Chapter 5

Daisy's voice wasn't loud, but it silenced the entire hallway.

Adrian froze where he stood, shotgun still raised, barrel pointed straight at Thorne — but he couldn't pull the trigger.

He just stared at his daughter.

"Daisy..." His voice came out rough. "You're... actually lucid right now?"

Daisy didn't answer him. She just kept talking. "He didn't hurt me. Last night he slept in the guest room. He never even came near my door."

Adrian slowly lowered his arm.

That's when Preston Bell, standing behind the guards, couldn't hold back any longer.

"None of that matters."

Father Bell's voice still carried that warm, gentle tone, but the patience behind it was gone.

"The devil is the devil. Whatever he did or didn't do, his very existence is wrong." He gave a small wave to the guards beside him. "Take him."

More than a dozen men moved forward at once.

Thorne stayed where he was. He glanced down at Daisy and said quietly, "Step aside."

Daisy hesitated for a moment, then shifted half a step to the side.

The moment she moved, the guards didn't wait. They rushed Thorne.

The first one to lunge never even touched Thorne's sleeve before he went flying, slammed into the hallway wall, and slid down.

Then the second. Then the third.

Thorne barely moved from his spot — just a raised hand, a slight turn of the body, a well-timed push.

Nothing fast. If anything, it looked almost casual.

But every guard hit the floor with a solid, heavy sound.

In under a minute, more than a dozen men were sprawled across the hallway. Not one of them got back up.

Thorne dusted off his hands, turned around, and looked at Adrian.

Adrian had gone slightly pale.

He was still holding the shotgun, but his finger had slipped off the trigger.

Thorne walked over and stopped in front of him.

They were standing close.

"Mr. Montier." Thorne's tone was flat, like he was commenting on the weather. "Before the wedding, you told me yourself — take good care of Daisy."

"To take care of her, I slept in the guest room all night." He continued, "This morning you kicked my door in, put a gun to my head, and told me to die."

Thorne paused. "So whose fault do you think that is?"

The hallway went so quiet all you could hear was breathing.

Adrian's face flushed deep red. His lips moved, but nothing came out.

Then, from the far end of the hallway, came the sound of wheels rolling across the floor.

Viklian came slowly toward them, pushing his wheelchair.

He looked around at the scene, let out a long sigh, and turned his eyes to Adrian.

"How many times have I told you."

He said it quietly, but Adrian dropped his head immediately.

"I set this marriage in motion. I told you not to give Thorne a hard time. Did none of that get through to you?"

The more Viklian spoke, the sharper his tone got. Adrian stood there and didn't dare say a word.

Viklian turned his wheelchair toward Thorne, stopped, and looked up at him with steady eyes.

"Thorne, this was our family's fault. I want you to know that." There was genuine regret in his voice. "My son has some prejudice against you. Don't hold it against him."

Thorne said nothing. He just looked at him.

"On behalf of the Montier family, I apologize." Viklian dipped his head toward Thorne in a small, sincere bow.

Adrian, watching from the side, looked uncomfortable.

"No need for apologies," Thorne said, his tone unchanged. "Just have the Baron promise me one thing."

Viklian nodded. "Name it."

Thorne's gaze shifted to Father Bell, standing in the corner.

"Hand him over to me."

Every head in the hallway turned toward the priest.

Father Bell stood there, and the kind, gentle mask he'd been wearing finally cracked.

The corner of his mouth twitched. The panic in his eyes had nowhere left to hide.

"Mr. Viklian Montier." He forced himself to speak, still trying to hold onto that priestly composure. "You can't take the word of a devil over—"

"Enough." Viklian cut him off, cold and flat. "My granddaughter has been lost in her own mind for years. You showed up and she didn't get any better — and now you've caused this. Are you here to help, or just to make things worse?"

The color drained from Father Bell's face.

He went quiet.

Thorne took one step toward him.

Just one step — and Father Bell's whole body went rigid.

He closed his eyes.

A low, ancient string of words poured from his mouth. The language wasn't anything modern, but it had a rhythm that made your skin crawl.

Then a thick, almost solid black mist surged up from beneath his robes, churning like something alive, swallowing him whole in an instant.

Thorne sensed it immediately. He shot his hand straight into the mist.

But the moment his fingers made contact, the mist exploded outward.

He grabbed nothing but air.

The black mist drifted up over the courtyard, then suddenly pulled together — and shot over the estate wall like a dark snake, vanishing into the sky beyond.

Thorne stood in the middle of the courtyard, head tilted up, watching the direction the mist had gone. His expression slowly darkened.

Something about that mist felt strangely familiar.

It felt exactly like the demon living inside him.

The courtyard fell completely silent.

Everyone was shaken by what they'd just seen.

A priest. A man who never stopped talking about God and purification. And when he ran — he used the same kind of power as a demon.

Adrian had gone white.

He finally understood what he'd been used for.

Viklian sat in his wheelchair, his cloudy old eyes fixed on the sky beyond the wall. He let out a slow breath.

"Just as I thought," the old man murmured. "That fraud was wrong from the very beginning."

Daisy was still standing in the hallway, barefoot, the hem of her white nightgown lifting in the breeze.

Her eyes were on Thorne. In those clear eyes of hers, the last trace of awareness still lingered.

"You're far more dangerous than you let on," she said softly. "Aren't you?"

Thorne turned and met her gaze.

Just for a moment.

Before he could answer, the focus in Daisy's eyes had already begun to fade, replaced by the familiar blankness and confusion.

She blinked, tilted her head, looked at Thorne, then at the guards scattered across the courtyard floor. No surprise on her face at all.

"Flowers..." she murmured, and padded barefoot toward the garden bed, crouching down, reaching out to touch a white rose in full bloom. "Pretty flowers..."