"I had no idea you could dance," Dante remarked as they returned to the estate. He closed the door to Helios' room behind him while the latter collapsed exhausted onto his bed. After their visit to Violet's house, Helios had worked in the lab for hours until his strength finally gave out.
"It's something that's expected of me. So I practiced until I mastered it," Helios explained with a snort. "At least now I don't have to worry about that damned evening party anymore. Who knows what brainless fool with giant breasts my father would have tried to set me up with this time!"
Helios rolled his eyes. "Oh, right – he had already chosen one. Almost forgot."
Dante smirked at Helios' exasperated expression. He had watched Helios dance with Violet. Even though he himself knew little about dancing, he had to admit that Helios had moved with remarkable elegance. Violet had been beaming so brightly that she kept bursting into laughter, while Helios led her effortlessly across the parquet floor.
Not once had they stumbled – no surprise with Helios' perfectionism.
Dante had been glad to see Violet so full of life. He remembered her first visit all too well, when she had barely been strong enough to hold a glass of water. It had taken a few weeks, but now she was spinning around the room with laughter, as if freed from an invisible burden. The warm feeling that had spread through Dante's chest at the sight still lingered. He was glad that Helios had that side to him as well – the side devoted to healing the sick and the weak. Dante could hardly wait to see what Helios would achieve in the future.
He was certain: if anyone could rid the world of illness and suffering, it was Helios.
Suddenly, Helios' emerald gaze hit him with unexpected intensity.
"Sorry for dancing with her in front of you," he murmured.
Dante blinked in surprise.
"You promised her you would. And besides, what's so wrong about it? You gave that girl a great deal of joy," Dante said with a smile.
A frown furrowed Helios' brow. "So it doesn't bother you?"
"Why should it?" Dante sat down beside him on the bed. "It was nice seeing you like that."
Helios seized his wrist, yanked him down onto the mattress in one sudden motion, and pinned him there. He leaned over him, his expression serious, almost vulnerable.
"You're not jealous?" he asked, seeking reassurance.
Dante's eyes widened for a moment, then he laughed softly.
"No. Why should I be jealous? You've made it more than clear to me that your heart lies nowhere else."
"She doesn't interest me in the slightest either," Helios confirmed calmly. "I just thought it might bother you that I asked her to accompany me to the evening party."
Dante gently brushed his cheek. Unbidden, he thought of Helios' last companion.
"Violet is far preferable to another goldfish-lady."
Helios laughed. "Evangeline really wasn't blessed with intelligence," he agreed. "At least with Violet I know what to expect."
Dante's lips curved. "Even if I don't like the way Violet looks at you."
Helios leaned forward, kissed Dante on the lips, and raised a brow in amusement. "So you are a little jealous?"
"Maybe a little," Dante admitted, though his eyes betrayed more affection than concern.
"I know how to handle women like Violet," Helios reassured him. "She's only my excuse so Father leaves me alone anyway. Besides, she's so obedient she'd never dare get any foolish ideas."
Dante tilted his head slightly. "You really don't like such occasions, do you? Last time you only went reluctantly as well."
Helios sighed. "Because they all have certain expectations and never approach me without ulterior motives. They all want to push their daughters on me just because we're wealthy and, outwardly, I'm single. They want to ingratiate themselves, strike deals, and take a share of the pie built on my work," he said, annoyed. "And my father wants nothing more than to keep the empire alive. He wants control over everything, and he wants the succession secured. He's so damned greedy, it makes me sick."
"He markets you rather well," Dante observed quietly.
"Probably his greatest talent," Helios muttered, rolling his eyes. Then he forced a smile. "Anyway. We'll go. You'll be my dutiful guardian while I make sure Violet has a lovely evening. People will gossip, rumors will swirl—and for a while I'll have some peace. Let's see how long I can get away with it."
"And if they still pressure you?"
"Good question. I probably won't age anymore, like you, so I'll have to come up with something for the future. I always thought it would be enough to just marry someday and then ignore my wife. She could have her fun and I could have mine. If she got irritated or bored, she could buy dresses or whatever. Anyway, that was my plan before I died."
Dante caressed his cheek tenderly. "And now? What's your plan?"
A warm, almost mischievous smile spread across Helios' lips. "What else, you silly thing. I won't let anything come between us. And if it becomes necessary, I'll shake society to its very foundations. Let them speculate, be outraged, or pass judgment—it's nobody's business what we do when we're alone. Least of all my father's."
