Chapter 8 - The Hostile Condolences
The heavy, toxic text message was sent. Julian replied instantly: On my way. Keep playing the crying maid.
One hour later, a massive black luxury SUV pulled up to the grand gates of the estate. Julian, wearing a perfectly tailored dark suit, stepped out. He carried himself with an arrogant, triumphant swagger. He genuinely believed he had just successfully orchestrated the perfect murder, completely clearing his path to a multi-billion-dollar throne.
Julian marched up the stone steps and confidently pushed open the heavy mahogany front doors of the mansion.
He expected to walk into a house of mourning. He expected to see frantic doctors, weeping maids, and a completely shattered, grieving Damian kneeling beside a lifeless body.
Instead, the grand hallway was suffocatingly quiet.
The heavy doors clicked shut behind him, electronically locking with a massive, permanent thud. Julian frowned, his arrogant smirk faltering as he looked up at the grand marble staircase.
Damian was standing at the very top of the stairs. He wasn't crying. He wasn't broken. He stood tall in his sharp black suit, completely composed, looking down at his brother with pure, unfiltered disgust.
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In Damian’s right hand was the cheap burner phone.
👉 Julian’s blood ran ice-cold as he realized he had just walked blindly into a titanium cage.
