he was investigating Hadeon. He went quiet. I assud... too much. That he was working deep. That it was his choice."

"It wasn’t," Damian said.

"No," George said, bitterly. "It wasn’t."

He looked up again, and this ti his eyes landed on Gabriel.

"They used him to get to the manor. Said he was injured. Needed help. Said they couldn’t move him. I went alone. And the mont I stepped through that door... it was done."

"An old spell," Damian said. "Coiled through trust and mory. Elliot was the channel. But Hadeon was the author."