THE PAWN AND THE KING

7

Warning: This chapter contains scenes with blood and injury, which may be unsettling for some readers. Viewer discretion is advised.

The door to Raeland's room creaked softly as I pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit room that seemed to be holding its breath. Shadows clung to the walls, the sparse light barely enough to outline the sharp angles of his frame. He was pacing, his tall figure cutting through the darkness like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. Every muscle in his body was taut, his movements stiff with anger, and the low rumble of his voice carried an edge that sent a shiver down my spine.

I hesitated at the doorway, the weight of the moment sinking into me. He hadn't noticed me yet—his back was turned, his focus entirely on the conversation happening on the other end of his phone. But even from here, I could feel the danger radiating from him, the restrained fury in each deliberate step he took. His voice was quiet, but there was a lethal undertone to every word. He wasn't just angry. He was calculating—discussing strategies, assessing consequences, and preparing for the punishment he would soon deliver.

And the target of that punishment was my father.

My heart twisted painfully in my chest as the reality of it sank in. Marcus had crossed Raeland. He had betrayed him, pushed past every warning, every boundary that had been drawn. This wasn't just business anymore—this was personal. I swallowed hard, feeling the knot of anxiety tighten in my stomach. Raeland was never merciful when it came to betrayal, and this time, there would be no exception.

I took a deep breath and stepped into the room, the floorboards creaking beneath my feet. "Raeland..." The word came out quieter than I intended, almost drowned out by the thick silence that hung between us.

Raeland's pacing stopped abruptly. His head turned slightly, just enough for me to see the edge of his profile, but he didn't acknowledge me right away. His grip on the phone tightened, knuckles white as his lips curled into a grim line. Whoever was on the other end was saying something, but Raeland wasn't listening anymore. His attention had shifted, slowly, reluctantly, toward me.

For a brief, agonizing moment, his gaze met mine. His eyes were dark, almost black in the poor lighting, and filled with an intensity that made my breath hitch. There was no softness, no warmth—just cold, steely focus. The Raeland I knew, the man who could be protective and possessive in equal measure, was hidden behind a mask of icy indifference. In this moment, I was no different from anyone else who stood in the way of his plans.

He ended the call with a sharp, decisive movement, tucking the phone into his pocket before turning fully toward me. His expression didn't soften, but there was a shift, a slight release of tension in his posture.

Without a word, he snatched his car keys from the table, his movements quick and jerky as if he were holding himself together by a thread. His injured arm moved stiffly at his side, but it didn't slow him down. He moved toward the door, his jaw clenched so tight I could almost hear the grinding of his teeth.

Panic surged through me as I realized he was leaving.

I stepped in front of him, blocking his path. My hand instinctively shot out, grabbing his injured arm before I could stop myself. The contact was brief but enough to make him flinch. I could feel the muscle beneath my fingers tighten in response though he masked it quickly. His eyes flashed with irritation, but I didn't let go.

"Where are you going?" I demanded, my voice more forceful now, even though my heart was still racing.

"Doesn't concern you," he replied coldly, his tone sharper than the edge of a knife. He moved to brush past me, his eyes narrowing with impatience.