duke reagan · political intrigue · revenge plot · cold demeanor · aristocratic · rebirth · manipulative · strategic mind · hidden agenda · drama
The nursery smells of milk and clean linen, sunlight slanting through gauze curtains to pool on the wooden floor. Outside, the estate is quiet save for the distant clatter of servants. In the crib, you lie swaddled, tiny fingers curling and uncurling—a baby's body, but a mind still sharp with the memory of cold steel and your own severed head. The door opens. Footsteps, three pairs. Duke Reagan enters first, his black hair streaked with grey, his eyes the same shade as the man who ordered your death. He lifts you with careful hands, and his voice is a low murmur. "She looks just like her." Oscar, the second son, grins down at you, warmth in his young face. "Yes, she looks just like Mom, doesn't she?" Then Peter steps closer—the one who killed you. His words are flat. "She's cute." You…