CHAPTER 206: _ BELLAMY CHAOS

Ines exhales sharply, as if she’s been holding her breath the entire time. Clarissa starts fidgeting with her bracelets, the sound a jittering percussion of nerves disguised as vanity. Morgan leans back in his chair, chewing on a grape with an exaggerated calmness like someone who knows chaos is the only thing keeping him entertained.

Darien’s heartbeat beats against his ribs. The Moon Blessed. The words echo like thunder in his skull.

Kairos prowls under his skin, pacing restlessly. "You know it’s her."

"I know," Darien mutters under his breath, pretending to adjust his napkin.

"Then why are we still sitting here?"

"Because," Darien grinds out, "running after her in front of my entire family would make it a little too obvious."

Kairos snorts. "So you’d rather die of small talk."

Darien doesn’t answer. He’s too busy watching Ines and Clarissa circle each other like twin storms pretending to be civilized weather.

Clarissa’s the first to strike. "It must be serious, whatever the council wants. Tobias rarely leaves the table mid-meal."

"Indeed," Ines says lightly, stirring her tea though it’s already cold. "Perhaps the council has finally decided to investigate certain... domestic scandals."

Clarissa’s spoon freezes. "Careful, Ines."

"Why?" Ines tilts her head, smile sugar-sweet. "Did I touch a nerve?"

Morgan mutters, "I’m getting popcorn next time."

Grayson smirks. "You think they’d notice if we left?"

Darien glares at them. "Yes. And stop enjoying this."

Kairos chuckles. "You can’t lie to yourself... part of you enjoys it too."

He does, a little. Watching the Lunas verbally gut each other is a morbid kind of theater. But not today. Today the name Moon Blessed is a blade pressed to his throat.

Amias still hasn’t moved. He sits rigid beside Clarissa, gaze unfocused, fingers tracing the rim of his untouched glass. There’s something about him that makes Darien uneasy. He doesn’t wear his usual angry or arrogant countenance, just... emptiness.

He looks like a man already buried, Darien thinks.

"Lira must be thrilled," Ines says suddenly, voice too bright to be kind. "Imagine—becoming a Luna years after our dear Clarissa’s scandal."

Clarissa’s eyes flash, but she keeps smiling. "Better scandalous than irrelevant."

Morgan chokes on his drink.

"Mother," Isolde warns, shooting a look at Ines. "You’re going to make Father come back to a murder scene."

"Maybe then he’ll have something worth attending to," Ines humphs.

Darien sighs. He’s used to his mother’s sharp tongue, but lately it’s been honed to a weapon. It’s like she wants a fight. Maybe she does. Maybe this whole house runs on conflict—it’s the only way anyone feels alive anymore.

He pushes his chair back, the legs screeching softly against marble. "If we’re done here, I’ll be leaving."

Ines blinks. "Where to?"

"Out."

"That’s not an answer."

"It wasn’t meant to be."

He’s too frustrated to care about manners right now.

His mother’s eyes narrow, but she lets him go. Darien doesn’t wait to see Clarissa’s smug smile or Morgan’s inevitable commentary. He strides out, boots thudding against the corridor floor, Kairos’s presence still coiled hot and impatient beneath his skin.

The hallway smells faintly of beeswax and cold iron. Family portraits line the walls, filled with generations of Alphas with the same eyes, the same arrogance, the same bloody history. Darien hates them all. The air feels tight, like the house itself is holding its breath.

Kairos’s voice threads through him again. "You need to go back and get the twins and Amias. Now."

"I know," Darien mutters. "They will probably head to the west wing, sulking or planning something idiotic."

"Then let’s interrupt."

Darien turns the corner and slams right into Ines’s attendant, who’s balancing a tray of pastries.

The tray wobbles. Darien steadies it, mutters an apology, and keeps walking. His mind’s already a storm of strategy. If the council knows about Heidi, it means the secret’s bleeding. Maybe Halric also gave them details about the entanglement between her and the Bellamy heirs. Maybe the council has finally decided she’s truly this dual wolf. Either way, they’ll come for her. And if the council comes for her, the pack will follow.

He can’t let that happen.

Thus, he heads back to the dining room and lingers near the entrance, back against a marble column, trying to unclench his jaw. He’s not sure whether he’s waiting for his brothers or simply delaying the inevitable descent into chaos that always follows any "family gathering." His pulse hasn’t settled since Tobias walked out mid-meal.

Kairos croons under his skin like a restless storm. "You shouldn’t have left them alone."

"I know." Darien’s voice is low, rough from the restraint he’s forcing into it. His hands itch to move, to do something. "They’ll come out soon enough."

Truly, the heavy oak doors swing open, spilling a wash of lamplight into the corridor. It’s not the twins or Amias—it’s Isolde. She stops short when she spots him by the column, dark eyes taking him in with mild suspicion. She looks like she always does... like she’s just stepped out of a Victorian painting where someone probably died off-page. Black dress, blacker boots, and an aura of melancholy.

"You’re still here?" she asks in a dry tone, not surprised so much as unimpressed.

"Apparently."

She studies him, lips twitching faintly. "You look like a gargoyle waiting for meaning."

"Waiting for my idiotic brothers," he replies flatly.

Her mouth curves, not into a smile but something close to it. "Try not being grumpy for one day. It might kill you, but it’d be entertaining to watch."

He arches a brow. "Rich, coming from you. You’ve been gloomier than the family crypt these past few days."

Isolde sighs and shrugs. "The crypt’s quieter. I like it better." Then, turning away, she adds over her shoulder, "You win, though. You always do."

It looks more like she’s trying to run from the topic. However, somehow, she seems lighter this morning. Like a heavy burden has been lifted off her shoulders.

And just like that, she’s gone—boots whispering against marble and the faint scent of clove and rain trailing after her.

Kairos murmurs, "She’s the only one in this house who could outbrood you."

Darien doesn’t argue. He just exhales through his nose, gaze fixed on the dining room doors, waiting for the next wave of Bellamy chaos to spill out.