Meanwhile, Christian sat alone in his room, the sunlight casting a soft glow across his face. A smirk curled on his lips.
"The only reason I told you that, Christiana," he murmured, "is because I know very well that Grandma will use you. Reassuring her that this marriage is temporary will put her mind at ease—while I still have Silva play the perfect wife in front of them."
He closed his eyes.
"After all, Grandma isn't the type to spread my business. That is... if she truly wants me to ascend the title."
His mind drifted back to the day of his father's funeral, when he was only ten. Surrounded by sobbing mourners, he sat dry-eyed, unable to force even a single tear.
"I'm sorry, my dear," Granny Elaine had whispered, pulling him into a hug. "I know this is too hard for you to handle."
He remembered looking up in confusion at his mother—silent, dry-eyed, unmoved—while Christiana clung to their father's casket, wailing.
The murmurs of guests still echoed in his memory:
"How did this happen?"
"I don't know... but poor Brando, losing his last son in a freak accident…"
"It's almost like a curse. Seriously, who's going to ascend him now? At his age, there's no one left."
"Please, Mister Darius. With all due respect, keep your voice down. They can still hear you."
"I'm just saying, one of his male grandchildren might be next in line. That's all," Darius had said casually, locking eyes with young Christian.
"But I hope the curse doesn't take the next one too!"
Back in the present, Christian slowly opened his eyes. His smile was cold, unsettling.
"Now I wonder," he muttered darkly, "what's your current opinion from the grave, Darius?"
Just then, Christian's phone rang. The caller ID was unknown.
"Greetings, Christian," came Asher's smooth voice, laced with smugness.
"Go on," Christian said flatly. "I doubt you called just to exchange pleasantries."
"Of course not," Asher replied, lazily toying with a pawn on the table before him.
"As a man of your... distinguished status, it would be insensitive of me not to inform you."
Christian said nothing, waiting.
"You seem rather invested in our family's mess," Asher continued, voice curling with amusement. "So why not let you in on a little secret?"
He leaned back in his chair, the smirk audible in his tone.
"Did you know your dear wife has been partnering with me? Or to put it simply—you're not the only one she's aligned with."
The silence that followed was thick.
Asher uncrossed his legs and chuckled softly as he thought.
"Interesting, isn't it? The fracture between you two is proving much easier to forge than I imagined. Then again… your marriage did seem unusual from the start."
Another pause.
Then Christian spoke, voice as cold as steel.
"I see."
He ended the call.
Asher stared at the phone for a moment before laughing under his breath.
"His tone—almost sounded hurt," he mocked with a grin.
"Well, even if it didn't, the seed of doubt will do its job. Faces can lie—but suspicion? That lingers."
Meanwhile, Christian remained in his relaxed position, his expression unchanged—until a slow smirk curved on his lips.
"Does this fool think he's the only one playing the family game?" he muttered, irritation flickering in his eyes as he could see through Asher.
But as the seconds passed, the image of Silva's possible betrayal began to worm its way into his thoughts. His smirk faded slightly, replaced by a colder, darker gaze.
"Let's hope that's not the case, my dear Silva," he whispered. "For your sake."