Page 69 of Inheritance

She didn’t argue—just watched me go, the weight of consequences settling over her.

I closed her door softly and went back to bed. Gabriel still slept, completely unaware.

Gabriel

Iwoke with a sharp breath, pain cutting across my ribs as I sat up. My shoulder throbbed beneath the surface—duller than yesterday, but still there. Healing. Waiting.

I’d slept long enough. More than enough.

I couldn’t lie around, letting time patch me back together. I needed to walk. Move. Anything but lay here.

The sheets were cold as I shoved them aside, muscles stiff from too much stillness. I rolled my shoulder once, testing the movement. The stitches tugged, pain biting just enough to remind me Ivan was still alive.

The hallway met me with a silence that didn’t belong. Not the usual hush of early morning, but something deeper. Listening.

There was always noise in the morning—servants shifting, muffled conversation, the occasional noise in some far room. This silence stretched instead of settled. It clung to the walls. Held its breath.

I descended the stairs slowly, each step measured. As soon as I hit the marble floor of the main hall, heads turned.

The younger guards stiffened. A few nodded, others looked away, their hands shifting unconsciously.

They were assessing me, or already had.

They wouldn’t have seen me, but they would have heard I was out. Hooked up to machines. Stripped of all strength. Now I was walking. Commanding with my gaze as I walked past them.

None of them could hold eye contact and I couldn’t help but smirk after I had passed them.

I passed my father’s study without meaning to stop—but his voice cut through the corridor like he had been waiting for me.

“Gabriel.”

The door was open. Cigar smoke curled through the air, sunlight blooming through it as he bent over the mess of papers he hadn’t bothered to tidy.

I paused, then stepped inside.

He didn’t look up—just tapped his fingers against his chin, eyes locked on the document in front of him.

“Doing well?” he asked, voice flat.

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I crossed to the liquor cabinet, unscrewed the crystal decanter, and poured. I drank it all before finally meeting his eyes.

“Yeah,” I said. I lifted the glass. “All better.”

I turned for the door.

“The gala’s tomorrow,” he said at my back. “If you act like a man recovering, they’ll treat you like one.”

I paused, looked over my shoulder at him.

“I’m fine.”

I didn’t wait for dismissal or give him the chance to talk more. Just left.

The halls felt heavier now. Like they’d aged in my absence. The corners darker, the air thicker. Like this house was held together with more stitches than I was.

Near the east wing was the den, the circular room, open as always. The chessboard was still in place, pieces frozen mid-game.

Caroline perched on the edge of one of the chairs, legs drawn up, a book open in her hands. She noticed me, but her eyes stayed on the page.