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Chapter Five

GIBSON’s POV

I raised my hand and lifted his face, daring him to meet my gaze, but he refused, looking down as he threw his face away. I spoke ancient words to my hands, holding his head to unlock his memories. He winced in pain, which strangely aided my access to his recollections. The more pain he endured, the clearer his memories became.

With my hand still submerged in his mind, I discovered a haunting image: a little girl, bound to a chair, calling out for her father's attention. Her loneliness pierced my heart. Intrigued, I delved deeper, navigating the labyrinthine corridors of his mind. The man's anguish intensified, his body tensing beneath my touch.

“Fascinating,” I muttered, my voice barely audible. As I withdrew my hand, the weight of his memories threatened to overwhelm me. I turned away, my expression a mask of composure, concealing the turmoil stirring within.

“Your daughter will be safe if you trust me,” I assured him, my words laced with conviction.

The man recoiled, his eyes widening in terror as he stumbled backward. Fear and suspicion etched his face like jagged scars.

I grasped his chin, lifting his gaze to mine.

His bloodshot eyes, red-rimmed from the agony I'd unleashed, locked onto mine. Pain and distrust simmered in their depths.

“No, you're the devil incarnate,” he whispered, his trembling voice barely audible.

Fear and desperation danced in his eyes as he spat the words. “I'll never trust you. I must protect Evelyn.” His mantra-like repetition became a haunting refrain, a prayer fueled by paternal instinct.

I closed the distance between us, my movements are fluid and menacing.

But he pushed me away, his frail strength no match for my demonic power. Irritation flared within me, and I grasped him with an iron grip, my fingers wrapping around his throat like a vice. My anger boiled over, threatening to consume me.

“Master,” a soothing voice intervened, “restraint, please.”

My demon prime ministers, appointed by my father, the devil, during his reign, stepped forward. Their calculating gazes and measured tones tempered my fury. These skilled politicians had navigated the underworld's intricate web of power for eons, advising my father on matters of state and diplomacy.

I released my grip, and the man crumpled to the ground.

With a majestic stride, I ascended to my throne, its dark, twisted wood seeming to absorb the faint light around us. My prime ministers flanked me, their presence a reminder of my duties as the underworld's ruler.

I sat majestically on my throne, my piercing gaze fixed on the man as he struggled to breathe. His coughing fit sent rivulets of blood trickling down his chin, staining his tattered clothes. Memories of his past flooded my mind, and I rose from my throne, my movements fluid and deliberate.

With a regal gesture, I addressed the gathering of demonic minions: “Tend to his wounds and confine him in the dungeons. See that he receives adequate sustenance, but ensure his imprisonment is far from comfortable.” My voice echoed through the dark, dank caverns, sending shivers down the spines of even the most hardened demons.

The man's eyes widened in surprise, gratitude etched on his face as he beheld the unexpected mercy. His pain resonated within me, stirring an unusual empathy. I sensed the depth of his desperation, driven by the promise of reunion with his captive family. His thoughts were a jumble of fear, hope, and determination.

As I delved deeper into his memories, I discovered the truth. He was a spy, sent by those who had taken his family, exploiting his love to extract information. A pang of pity stirred within me, unusual for one such as I, the ruler of the underworld. My heart, long thought frozen, fluttered with a spark of compassion.

I turned to depart, whispering ancient words that unlocked the enchanted door. The air shimmered as the portal swung open, revealing the pathway to my private sanctuary. I stepped through the veil, leaving the darkness behind, and emerged into my living room.

The warm glow of candles and the soft crackle of the fireplace enveloped me, a stark contrast to the dank dungeons I had left behind. I paced before the flames, my mind consumed by the man's story. His family, held captive by ruthless forces, haunted my thoughts. I felt an inexplicable connection to their plight, a sense of responsibility stirring within me.

I descended the stairs, seeking solace in my study room, eager to shake off the lingering memories of the man's anguish. The weight of his desperation still bore down on me, threatening to consume my thoughts. As I turned a corner, a vision arrested my attention, and I paused, intrigued.

A young woman sat at a nearby table, her rapturous expression a testament to the culinary delights before her. Her lips, plump and inviting, puckered with each savory bite, releasing a soft, delighted sigh. Her eyes, bright and carefree, sparkled like polished gemstones, radiating joy. I couldn't help but be drawn to her unbridled enthusiasm, my lips curling into a subtle, amused smile.

“Is she the one?”

Wilson's low, knowing tone whispered in my ear, his sudden appearance a testament to his uncanny ability to materialize at my side. My childhood friend and confidant, had witnessed my most intimate secrets, including the tale of the mysterious woman who had captured my heart. His eyes, twinkling with mischief, caught my grin, but my countenance remained impassive, a mask of composure firmly in place.

Wilson's gaze never wavered, his expression a blend of curiosity and amusement. “Your interest is piqued, isn't it?” he asked, his voice laced with a hint of playful teasing. I neither confirmed nor denied, my Stoic demeanor a shield against his probing. Yet, my thoughts betrayed me, drifting back to the woman's captivating smile and the inexplicable connection I felt.

Wilson's POV

I materialized in Gibson's mansion, my teleportation a seamless blend of magic and stealth. Fresh from the court meeting, I bore urgent news, and Gibson's attentive ear was my destination.

As I emerged from the shadows, I spotted him, his gaze fixed on a nearby figure. His profile, chiseled and intense, softened into a sly grin, hinting at amusement. I followed his line of sight, curiosity piqued.

A young woman sat at a table, savoring each bite with unbridled relish. Her joy was infectious, and Gibson's captivation was palpable. I watched, intrigued, as his Stoic mask slipped, revealing a glimmer of delight.

“Gibson,” I whispered, announcing my presence.

He turned, his eyes locking onto mine, the grin still playing on his lips. I sensed a spark of excitement within him, a spark I hadn't seen in ages.

“Wilson,” he replied, his voice low and smooth. “What brings you here?”

I stepped forward, my eyes never leaving his. “The court meeting revealed something… intriguing. Something that concerns your mysterious woman.”

Gibson's gaze snapped back to the woman, and his interest reignited. I smiled, recognizing the telltale signs of fascination.

“Tell me,” he commanded, his voice laced with anticipation.

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