[Third Person].
redith did not linger before setting out again.
She picked fresh flowers from the garden, then selected a new vase before adding a basket of fresh fruits.
When she reached the underground residence, Rosalie’s reaction was imdiate. The woman’s eyes softened, and a rare, genuine smile spread across her face as she took in the offerings.
redith kept the visit brief. She watched quietly as the caregiver discarded the wilted flowers from days ago. Once the old arrangent was cleared, redith replaced it with the fresh blooms she had brought, setting them carefully into the new vase.
Then, she calmly retrieved the previous vase without comnt and offered a few gentle words to Rosalie before excusing herself. She didn’t want to stay longer after getting what she had co for.
Dinner passed later in the main house, subdued and restrained. redith ate with asured calm, her thoughts elsewhere. When the al ended, she headed upstairs to the bedroom alone with the vase, knowing without needing to ask that Draven had chosen this mont for his brother.
On the terrace, the night air was cool and sharp.
Dennis stood near the railing when Draven joined him. For a mont, neither spoke. The estate lay quiet below them, lanterns glowing softly against the darkness.
Then, without circling the truth or softening it, Draven broke the silence. He told Dennis everything.
That the woman Dennis believed to be his mother was not his biological mother. That she was his mother alone. That their father had deceived them, had deceived everyone.
Draven spoke of his mother’s origin, of her being a vampire, of Estella—the sister Dennis only knew little about—and of Randall’s cruelty, manipulation, and calculated ambition.
Dennis felt his world fractured.
"No," he said hoarsely, shaking his head. "That’s—no. You’re lying."
Draven didn’t move. "I wish I were."
Dennis staggered back a step, hands gripping the railing. His breath ca uneven, his chest rising too fast, too hard.
"So... she wasn’t my mother?" His voice broke. "All those years—"
He laughed once, sharply, the sound edged with pain. Then his composure shattered completely.
Dennis turned away, his shoulders shaking as the truth crushed down on him. The realization that he did not even know who his real mother was, whether she was alive or dead, hit harder than anything else.
Tears slipped free, unchecked, and his anger flared wildly beneath the grief.
"That bastard," Dennis snarled. "He lied to us. He lied to ."
His temper spiked, erratic and raw, power rolling off him in unstable waves. For a mont, it looked as though he might truly lose control.
Draven stepped in without hesitation and pulled him into a firm embrace, anchoring him, holding him steady despite the storm tearing through his brother.
It broke sothing in Draven to see Dennis like this—his laughter gone, and his confidence stripped bare.
"I know," Draven said quietly. "I know."
They stayed there for a long ti, the night wrapping around them as Dennis’s rage slowly gave way to grief, his breathing eventually evening out.
When Dennis finally lifted his head, his eyes were red but burning with resolve. "He has to answer for this," he said. "I won’t let him get away with it."
Draven nodded. "He will."
Dennis clenched his fists. "Whatever you need to do, whatever it takes—I’m in."
Draven placed a hand on his shoulder, firm and steady. "Not yet. First, I will help you find out the truth about your birth mother. And when the ti cos, then Father will answer to both of us."
Dennis nodded slowly.
The brothers remained on the terrace, side by side, the weight of the heavy, painful truth settling between them, but no longer carried alone.
---
When Draven finally returned to the bedroom, redith was already waiting.
She sat on the edge of the bed in her nightrobe, her silver hair loose down her back, the soft glow of the lamps outlining the tension she had been holding in.
The mont she saw him, she stood. "How is Dennis?" she asked quietly. "Is he... alright?"
Draven closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a second, as if gathering himself. Then he straightened and walked toward her.
"He didn’t take it well," he said honestly. "He broke down hard." His jaw tightened briefly. "But he’s calr now. I stayed with him and walked him back to his room myself."
redith released a deep breath. "I was worried he might do sothing reckless."
"So was I," Draven admitted. "That’s why I didn’t leave him alone."
They sat down on the bed together, the mattress dipping slightly beneath their combined weight. For a mont, neither of them spoke. Then redith broke the silence.
"There is sothing you need to know," she said, her tone steady but serious. "About your father."
Draven turned fully toward her. "What did you find?"
redith didn’t hesitate. "I used Xamira," she said. "I had her transform into the flower vase and then brought her to your mother’s underground residence to listen and watch everything."
Draven blinked, surprise flickering across his face. "You turned her into a vase?"
"Yes," redith replied calmly. "It was the safest way, completely devoid of suspicion."
After a beat, Draven let out a short breath—half disbelief, half grim admiration. "I never imagined she could be useful in that way."
"Yes." redith’s expression hardened. "As we both guessed, your father has been receiving regular updates about your mother."
Draven’s eyes darkened.
"The caregiver communicates with him constantly," she continued. "She reports who visits your mother, how long they stay, and what is discussed. Every word she overhears."
Draven’s hands curled slowly into fists.
"And there’s more," redith added. "Your father has already given instructions. In a few days, the caregiver is to stop accepting visitors altogether, with the claim that your mother has fallen ill."
The air in the room shifted.
Draven stood up abruptly, anger radiating off him in waves. "He is trying to cut us off," he said coldly. "Trying to isolate her again."
redith rose as well and stepped closer. "Yes. He’s afraid."
Draven turned to her sharply. "Afraid of what?"
"Of the truth," redith answered. "And of losing control."
Draven paced once, then stopped, his voice low and dangerous. "He thinks he can still move pieces around like this. Like I’m still a boy who won’t notice."
"He is clearly underestimating you," redith said.
Draven exhaled slowly, forcing his fury back under control. He refused to let his father’s actions change his plans.
"After I ascend the throne, he will answer for everything he has done. To my mother. To Dennis. To all of us," he said at last.
redith nodded firmly. "Until then, I won’t let anything happen to her," she said. "Not while I’m still breathing."
Draven looked at her. His gaze softened as he quietly said, "Thank you."
redith reached for his hand and squeezed it. "We will see this through together."
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