Kitten, being Kitten, was capable of tracking every movement in the room even while being disciplined. The moment she saw Damien and Mia at the door, she immediately shifted into the role of the tragic victim.

"Damien! Damien!" she wailed toward Damien.

She called out to him with such desperate affection, one would have thought they were blood siblings.

Hearing her cry, Julian finally turned to see Damien and Mia. He didn't care why they had come to his house; his focus was entirely locked on the girl beneath him. His face remained a mask of cold indifference.

"Listen closely," Julian said to the pair at the door. "Do not interfere."

He was so dark, so genuinely provoked, that Damien simply let out a low laugh and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Continue. I won't step in."

Mia turned to Damien, looking at him as if he were a ghost.

Julian frowned. "Then why aren't you leaving?" Damien’s presence was too heavy, his "Luxury Noir" aura too sharp; Julian felt like he couldn't even deliver a proper thrashing with his brother watching.

Damien strolled into the room with a languid grace. "Thrashing her is too much work. If you just want to solve the problem, I’ll help you..."

Julian was confused. "...What?"

Damien slowly reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a silver Walther. His voice was a low, clinical drawl. "...Just give her a bullet. Let’s see if she ever dares to step out of line again."

Kitten and Mia both froze, paralyzed by shock.

Damien was serious! He really would shoot her! This was a man who had pulled the trigger on himself—there was no one in this world he was afraid to hit.

Damien suddenly raised the weapon, pointing the muzzle directly at Kitten’s chest.

Julian’s face went pale. He lunged forward, grabbing the barrel of the gun, his senses finally returning. "Damien! You touch her and we are done!"

Damien let out a dazzling, amused laugh and offered Kitten a quick wink.

Kitten, always a master of reading the room, caught the signal instantly. She pounced on Julian, coiling around him and rubbing her face against his chest. "Julian... Julian..."

"..."

Julian felt a crushing sense of defeat.

How could his resolve be this weak? How could he be so easily duped by a tag-team play between his brother and his wife? Why couldn't he be as cold as the autumn wind or let his eyes fire lethal arrows?

He looked up at Damien, his expression flat.

Damien shrugged, his smile dripping with a dark, feminine elegance. "Tell me, Julian... how did I end up with a brother as simple as you?"

Later that afternoon, Julian and Kitten retreated to the master bedroom to "resolve" their marital issues in private.

Damien took Mia out for a birthday dinner, his mood remarkably improved.

At the restaurant, Damien offered a faint smirk. "Well? You’ve seen Julian’s dark side. Any thoughts?"

"I'm... impressed," Mia murmured, her face flushed with embarrassment.

"He wasn't being serious today," Damien noted, feeding her a bite of dessert. He looked genuinely intrigued. "When Julian actually goes dark... it doesn't look like that."

Mia was startled. "He gets angry... for real?"

Damien didn't elaborate much, offering only a single example. "Have you ever heard of the Franki Fund?"

"Yes," she nodded. "It was a famous hedge fund that suddenly went bankrupt two years ago."

She paused, feeling a sense of pity. "The capital markets are full of uncertainty..."

"The capital markets?" Damien laughed. "Without someone pulling the strings, a market is just a dead thing."

"..."

"The owner of Franki took an interest in a certain reporter named Kitten during a press conference," Damien said, his pale gray eyes glinting. "The man had bad timing. Julian and Kitten were in a cold war then, and Kitten was being... dense. She accepted every interview the man offered and spent all day with him. Julian eventually got annoyed."

Mia listened, a cold shiver of dread climbing her spine.

Damien stroked her cheek. "So you see, Mia. Julian isn't as 'pure' as you imagine."

Mia thought privately:

If even Julian is this dark, and he views Damien as his faith... then just how deep does the Sovereign's rot go?

Evening fell. As they walked out of the restaurant, several silhouettes appeared before Damien. Every face was etched with frantic, desperate pleading.

Seeing them, Damien’s eyes turned to ice. Gideon stepped forward, whispering an explanation. "...Master Damien, they’ve been waiting all night. We couldn't keep them away."

Damien remained a mask of indifference.

Mia, always knowing when to retreat, turned to him. "I'll wait in the car."

Damien patted her shoulder and nodded.

The moment she was gone, Damien’s entire presence turned lethal. He spoke with a voice that felt like a blade. "I have no interest in dealing with the law."

The men before him were high-ranking officials from the Prosecutor’s Office. In their desperation, even the keepers of justice were forced to seek out the Devil.

An older man stepped forward. "Master Damien, I know the rules of the road. If our side crosses the line without a legitimate warrant, we can only settle things by the Syndicate's code..."

Damien didn't care to listen. He began to walk away.

"Sir!" the man called out, his voice cracking. "Janice is a good prosecutor. She just messed with the wrong people. I'm begging you... please, save her one last time."