The wind clawed at his face, the chill biting, but he was impervious. His entire being was focused on one thing: vengeance.
Shelton.
The name was a poison in his veins, fueling a fire that burned hotter with every gallop.
His jaw clenched, his knuckles white as he gripped the reins, the leather taut in his hands.
The landscape blurred past him, insignificant in the face of his purpose. His thoughts were as sharp and cold as a honed blade.
He would not stop. Not until Alfred paid for every treacherous act.
Not until the man who dared to cross him was crushed beneath his boot.
The dark silhouette of Alfred’s estate emerged on the horizon, an ominous fortress standing defiant against the dusk. Wilhelm’s lips curled into a grim smile. Soon, that defiance would crumble.
He dismounted with the precision of a predator, his movements fluid and deadly. His boots struck the cobblestones with a solid, commanding thud, the sound echoing through the still evening air.
He let the reins drop without a backward glance, his horse knowing better than to move without his signal.
Every step he took radiated purpose, the weight of his fury palpable. His eyes locked on the gardens ahead, searching for the man who had dared to defile everything he held sacred.
There he was.
Alfred strolled among the rose bushes, oblivious to the wrath bearing down upon him. A book hung loosely in one hand, hisexpression one of leisure and detachment. The sight only fueled Wilhelm’s anger, his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap.
When Alfred finally noticed him, surprise flashed across his face. It was gone almost as quickly, replaced by a smirk—a smug, mocking grin that made Wilhelm’s blood boil. It was the expression of a man who thought himself untouchable.
That was his first mistake.
“Ravenshire,” Alfred drawled, his voice dripping with false charm. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Wilhelm didn’t bother with pleasantries. His steps were slow but deliberate, his presence looming larger with every stride.
“You dare to speak to me after what you’ve done?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, laced with barely restrained violence.
Alfred’s grin widened, his nonchalance almost theatrical. “Such anger,” he mused, tilting his head to the side. “I must have struck quite the nerve.”
Wilhelm’s lip curled in disdain. “You know exactly why I’m here,” he said, each word like a death knell.
Alfred feigned ignorance, spreading his hands in mock confusion. “Do I? I’ve done so many things, Ravenshire. You’ll have to be more specific.”
That was his second mistake.
Wilhelm’s hand shot out, grabbing Alfred by the collar before the man could blink. With a sharp yank, he pulled him close, their faces inches apart.
“Genevieve,” he hissed, his voice a low growl. “You filled her head with lies. You poisoned her against me.”
Alfred’s smirk faltered, but only for a heartbeat. He recovered quickly, his arrogance as stubborn as ever.
“Ah, Genevieve,” he said smoothly. “All I did was tell her the truth. If that’s a problem, perhaps it’s because yourtruthdoesn’t hold up to scrutiny.”
Wilhelm’s eyes darkened, his grip tightening. “You twisted the truth to serve your pathetic agenda,” he spat.
His other hand clenched into a fist at his side, every fiber of his being screaming for release.
Alfred chuckled, a grating sound that only stoked Wilhelm’s fury.
“Oh, Ravenshire,” he said, his tone almost pitying. “Always so emotional. Always so predictable. No wonder your father thought you were weak.”