With an exasperated sound, he ran a hand through his hair and rubbed his face. "Speaking of which. I should get changed. Dinner is waiting."
Helios stood up and slipped off his black turtleneck, only to replace it immediately with a fresher one. As always, he kept his gloves on. For a moment, his gaze lingered thoughtfully on his left hand.
"Hopefully Gustave manages the prosthesis the way I envision it," he murmured.
"He will," Dante replied without hesitation.
"We'll pay him another visit soon. I want to see for myself that he's really working on it."
A faint smile flickered across Dante's face. "When Gustave sets his mind on something, usually nothing can stop him. But we can certainly visit him soon—every day if necessary."
Helios nodded, though his thoughts still seemed caught on the prosthesis. Only when he reached for a small vial did he pull himself away, applying perfume and letting the familiar scent fill the room. He straightened his cuffs, inspected his reflection with meticulous care, and polished his glasses until the lenses gleamed flawlessly.
"Always perfect, down to the last detail," Dante teased softly.
Helios moved to the door, placed his hand on the handle, paused for a heartbeat, and drew in a deep breath.
"Then let's get it over with."
Dante followed, stepped close to his side, and looked at him attentively. "You've got this. Like always."
A barely perceptible smile flickered across Helios' lips before he opened the door and the light from the hallway streamed into the room.
___
Helios entered the dining hall, where his father was, as always, already waiting for him. Vale immediately rose and came toward him. His gaze was tense, almost searching, as he took Helios' face in his hands and studied every detail.
Silence lay between them. Heavy, uncomfortable. It felt as though Vale were searching for traces only he could recognize. Only after a long moment did he sigh in relief and release his son.
"You look better," he said quietly.
"It was just a short fever, nothing serious," Helios replied in his usual, matter-of-fact tone.
Vale stared at him in disbelief, as if he could hardly comprehend such indifference.
"You surely heard that I was better again less than twenty-four hours later," Helios continued, gesturing toward the table. "Let's sit down. You wanted to discuss something with me."
He was just about to take his seat when Vale held him back by the arm.
"Helios, that was anything but a normal fever. Please tell me you at least went to see a doctor after refusing ours." His voice was worried, almost pleading.
"No, I didn't see a doctor. Whatever it was, it disappeared as quickly as it came," Helios said with a smile that was meant to be reassuring. "Which was good, after all—it allowed me to clear the work that had piled up on my desk."
Vale slowly released him, and Helios finally sat down. But Vale's gaze remained fixed on him, unrelenting.
"I'm glad you were able to get back to work so quickly," his father sighed. "Still, we had agreed that you would take care of your health."
An amused smile played on Helios' lips. "I thought you could hardly wait to see me back in the office," he said with a trace of sarcasm.
"Of course I'm pleased when everything returns to normal. But your health is very important to me, Helios—please don't forget that," Vale said with a serious look.
For the first time in a long while, Dante had the feeling that Vale truly was concerned about his son—not as a source of profit, but as his child. Vale took Helios' right hand in his own. Helios flinched almost imperceptibly.
"I thought of you the whole time," Vale said softly. "You can't imagine how hard it was for me to leave. If your mother were still here, then…"
Helios' fingers clenched, and he pulled his hand back abruptly. "How was your business trip?" he asked, his voice icy.
Vale held his gaze for a moment longer before leaning back, grasping the wineglass, and swirling it absentmindedly. At last, he took a sip.
"It went as planned. Soon I'll have to leave again, just briefly, to take care of a few small matters."
"Good to hear," Helios replied politely, though he couldn't have sounded less interested.
Dinner was served, and the air filled with the delicious aroma of roast and dumplings. Dante's mouth watered; he could hardly wait to eat later. Yet his watchful gaze never left Helios and his father. Silent as a statue, he observed the conversation between them.
Vale quickly emptied his glass and refilled it. Helios began eating without a word. The silence between them was broken only by the faint clinking of cutlery, until Vale's gaze settled on Helios' gloves.
"Helios, at least take them off while eating. It's warm in here—don't they bother you?"
"No, it's fine," Helios replied. "Some substance spilled on my hands. The skin is irritated, and without gloves it starts to tingle."
