The breath caught in Evelyn’s throat.

The brᴀss key felt scorching H๏τ in her palm. The wooden floorboards in the corridor creaked, followed by the soft, dragging rustle of a silk skirt right against the outside of her door.

“Evelyn, don’t listen to her!” Damien’s voice thundered from down the hall.

A loud scuffle broke out—heavy boots clashing, wood splintering, and a woman’s manic laughter cutting through the darkness. Before Evelyn could react, the bedroom door shook violently as Damien threw his weight against it.

“Unlock the door, Evelyn! Now! She isn’t alone!”

Trembling from head to toe, Evelyn turned the brᴀss key and yanked the heavy oak door open.

Damien lunged inside, his white shirt torn at the collar and blood smeared across his knuckles. He immediately slammed the bolt back into place, breathing heavily with a loaded revolver gripped тιԍнтly in his right hand.

“Damien, what is going on?!” Evelyn cried out, clutching the crumpled letter and pH๏τograph to her chest. “Who was that woman? And why does this note say my mother wasn’t my real mother?!”

Damien leaned against the door, his chest heaving as he stared down at the open wooden box on the bed. The cold fury in his eyes melted into an agonizing sorrow.

“My uncle, Silas Cross, didn’t force you into this marriage to collect a debt, Evelyn,” Damien whispered, his voice trembling—the first time the fearsome ‘Wolf of the Mountains’ had ever shown weakness. “Your late father was a bodyguard. Sixteen years ago, he was hired to smuggle the true heiress of the entire Cross valley away before Silas could eliminate her.”

Evelyn staggered back against the wall, her mind spinning. “The heiress…?”

“You,” Damien said gently, stepping closer. “The woman in that picture with Silas is his sister, Lady Eleanor. Silas declared her insane, locked her away, and tried to poison you when you were just a toddler to take the mountain lands for himself. Your protector raised you in poverty under a fake name to keep you alive. When he pᴀssed away, Silas tracked you down immediately.”

“Then why did you agree to marry me?” Evelyn asked through tears.

“Because in my uncle’s twisted mind, marrying Eleanor’s lost daughter to his own bloodline was the only legal way to seal his claim to the empire forever,” Damien admitted, his gaze intense and unwavering. “He thought I was his obedient dog. He didn’t know I spent seven years planning his downfall. I married you to protect you. Under the law, my name is the only shield standing between you and Silas’s greed.”

Suddenly, the eerie silence of the house was shattered by the sharp clanking of a grandfather clock striking midnight—followed by the heavy grinding of stone deep below the floorboards.

A trapdoor beneath the ornate rug in the corner of Evelyn’s bedroom slowly pushed upward.

A hand emerged—pale, withered, and adorned with a signet ring bearing the Cross family crest.

Silas Cross climbed into the dim candlelight, flanked by two armed men. But he wasn’t smiling at Evelyn. He was staring at Damien with a wicked, triumphant grin.

“You played your part brilliantly, dear nephew,” Silas sneered, cocking his rifle. “Thank you for gathering her signature on that marriage certificate tonight. Now that the marriage is sealed… the Wolf of the Mountains is no longer needed.”

Silas aimed the barrel straight at Damien’s chest.

“Drop your gun, nephew. Or your precious bride will watch you die right where she’s meant to sleep.”