CHAPTER 211: _ THE CONCLUSION

Morgan leans back again, letting his smirk reappear on his face. It carries the relaxed arrogance, the "who, me?" countenance. "Alright, fine," he raises his hands in surrender

"We bring our little... Luna to the Bellamy estate. She walks in. Everyone gasps. Tada. She’s ours. Perfect."

"So, what comes after that?" Grayson, his dumbest brother asks,

Luke might be silent now, but he’s urging Morgan forward, biting at the edges of his composure. He wants it all. Every piece, every corner of the board. All or nothing.

Darien leans back thoughtfully. "Then we face the storm. We’ve set the pieces in motion, established the bond. Our family, the pack, the council... they won’t like it. They’ll resist. They’ll fight. But united, the four of us... We can survive the storm. We endure and control what happens next."

Morgan tilts his head with a glint of something dark in his eyes. "Survive?" he muses softly. "Brother, we’re not just surviving. We’re hunting. The storm is nothing but prey. And you all... are going to be collateral damage if you get in my way."

Grayson blurts out a little nervous laugh. "Uh... sure, Morgan. Nothing new there."

Morgan lets the smirk widen. "Exactly. Nothing new. But remember," he says, leaning forward, eyes locking with each of theirs in turn, the predatory calmness he’s so damn tired of wearing every day falling just enough to reveal the threat beneath, "I play the fool. I joke. I tease. But I always win. And when I do, everything falls into place. And those who think they understand me... they learn too late."

Amias exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Argh, Morgan. Can you just shut up for once? This is not the time for dramatic jokes."

Morgan knows they’ll always take his warning for granted. That’s the curse of being the family’s fool. The jester with blood on his hands that no one ever sees because he makes them laugh first. It’s a kind of brilliance, really... how he’s managed to wear chaos like perfume, a scent so familiar no one realizes it’s poison.

They think he’s harmless because he grins through everything. Because he turns every threat into a joke, every sharp edge into something that sounds almost charming. And he doesn’t even blame them for that anymore. They were trained to look for monsters that growl, not ones that smile.

But soon, he thinks, smiling faintly as Darien starts talking again, they’ll meet the real him. The one that doesn’t laugh. The one that doesn’t forgive.

Darien exhales, rubbing his temples as if Morgan’s voice alone gives him migraines. "Don’t bother yourself with his nonsense," he says to Amias, who looks like he’s debating whether to strangle Morgan or lecture him. "We’ll need to meet once or twice every week from now on. To plan, strategize, and plan out how to handle everything before it implodes."

"Every week?" Morgan rolls his eyes. "Brother, that sounds like commitment. I don’t do commitment."

"Clearly," Amias mutters, folding his arms.

Darien ignores them both. "This isn’t optional. We can’t afford missteps. Not when we’re dealing with her."

Grayson looks up, eyes bright with his usual naïve enthusiasm. "So, when do we invite her here? Shouldn’t she be part of this soon?"

Morgan almost laughs. Sweet, golden Grayson — always ready to let people in. Always the idiot in love with the idea of family unity.

Darien thinks for a second. "Next weekend," he decides. "We can’t afford to wait any longer."

There’s a buzz of agreement that passes through the room in a ripple of acceptance. Amias nods grimly. Grayson flashes that small, relieved smile of his. Morgan gives a lazy salute.

Next weekend, Heidi will meet the shark —Tobias himself. Mwahahaha! Next weekend is the period when the Bellamy estate starts to burn.

Perfect.

The meeting dissolves not long after. The brothers stand, stretching and rolling their shoulders, muttering plans about logistics and communication. Sunlight spills in through the tall windows, painting the dark wood of the study with gold. Outside, the estate is quietly noisy. The constant thrum of servants, guards, and the scent of pine and old money flying in the air.

Morgan trails behind as they leave, eyes drifting lazily over the backs of their heads. Amias walks like a soldier. He’s as stiff as always, dredging further into the darkness Morgan has dug for him. Darien walks confidently like an Alpha. Grayson bounces on his heels like a puppy, so careless and trusting.

And Morgan? Morgan just walks.

He moves like an untouchable and uncatchable smoke. A shadow smiling in the light.

By the time they reach the grand staircase, it’s already noon. Dust motes swirl in the sunlight pouring through the high windows. The faint clinking of dishes from the dining hall filters through the halls, mixing with the earthy scent of polished oak.

Grayson turns to Morgan with a wide grin. "So, twin," he says, bumping Morgan’s shoulder playfully. "You wanna go out later? Maybe hit one of the clubs in town? Or go see Heidi?"

Morgan blinks slowly, suppressing the rush of heat that shoots down his spine at the sound of her name. Heidi. The word alone is a drug. A curse.

A promise.

Now, every moment spent sharing that drug with this spoiled brat is a taint to her purity and the masterpiece, that is he and Heidi’s love.

He forces a yawn. "Tempting. But I think I’ll sit this one out. Not feeling too good right now."

Immediately, Grayson’s expression shifts from playful to worried. His brows knit. "You sick? You’ve been acting weird all morning, man."

Morgan gives him a crooked smile. "I’m fine, bro. Just tired. Need a little alone time, yeah?"

Grayson hesitates, studying him. For a moment, it almost looks like he might push or might insist on staying — but then he nods, awkward and reluctant. "Alright. But if you need anything..."

"I’ll call," Morgan finishes, patting his shoulder. "Go have fun, sunshine."