Vale studied him closely. "You've been making a lot of mistakes lately," his father remarked. His expression was a mix of concern and something else Dante couldn't quite decipher.
"These past months have drained me, as you know." Helios shoved the next piece of meat into his mouth as though the conversation were over for him.
"I understand that the gunshot wound and Penny's death affected you. But I never thought you would react like this. Normally nothing hits you so hard that you'd neglect your work."
Helios set his cutlery aside.
"When, Father, have I ever neglected my work?" His voice was sharp as a blade. "As you know, I've completed every task you've given me. I've processed all the documents, finished the records, and ensured everything runs as usual. Please, correct me if I'm wrong."
Vale set down his glass.
"It's not just about results, Helios. It's about the process. Your distillation unit exploded recently because you combined substances incorrectly. You keep injuring yourself, and now your hands are damaged because you were careless. Why do you have safety gloves in the lab if you don't use them?" His voice hardened. "You need to find your focus again. This cannot go on."
"Of course, Father," Helios said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. Dante saw only his back, but he was fairly certain it came with a more than arrogant look. Helios made a dismissive gesture. "Don't worry, starting tomorrow you'll have your perfect heir back."
Vale exhaled heavily, as if the conversation itself had cost him strength.
"At the evening party, it would be nice if you didn't wear the gloves."
"Too bad—I think they suit me quite well. Maybe I've found a new style for myself," Helios said with amusement, though there was no joy in his voice.
Vale studied him for a long time, as if trying to see through the façade. "You've really changed."
"The death of loved ones changes everyone," Helios replied calmly, almost cuttingly.
Vale reached for his glass, downed the rest, and immediately refilled it.
"I, too, miss those I've lost," he murmured. "I wish she were here—perhaps then you would be less rebellious."
A short, bitter laugh burst from Helios. "Dead is dead, Father. What once died should not return. As much as I wish Penny were still by my side… there are limits, and some of them must never be crossed."
His tone was dangerously calm, his words carrying an unspoken warning.
Dante listened, keeping his face carefully expressionless. He wanted so badly to know what the two were talking about. Was this about Soley? And who exactly did they mean? Was it Helios' mother? Or perhaps someone else entirely?
Maybe the day had finally come when he would learn more about Helios.
"You're a damn stubborn fool!" his father exploded, his voice echoing harshly through the room.
"Perhaps," Helios replied, unmoved. "But you won't change my opinion on the matter, no matter how much you shout at me."
He sounded calm, and yet Dante could see the faint tremor running through his body. Helios pushed his plate away—he had eaten only a small portion. Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest.
"What was it you wanted to discuss with me?" His voice was razor-sharp now. "If it was this subject, then I'll be excusing myself for the evening."
Vale poured himself another glass of wine. With a mere glance at a servant, he was brought another bottle. He emptied the glass and finally set it down. His food remained completely untouched. The tension in the room grew thick, palpable, like a storm about to break.
At last, Vale set down his glass and lifted his gaze. "Have you thought about what I asked of you last time?" His voice was controlled, but the coldness in it made Dante shiver.
"I have," Helios answered curtly.
Vale let his gaze sweep across the hall. "Out. All of you." His voice allowed no argument. The servants bowed hastily and left the room.
His gaze turned cold as he looked at Dante. "You too."
Helios turned to Dante, making sure his father couldn't see his expression.
"Go get something to eat, we'll see each other later," he said with a smile.
Dante nodded. Helios would manage. If anything happened, he would call for him.
He left the room with the others. His footsteps echoed softly through the corridors as he made his way toward the kitchen, where he expected to find Thomas. After dinner, Helios often had a coffee. Most likely Thomas was preparing everything for it.
As expected, he found Thomas in the kitchen, busy taking cups out of the cupboard. Dante gently tapped the doorframe to make his presence known.
"Good evening, Thomas."
The butler turned in surprise, then a warm smile spread across his face.
"Oh! Dante! I didn't expect to see you here," the old man said warmly. "Do the gentlemen need something?"
Dante shook his head. "Mr. Vale wants to speak with his son in private and sent us out."
For a brief moment, Thomas' expression darkened before he replaced it with a practiced, friendly smile.
"Mr. Vale has much to discuss with the young master," he said evasively. "But you look as though you could use some refreshment. Wait a moment—the cook has once again prepared far too much."
