I Belong To My Three Forbidden Masters

Chapter 104: Chapter 104

Darius’s pov

I collapsed beside Gideon’s body, the choked scream in my throat dissolving into a gut-wrenching sob that tore through my chest.

I pulled his limp, heavy shoulders into my lap, ignoring the dark, sticky blood soaking through my trousers. His neck was cold, unnaturally twisted, those pale eyes staring up at the high ceiling with an emptiness that pierced through my heart.

"No," I sobbed, the word tearing out of me like something inside my chest had been ripped open.

I didn’t move.

I couldn’t move my muscles.

The world outside the mansion faded into a dull, meaningless blur. The cool air blew through the wide-open front doors, but I barely felt it. Somewhere in the distance, the world continued to exist.

But mine had stopped.

My arms tightened around my son.

His body was still warm.

That was what made it unbearable.

For one terrible, foolish moment, I could pretend he was only sleeping. That if I held him tightly enough, if I pressed my cheek against his hair and begged hard enough, he would stir. His chest would rise beneath my hand. His fingers would curl around mine.

"Please," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Please, wake up."

Nothing.

I rocked him slowly, instinctively, the way I had done when he was a baby and the memory nearly destroyed me.

I had only ever held my son like this once before.

The day he was born.

I remembered it with a clarity that felt cruel now.

He had been so impossibly small when they placed him in my arms. His tiny face had been red from crying, his little fists clenched against his chest. I had been terrified of holding him too tightly, terrified that my hands were too large and clumsy for something so fragile.

I had stared at him for hours.

My son.

My little boy.

I had promised him that day that I would protect him for the rest of my life and now, years later, I was holding him in exactly the same way.

Only this time, he wasn’t crying.

He wasn’t breathing.

He wasn’t going to open his eyes.

A broken sound escaped my throat.

"No... no, no, no."

I buried my face against his hair, breathing in the faint scent that was still unmistakably him. My fingers trembled as they moved through his hair, memorizing the softness of it, as though I could somehow carve the feeling into my hands before I lost it forever.

"I’m sorry," I choked out. "I’m so sorry."

The tears came harder. "I should have been there."

My shoulders shook violently. "I should have protected you."

The note pinned to his lapel fluttered in the cold breeze, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at it again.

There was only the unbearable weight of his body in my arms and the crushing knowledge that I would never hear him call me again.

I clutched him tighter, as though force could keep his soul from leaving.

"I love you," I whispered.

My voice cracked. "I love you so much, my son."

I don’t know how long I stayed there. Minutes became hours till shadows lengthened across the foyer, swallowing the walls one by one, while pale moonlight spilled through the open doors and settled over us.

Eventually, I had no tears left.

Only an empty, aching silence remained and still, I refused to let him go.

I stayed on that cold floor, holding my son against my chest just as I had held him on the day he was born, until the first gray rays of dawn crept over the horizon.

When the sun finally broke through the tall windows, I gently laid Gideon’s head back down on the floor.

I pushed myself up to my feet, my joints aching, my mind strangely, terrifyingly calm. I walked out to the courtyard where two remaining line guards stood at attention near the wrought-iron gates.

"Bury him," I commanded, my voice flat, hollow, and cold as iron. "I don’t want any ceremony."

"Yes, Mr. Thorne," the lead guard barked, dipping his head sharply.

I stood at the edge of the treeline near the pines, the cold morning wind biting through my shirt as the two guards drove their shovels deep into the damp earth.

I watched every spade of dirt tossed aside, the wet soil piling up beside the shallow grave. When they lowered Gideon’s body wrapped in a dark tarp into the ground, a fresh, burning lump formed in my throat. I stepped up to the edge, looking down at the unrounded dirt.

I reached down, grabbed a handful of cold, dark earth, and let it slip through my fingers, watching it scatter over his chest.

"I’m sorry, son," I whispered, my voice breaking over the wind. "I should have stopped you."

I squeezed my eyes shut, letting one last bitter tear fall into the dirt before I hardened my heart, wiped my face with the back of my hand, and turned on my heel to walk back toward the house.

I turned and walked back inside, heading straight up the grand staircase to my master suite. I stripped off my blood-stained clothes, tossing them directly into the cold stone hearth, and stepped into the shower.

I turned the water on scalding hot, scrubbing the copper stench of my son’s blood from my skin until my flesh was raw and red, but no amount of water could wash away the void in my gut.

I dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, dark silk tie, and silver cufflinks. I checked my reflection in the mirror. The man looking back at me was hollowed out, dark circles bruising his eyes, but beneath the exhaustion burned a quiet, lethal intent.

I grabbed my car keys, walked down to the subterranean garage, and climbed into the driver’s seat of my car.

The drive into the upper district took forty minutes. I pushed the engine hard, weaving through the morning traffic until I pulled up to the curb outside a massive, black-glass skyscraper soaring fifty stories into the gray sky.

The building held no name on the exterior, only a sleek silver crest etched into the reinforced revolving doors, Ted Towers.

I stepped into the high-ceilinged marble lobby, my heavy footfalls echoing off the polished stone. Two broad-shouldered guards in dark

suits immediately stepped out from behind the security desk, blocking the elevator bank.

"Sir, this is a private facility," the lead guard said, placing a heavy hand against his tactical belt. "You need an appointment to proceed."

"Move," I spat, not breaking my stride.

"Sir, turn around immediately—"

"Do you have any idea who the fuck I am?" I snarled, stepping into his space, my voice echoing violently across the marble lobby. "I am Darius Thorne. Tell Theodore I am here, or I will tear this building down brick by brick."

The second guard’s eyes flashed with sudden recognition. He quickly pressed two fingers to his earpiece, murmuring into his mic. After a tense five seconds, he looked up, nodding sharply to his partner.

"Keycard approved for the top floor," the guard murmured, stepping aside to reveal the elevator doors. "The director is waiting."

I walked past them without another word, stepping into the private elevator. The doors slid shut, and the car shot upward in silence.

When the elevator chimed at the fiftieth floor, the doors parted to reveal a vast, glass-walled penthouse suite overlooking the entire city skyline.

I stepped into the room, my shoes sinking slightly into the dark carpet and stopped dead in my tracks.

Standing in a tight, disciplined semicircle across the center of the office were ten men in identical dark suits.

Every single one of them was broad-shouldered, rigid, and radiating the lethal aura of high-tier vampires.

Their hands were crossed neatly in front of their waists, their dark eyes tracking my every movement with cold, predatory efficiency.

And sitting behind a massive desk of polished obsidian at the far end of the room was Theodore.

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