Adrian stood still in the shadows of his uncle’s grand bedroom, watching as Aunt Beatrice gasped froze where she lay.
Her legs were still spread wide open, the black nightgown bunched around her waist, and her fingers still inside herself as she stared up in paralyzing disbelief at the very same boy she had so viciously mocked at the dinner table only a couple of hours before.
"Adrian?" she choked out.
Her mind could not comprehend the scene unfolding before her.
The unawakened cripple of House Ravencrest had somehow walked into her private chambers without making a single sound, and her heightened senses had registered absolutely nothing.
"How did you... What are you doing in here?" Beatrice stammered, her wide eyes locked on him in shock.
Vampires were inherently sensitive creatures; they could feel the air move and detect the smallest elemental shift while a mere human would never have heard a cold-blooded vampire slip through the doors.
Beatrice was a seasoned noblewoman with a B-Rank Wind affinity. She should have known the exact moment he walked inside her room. Yet, she had felt nothing but her own pulse.
In truth, her senses hadn’t failed her because Adrian had employed some brilliant magical trick.
They had failed her because her mind hadn’t been in the room at all.
She had been consumed by the intoxicating fantasy of Duke Maximus taking her roughly while Arthur was forced to sit and watch.
A starved, desperate mind does not listen for the quiet footsteps of an intruder; it only listens for the phantom touch of the man it craves.
That was exactly how the so-called trash of the house had managed to walk right in undetected.
"Get out!" Beatrice suddenly shrieked as the shock finally broke.
She scrambled backward across the mattress, pulling her fingers away from her pussy and yanking the silk nightgown down to preserve whatever shred of modesty she had left.
The haughty, arrogant demeanor she had flaunted at dinner returned, but this time it was fueled by rage.
"How dare you enter my private quarters?" she hissed, her trembling hand immediately darting toward the silver guard bell resting on her ornate nightstand.
"Do you have a death wish, boy? If I ring this bell for the guards, they will arrest you for treason against your uncle. They will execute you before the sun even rises."
Adrian didn’t so much as flinch, nor did he make any sudden movements to stop her reaching hand.
Instead, he casually strolled to the foot of the bed and took a seat on the edge of the mattress, looking entirely at ease, as if she had just invited him in for a pleasant midnight chat over wine.
"Call them," Adrian said, a dark, mocking smirk playing on his lips, "By all means, let them come."
Beatrice’s fingers hovered uncertainly over the bell. His complete lack of fear deeply unsettled her.
"I will do it, you little freak," she threatened, though her voice lacked its previous venom. "Arthur will tear you limb from limb."
"Arthur? Yes, Arthur!" Adrian repeated, letting out a quiet laugh that echoed in the spacious room.
"My dear, terrifying uncle."
"The great Commander of the Ravencrest army."
"The peerless Earth mage who buries thousands of humans on the battlefield."
"But he cannot even get hard enough to satisfy his own desperate wife."
As soon as those words registered into her ears, all the color instantly drained from Beatrice’s face, leaving her deathly pale.
Her hand fell weakly away from the bell. She stared at him with a profound, sinking fear that went far deeper than her initial anger.
"You were listening," she whispered, the horrifying realization dawning on her.
"I heard everything," Adrian confirmed smoothly.
He casually patted the silk sheets, brushing away an invisible speck of dust before leaning back on his hands, maintaining an air of casual dominance.
"I heard exactly how hungry you are, Aunt Beatrice."
Beatrice swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. She tried to force her proud mask back into place.
She lifted her chin and reached for the commanding tone she had so easily wielded at the dinner table.
"You have absolutely no proof," she argued, "It is entirely your word against mine. And you are nothing but the word of trash. Who in this great house would ever take your word over mine?"
"You are absolutely right. No one will believe me," Adrian agreed with a pleasant, unassuming smile. He didn’t bother to raise his voice; he didn’t need to.