It seemed Thomas knew exactly what Vale and Helios were talking about. Dante wished he did too. It was so difficult to reach Helios, especially when it came to his past. He simply wasn't the kind of person to share what weighed on him.
And yet, Dante wanted nothing more than to know everything about him. There were still so many unanswered questions concerning Helios. But before he could think further about it, Thomas had already returned with a well-filled plate of the dinner the Vales were still having. He set it down in front of Dante and smiled warmly.
"Enjoy your meal, Dante. And thank you for your daily work."
The old butler glanced at the clock and finally sat down opposite him. They chatted about various little things. Thomas mentioned that his old bones often troubled him and he couldn't lift heavy things anymore. They talked about chess, and then about how Dante was at the perfect age for marriage. Thomas advised him to keep his age in mind before, like himself, he missed the chance to start a family.
Dante nearly choked when Thomas suddenly brought up marriage. Outwardly, of course, he still looked twenty-seven. Even though he had been walking this earth for thirty-seven years already. He could hardly tell Thomas that he already had a lover—named Helios Vale.
It was a lighthearted conversation. They laughed a lot, and once again Dante realized how much Thomas was a father figure, even though he had no children of his own.
Their talk was abruptly cut short when Vale's loud voice reached them. Thomas' face froze, his eyes widening in alarm. It was the look of a man who had feared exactly this.
Then came a loud crash—glass or porcelain shattering.
Dante leapt to his feet.
He was about to storm out of the kitchen, but Thomas held him back with an astonishingly firm grip.
"Dante, don't go in there," the old butler said gravely. "It will only make him angrier—and he already has his eye on you."
"But he's completely losing control in there! What if Helios—"
Thomas only shook his head. "He would never harm Helios physically."
Dante wavered, torn. More than anything, he wanted to rush to Helios' side. Officially, after all, he was still his personal bodyguard.
At last, Thomas released him, resting a calming hand on his arm. "Wait a moment. They're surely nearing the end of their discussion."
Dante nodded reluctantly. Together they moved back toward the dining hall. Vale's voice echoed loudly and furiously through the room, while not a single sound came from Helios. Then came the harsh scrape of a chair across the floor—and the next moment, the door slammed open so hard it struck the wall.
"We are not finished!" Vale roared after him as Helios left the hall.
Helios looked beyond furious. He stopped, exhaled slowly, and turned back to face his father. His voice was sharper than a blade as he spoke the next words.
"I will not support you in this ridiculous plan. What you're attempting is impossible anyway. I'm good at what I do, but I'm no damned magician. You should learn to let go, Father. It's becoming pathetic." His words were icy.
Helios turned again and walked away. His gaze locked with Dante's.
"Get changed. We're leaving," Helios hissed, seething with anger.
Dante followed him silently to the room. Helios yanked the wardrobe open without a word, pulled out his coat, and began packing in a rush: underwear, fresh clothes, toiletries. Every movement was harsh, jerky, driven by a rage that seemed ready to boil over at any moment. Dante understood immediately what he was planning and hurried to do the same.
Helios was more than furious.
"Take the key to your apartment with you," he growled curtly, continuing to pack in silence.
Dante feared that if he spoke now, Helios' anger might turn on him. He slipped on his jacket and grabbed the bag they had hastily packed. Helios left the room with determination, and Dante followed close behind.
Damn, what had happened in there?
Unbidden, his mind went back to the time when he had secretly searched the archives. The day Davis had died, there had been a similar situation. So much had happened since then that he had completely forgotten.
Only back then, it had been Vale storming out in anger—and Helios who had lost control.
Damn it, what was going on between those two…?
As they crossed the foyer, Vale came stomping in. He stood at the railing on the first floor.
"Where are you going at this hour?!" he bellowed at Helios.
Helios looked up at his father, his gaze deadly.
"Work. I'll see you tomorrow," Helios said coldly and continued on his way.
Thomas approached Dante and pressed a bag into his hand. His expression was worried, and somehow tired.
"Don't let him work all night. He needs sleep. And make sure he eats something before he goes to bed."
"Thank you," Dante murmured softly. "Don't worry—I'll take care of him. If necessary, I'll force him to."
Thomas only nodded silently.
Dante hurried after Helios, who had already left the estate. Their footsteps echoed against the stone slabs as the night air closed in around them. He didn't know what awaited him, but perhaps—at last—he would get some answers.