Bound by Darkness

Chapter 15

The black SUV rolled quietly down the long, winding driveway that led to the Armani estate. Aslan felt the weight of the world pressing on his shoulders as he approached the mansion, a place he had long stopped calling home. The estate, with its towering columns and sprawling gardens, stood as a monument to wealth and power—his father's empire. To any outsider, it was a fortress of success, but to Aslan, it was suffocating.

Stepping out of the car, Aslan's sharp features were illuminated by the mansion's lights. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair cropped short, with a strong jaw and piercing eyes. Anyone who saw him knew instantly that he was his father's son—a near-clone of Luciano Armani.

Luciano was a man of towering presence. Though age had started to show in his greying hair, his piercing blue eyes and chiseled jawline remained as sharp as ever. His olive skin and lean, muscular build showed a man who still carried his power with ease. Even at sixty, Luciano was the image of strength and control. His tailored suits and the ever-present aura of authority around him made people shrink in his presence. And Aslan, despite the rift between them, was his mirror image.

Aslan made his way toward the entrance, where Alia—his mother—stood waiting. The sight of her delicate frame wrapped in a traditional shawl softened the hardness in his expression. Despite everything, Alia was still his anchor, the only source of warmth in this cold world.

"Aslan," Alia greeted, rushing toward him and wrapping him in a tight embrace. Her soft brown eyes gleamed with a mixture of love and concern. "It's been too long, my son."

Aslan's strong frame stiffened for a moment, but he quickly returned the hug. "It's good to see you, Mom," he muttered, his voice lower than usual.

She pulled back, studying his face, her fingers brushing through his hair, the same way she had when he was a boy. "You've been working too hard. Look at you... always so serious." She gave him a warm, sad smile. "Come inside. You need to rest."

Aslan gave a small nod, though he knew rest would never come easily for him. They stepped inside, and the opulence of the mansion enveloped them—the marble floors gleaming, the gold accents lining the walls, and the art that adorned every corner. It was a testament to Luciano's success, but to Aslan, it felt like a gilded cage.

They walked toward the study where Luciano waited. The doors were heavy, the kind that creaked with authority as Aslan pushed them open. His father sat behind a massive mahogany desk, his sharp eyes immediately locking onto Aslan's.

"Aslan," Luciano said, his deep, commanding voice filling the room. He leaned back in his chair, his expression cold, unreadable. "You've finally decided to come home."

Aslan stood tall, his jaw set, looking every bit like his father, though with a darker edge. "I've been busy," he replied, his voice steady.

Luciano's eyes flicked over him, taking in every detail. "Busy? Doing what, exactly? Running around with criminals and degenerates, tarnishing the Armani name?"

Alia, who had stayed by the door, stepped forward, her voice soft but pleading. "Luciano, please. He just got here."

Luciano waved her off with a dismissive hand, his eyes never leaving Aslan's. "He needs to hear this, Alia. You think I don't know what you've been doing, Aslan? I know you've been playing in the mud with men like Massimo, doing God knows what in the shadows."

Aslan's fists clenched at his sides. He had always hated how his father could make him feel small, even when he towered over most men. "I've made my choice," Aslan said, his voice colder now. "I'm not a child anymore."

Luciano's lips curled into a smirk, one Aslan had seen a thousand times before—the smirk of a man who believed he had all the answers. "Your choice? To live like a thug? You could have been great, Aslan. You could have had the Armani empire, but instead, you've chosen chaos."

Aslan's eyes flashed with anger, but he forced himself to stay calm. "I never wanted your empire, Father. You pushed me toward this."

"You think this is freedom?" Luciano shot back, standing now, his full height matching Aslan's. "You think running around in the dark makes you a man? You're a fool if you believe that."

Aslan's patience snapped. "At least I'm not a puppet tied to your strings."

The room fell into a tense silence, Luciano's cold stare meeting Aslan's fury head-on. In that moment, they were the same—two stubborn, prideful men who refused to back down. But Aslan knew his father would never understand. He had carved out his own path, and nothing would change that.

"I've had enough," Aslan muttered, turning his back to his father.

"Aslan, wait," Alia's soft voice cut through the tension. She reached out, touching his arm. "Please, don't leave like this."

Aslan stopped, his gaze softening as he looked at his mother. She had always been the one to bridge the gap between him and Luciano, the gentle hand that tried to keep the family together. "I'll be upstairs," he said quietly.

Alia smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I'll bring you something to eat. You need to rest, my son."

With a nod, Aslan made his way up the grand staircase. As he walked through the halls of the mansion, memories began to flood his mind—memories of Sahar.

He couldn't stop thinking about her. The way she had looked that night at the club, her smile brightening the darkness. Her voice, soft and sweet, had stuck with him, lingering in the back of his mind. The white shirt that shimmered under the lights, the way she had moved... She was everything this place was not. Warm, real. He had never felt such an intense pull toward someone before, and it terrified him. She was a flicker of light in his shadowed world, and he didn't know why he was drawn to her, only that he couldn't stop.