CHAPTER 394: CHAPTER 394: CONTROL

The holding suites beneath the D’Argente compound had the cold, antiseptic quiet of a place meant for containment. White walls, reinforced glass, filtered air. A faint mechanical hum filled the space, with the pheromone filters cycling every ten seconds.

Count Christian Velloran sat alone at the steel table in the center of the room. His coat lay folded beside him, and the light above cast pale halos against his skin. He appeared thinner than his portraits, pale and drawn, like a shadow of the man who once commanded an entire house.

He rubbed his thumb along the edge of his palm, a restless motion he couldn’t stop. Every few minutes, he would glance toward the sealed door, then at the vial on the table, that vial, its faint silver sheen catching the sterile light.

He had debated this meeting for days. He’d told himself he should run, vanish into the borderlands, and hunt Benedict down alone. But when he’d stepped within two kilometers of that man’s scent, the faintest trace of it, carried on a shift in the wind, his mind had buckled. The familiar, invisible leash had tugged once, and all the phantom commands came rushing back.

Sit.

Obey.

Bleed.

He had stumbled back, gasping, half-sick with panic. He couldn’t bear to be controlled again.

Now, as the hours stretched, that phantom pressure still pulsed faintly in his skull, like an echo of someone else’s breath lodged in his mind.

Benedict had used his family name, his wealth, and his power and turned them into tools for humiliation. The proud Count of Velloran reduced to a vessel, an extension of another man’s will. He still couldn’t remember everything, but fragments came in flashes: commands whispered against his ear, the chemical tang of suppressants, and the sound of laughter that wasn’t his own.

He’d begun digging through the remnants of his family’s accounts after the control had started to crack, searching for whatever Benedict had hidden under the Velloran name. The truth had nearly driven him mad.

Benedict had been paying omegas. Dozens. Maybe more. All selected for one reason: their resemblance to him.

To Lucas.

The same hair, the same frame, even the same green eyes replicated through illegal pigment treatments. They had been dressed like him, perfumed like him, and left to the mercy of alphas pushed into artificial rut.

Christian still didn’t understand why. He’d spent nights trying to, until nausea had replaced thought. The only answer that ever came was the one that terrified him most: Benedict had been teaching him, sculpting his mind, forcing him to play out what he truly wanted: not obedience, but possession.

And when Benedict’s control fractured, Christian realized those actions had never been his own. They had been programmed.

He pressed his palms against his eyes until his breath steadied.

The door slid open with a soft hiss.

Serathine entered first, her expression controlled but not unkind. Behind her, Trevor Fitzgeralt stepped inside, the new Marquis, every inch of him composed of power. The pale light caught the platinum thread at his cuffs, the faint edge of exhaustion around his eyes.

Christian stood immediately, though the motion was stiff and uncertain. "Marquis Fitzgeralt."

"Count," Trevor said evenly, his tone unreadable. He didn’t extend his hand. "You look alive. That’s an improvement."

A wry, fragile smile crossed Christian’s face before fading. "I wasn’t sure I would be when I came here."

"Sit," Serathine said gently. She moved to the observation terminal, activating the sound dampeners. "This room is sealed. No pheromonal interference. Speak freely."

Trevor’s gaze slid to the small vial on the table. "That’s the compound you found?"

"Yes," Christian said, his voice hoarse but steady. "I found it in Rohan, in one of Benedict’s hideouts. It was sealed with his crest and marked Trial Batch E. There were bodies there and the place was a ruin."

Trevor pulled a chair forward and sat opposite him, folding his hands. "You know what it is?"

Christian shook his head. "Only that it reacts to pheromones. I touched the seal, and my body... remembered him. It was like breathing his scent again. I nearly..." he broke off, swallowing hard. "It’s Vivienne’s work. I saw her insignia on the case."

Serathine’s eyes flicked toward Trevor, the faintest shadow of acknowledgment passing between them.

"Vivienne’s formula was meant to turn alphas and omegas in dominants," Trevor said quietly. "Benedict must have refined it. Turned connection into control."

Christian let out a breath that was almost a laugh, hollow and soft. "He called it perfect obedience. That when the mind stopped resisting, it became pure."

"And he tested it on you," Trevor said, his voice low, flat.

"Yes."

The word hung in the sterile air.

"I don’t remember how long it lasted," Christian continued. "But I remember feeling him inside my thoughts. Every instinct I had, every shred of defiance, rewritten. I did things I didn’t think were possible. Things I can’t forgive myself for, even knowing they weren’t my choices."

Trevor leaned back slightly, watching him. "You’re sure you’re no longer under his influence?"

"I don’t know," Christian admitted. "Sometimes I feel his scent before I smell it. Sometimes I wake up thinking he’s standing beside me. But when I came near the eastern quarter today, it was different. The pull came back, like a string tightening in my spine. I couldn’t go closer."

"Residual pheromonal mapping," Trevor murmured. "He can still reach you through trace receptors."

Christian looked up, and for the first time, there was naked fear in his eyes. "If he can reach me, he can reach others. Anyone who’s ever been near him."

Serathine’s voice cut softly through the tension. "He’s right. If the compound amplifies pheromonal receptors, Benedict’s scent could bind itself to anyone exposed... even briefly."

Trevor studied the vial for a long moment, then said, "You kept this hidden from him. That’s why he lost control of you."

"Yes," Christian said quietly. "He thought he destroyed all the prototypes, but I found this one. I think some experiment subject left it behind. It’s the only leverage I have left."

Trevor’s gaze lingered on him, like a soldier’s appraisal. Then he stood, sliding the vial’s container toward himself. "You did the right thing bringing it here."

Christian exhaled shakily. "That depends on what you’ll do with it."

Trevor didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his jacket, withdrew a small injector, and pressed it lightly against his wrist, the faint hiss of a stabilizer dose puncturing the silence. When he looked back at Christian, his expression was measured.

"I’ll have it analyzed at the Fitzgeralt labs," he said. "If this compound links to Vivienne’s neural matrix, I’ll trace the pattern. If it links to Benedict, I’ll use it to find him."

"And what are you going to do?" Christian asked.

Trevor’s gaze was steady, unwavering. "Then I’ll make sure he never controls another mind again."

Serathine watched them both, the light reflecting against the glass wall behind her. "You’ll have to move quickly. If Benedict knows this vial still exists, he’ll come for it and for whoever can reproduce it."

Christian’s hands tightened around the edge of the table. "He will try to reach Lucas."

Trevor’s voice was quiet, but the promise beneath it was steel. "He’ll have to go through me first."

For a moment, no one spoke. The sound filters hummed softly, the faint scent of sterilized air replacing everything else.

Benedict was alive, armed with the remnants of Vivienne’s work.

And for the first time in months, Trevor Fitzgeralt felt the familiar pull of war.