"But the beautiful thing is, I do not need them to believe me. I only need the word to leave this room. A rumor, dear aunt, does not ask for solid proof." He leaned forward slightly, his eyes locking onto hers, "It only asks for enough ears."
Beatrice narrowed her eyes, looking for any sign of a bluff in Adrian’s expression.
But she found absolutely none.
His cold, calculated gaze made it clear he meant every single word.
"What do you honestly think happens," Adrian continued, his voice taking on a methodical rhythm, "When that delightful rumor reaches the human nobles in the royal capital?"
But before he woul;d wait for Aunt Beatrice to speak, he continued.
"You know exactly what will happen. You know perfectly well how their political courts operate."
"They are already aggressively pushing to set human overseers in our military garrisons."
"If they catch wind that the legendary vampire commander who terrifies their ranks is nothing more than a defective joke, they will never let it die."
He stood up from the foot of the bed and took one slow step toward her.
"Think about it. So many years of marriage. The elder brother, my father, has three children. Yet, the younger brother has none. Once the seed of doubt is planted, they will start to ask pointed questions. They will demand proof of his virility and strength."
Adrian took another step.
"And my dear uncle will not be able to give it to them."
"Hell! If he cannot even manage to perform behind these secure walls, how will he possibly be able to do it when he gets an audience?"
"What will happen?"
"Obviously he will freeze."
Adrian finally stopped right beside her on the bed, looking down at her cowering form.
"A tragic performance issue, as you know."
"But surprisingly, that shouldn’t be the biggest of his problems," Adrian smirked, enjoying the terror radiating from her. "When my father, the almighty Duke Maximus, learns that his fierce brother fires blanks, it won’t be the impotence itself that ruins Arthur." The source of this chapter is g.com.
"It will be the unbearable shame."
"A laughingstock cannot command respect, nor can he put fear into his army."
"The Duke will be forced to strip his rank to preserve the family’s terrifying image."
"He may even exile him to the harshest borders just to cut the embarrassment out of the house."
Adrian’s voice remained remarkably calm, devoid of any shouting, which only made the threats cut deeper.
"And then what do you think will happen to you, Aunt Beatrice?" Adrian continued, finally painting the picture that affected Beatrice.
"Without my uncle’s status, without his formidable protection, what standing do you actually have in House Ravencrest?"
"If my uncle falls, the Duke will strip your titles as well and toss you away into the servant quarters."
"And you know what life will wait you."
"You will be forced to scrub the stone floors and pour wine for the very same ’trash’ you looked down upon at dinner tonight."
Beatrice’s body began to shake.
The vivid picture he painted wasn’t just an idle boy’s threat; it was a harsh reality.
It was exactly how Duke Ravencrest kept the family razor-sharp.
Their esteemed name was built entirely on fear and an untouchable image.
Keeping a crippled son in his home was already testing the limits of his patience.
But an impotent brother was an even bigger blemish on the family name that the Duke would happily carve out.
"No," she whimpered, as the reality of her precarious situation crashed onto her, "This cannot leave the room. No one can ever know."
Then, abruptly, her expression shifted. The tears remained in her eyes, but a murderous intent flared up beneath them.
"I will simply have to make sure you never live to tell it to anyone."
"Huhh?!" Adrian let out a genuine laugh, spreading his arms wide as if she had just told a delightful joke.
Twice in one day, a powerful woman had looked at him and decided the easiest solution to her problem was to shut his mouth for good.
But the exact words that had worked flawlessly the first time with Eleanor were still sitting comfortably on his tongue. There was absolutely no reason to invent new ones.
"You? why are you laughing?" Beatrice looked at her nephew and frowned. Did she tell a joke? Or has he lost his mind in the face of death?
"Why wouldn’t I? Don’t you find it funny?" His laugh stopped as he looked at her amused, "The best solution your mind can think of is this? Pfft!"
"Don’ot even think of it, Aunt Beatrice," He warned.
"Your small, fragile life cannot possibly bear the cost of putting a single hand on me."