CHAPTER 192: CHAPTER 187: ILLUSION OF CONTROL (1)

Patricia’s heels struck the marble with measured fury, the same rhythm she’d once used in court when walking past enemies. The silk of her gown whispered against her skin as she pivoted at the end of the sitting room, then turned to pace again, jaw set like a blade.

"A beta," she hissed. "And not just any beta, a disgraced one. A fallen princess who dares to act like she belongs in the Imperial family."

She paused in front of the fireplace, staring into the cold, empty grate as if she might summon the fire of old alliances. Her fingers trembled with the need to do something, anything, besides stand by while her son was bartered off like a second-rate heirloom.

"My Elliot," she muttered, voice low and burning. "Married off to that brat just to clean up the Emperor’s mess."

The door creaked open. Patricia didn’t turn. Her tone was sharp, practiced. "If it’s you, Elliot, don’t waste your breath defending your stupidity again."

"It’s not." George’s voice. Cool. Detached. Too casual for her taste.

She turned slowly, her face like marble. "Have you come to gloat, then? Or to beg?"

George stood framed in the doorway. "Neither. Just a friendly reminder: your son was already halfway to disgrace before this marriage was even proposed."

Her nostrils flared. "How dare you—"

"You think Damian picked Anya to punish you?" George cut her off. "She’s harmless. Desperate. Easily controlled. And now she’s publicly tied to Elliot, who’s just unstable enough to make him a liability."

Patricia’s lips twisted into a venomous smile. "Is this the part where you pretend to care about your son?"

"I don’t need to pretend," George said coolly. "But I do need him quiet. Which is why he’ll stay here, in your lovely manor, under your gracious supervision."

Patricia’s laughter was dry and sharp. "You’re bold, for someone who used to command a house and now clings to borrowed power."

His expression didn’t flicker. "Better than clinging to Hadeon."freeweɓnovel-cøm

That hit.

Her chin lifted, shoulders rigid with pride. "Careful, George. You’re not untouchable. You think that ring on your finger means anything? Hadeon has survived emperors before. And so have I."

George’s expression didn’t flicker. "I’m counting on that," he said, voice low. "I need you to keep Elliot from drawing attention. Keep him quiet. Obedient. I don’t care how you do it."

Patricia scoffed, lips curling in disdain. "Do you think you can escape us?"

"No," George replied without hesitation. "I think that Gabriel could make Damian change his mind."

That name stilled the air between them.

George stepped closer, his voice dropping just enough to turn dangerous. "Keep Elliot away from any scandals, and I will have a chance to save him. The Emperor’s mate is indebted to me. He doesn’t know everything yet, but he will. And when he does, he might be the only person who can sway Damian’s blade."

Patricia’s eyes narrowed. "You’re gambling on a consort’s conscience?"

George’s lips curved into something dry and cold. "Better than having him sent to Pais without any power or influence."

That struck a nerve. Patricia’s expression tightened.

George continued, tone flat. "The only reason he’s still breathing is because Damian would rather bury enemies in silk than blood right now and because Gabriel hasn’t yet demanded a reckoning."

Patricia’s voice dropped to a hiss, icy and full of contempt. "You think that little omega can protect our Elliot?"

She laughed, sharp and humorless. "Hadeon said there is nothing more to do. He wants him sent to Pais as a spy."

Her words rang out like a verdict, but her tone betrayed something else. Bitterness. Defiance.

She didn’t even glance back at George. "He’s not a whisperer. He’s a prince in all but name. He was meant to inherit you before you threw it all away, groveling before imperial dogs."

She turned now, chin raised in victory, voice low and venomous. "But now you’re under our control. Look at you."

George clenched his fists behind his back, but he didn’t let it show. Not outwardly. The mask he wore, the slightly dull-eyed, obedient tilt of his head, and the passive stance, it had taken months to perfect. He had to keep it now. Had to be the pathetic shadow they believed they still owned.

If he cracked, if she saw even a sliver of resistance, it would all be over.

Elliot already had his suspicions. George had caught it in the way his son sometimes looked at him when he thought George wasn’t watching. A twitch of unease. That sharp, calculating pause, like he was trying to remember who taught him how to lie.

But Elliot wouldn’t act on it. Not yet.

Not while he was still too scared of her. Of Hadeon. Good.

That meant this was still going in George’s favor.

He relaxed his fists slowly, shifting his weight with the subtle discomfort of someone used to being dismissed. Allow her to see what she desired: a tired, bitter, and broken man crawling back to the people who replaced him.

Let her believe she’d won.

"I’ll make sure that Gabriel doesn’t forget he has debts," he said at last, voice appropriately dull, properly deferential. "Until then... help the boy. Help Elliot see who he is. He needs your guidance."

Patricia raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden appeal. Perhaps even flattered. "He always has."

George gave the faintest of nods. "Then give it to him. You know him better than anyone. Keep him here. Safe."

Patricia scoffed, the sound elegant and sharp. "He was always safe under my care. You are the one who destroyed what I built."

She turned toward the hearth, back straight, profile coldly regal. "You handed our legacy to a bastard throne and then begged them for mercy. Don’t talk to me about safety."

George said nothing. She would not hear him as anything other than the man she used to own.

She sighed, long and tired, like a queen weary of cleaning up after fools. "Send him here, and take care of the mess. You’re good at that."

He bowed his head just enough to keep the performance intact. "As you wish."

And then he left.

The doors shut behind him with imperial weight, but George didn’t slow until he reached the armored car waiting outside. As soon as the door closed behind him, the mask slipped off like a scab peeling from healed skin.

He exhaled sharply, jaw tight.

Across from him, Maximilian Claymore was sprawled in the corner seat—his usual careless slouch belied by the sharp, predatory look in his eyes. Like a blade resting on velvet.

George didn’t bother with pleasantries. "Elliot will be under Patricia."

"At last," Max muttered, a grim satisfaction lacing his tone. He glanced out the window, then back. "One less loose end on our side."

"She thinks she’s won." George leaned back against the seat, unfastening the top button of his collar. "Let her."

"She’ll smother him," Max said. "Rip his pride to shreds, and probably blame the whole empire for it."

"She’s welcome to try." George poured himself a drink from the decanter between them. "So long as he stays caged. That’s all we need."

"You really think she won’t send reports to Hadeon?"

"She already has," George replied. "I made sure of it."

Max let out a dry laugh. "You’re ruthless."