Kitten froze.

Damien didn't let it go. He tilted his head, his pale gray eyes searching the shadows of the legroom. "Hmm? What's making that noise?"

"A hamster," Julian blurted out.

"...What?"

Julian's brain was moving at Syndicate speeds, but his desperation was starting to show. He let out a loud, forced laugh. "It's a hamster! Kitten keeps it here in the office. It's... it's shy around strangers. That's why I don't let it out."

"Ah, I see," Damien nodded, his expression the picture of brotherly understanding. Then, he tossed out a clinical observation. "I've heard hamsters tend to squeak when they catch the scent of a stranger. Why hasn't yours made a sound?"

Julian didn't hesitate. He delivered two sharp, meaningful kicks to the girl huddled beneath the mahogany. He knew Kitten was a master of mimicry; on the night they first met, her "animal skills" had been the only thing that saved his life.

Confident in his plan, Julian kicked her a few more times, signaling her to give him a squeak.

Under the desk, Kitten was reaching her boiling point.

She was currently in a state of "undress," Julian was refusing to let her out, he was gatekeeping her five-million-dollar meat bun, and now he was demanding she play a rodent while he used her as a soccer ball. Her eyes flashed. She puffed out her cheeks and remained stubbornly silent.

Julian, losing his nerve, delivered a final, heavy-handed kick.

"WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!"

A series of thunderous, vicious dog barks erupted from beneath the desk, echoing through the executive suite with the force of a kennel riot.

The entire world fell into a deafening silence.

Damien let out a low, devastatingly amused hum. "Julian... that is a remarkably unique hamster you've raised."

Julian didn't even try to fake a laugh this time. He just stared at his brother, his face a mask of profound depression. "Laugh all you want. Just get out."

Damien finally stopped playing with his prey. He rose with a languid grace and strolled over to the desk, dropping the high-end paper bag onto the surface. He didn't look at Julian's face; instead, his gaze drifted downward, settling meaningfully on a certain area of Julian's trousers.

"Julian," Damien murmured, his voice a low, rhythmic rasp. "Next time you try to lie to me... remember to zip your fly first."

"..."

God damn it! Julian realized then that Kitten had unzipped him during the "pre-game" and he'd never fixed it. Any lingering sense of Lancaster dignity he possessed was systematically liquidated in that second.

Damien walked out, his soft laughter trailing behind him like smoke.

Julian hauled Kitten out from under the desk, helping her back into her trousers and sweater. Remembering the bag Damien had left, Julian reached for it. Inside, sure enough, was a meat bun.

Kitten's mouth practically watered. She snatched it from his hand and took a massive, "savage" bite.

She stopped mid-chew. Her teeth had hit something hard and flat.

Hidden inside the dough was a slip of paper.

Julian took it from her, smoothing it out. His breath caught. It was a bank check—the face value was exactly five million dollars.

In the corner, in Damien's distinctive, elegant script, were a few words: "For the girl's medical bills. My apology."

Kitten's face transformed into a portrait of pure happiness. "Whoa! Julian, look!"

The Sovereign—the man who sat on a throne of white bone—had offered an apology that was as "romantic" as it was extravagant.

Julian knocked her lightly on the head. "Finish getting dressed."

"On it! ><" Kitten chirped, scrambling into her coat.

Julian hurried out into the corridor. Looking through the floor-to-ceiling windows, he saw Damien walking toward the Spyker in the courtyard below. Julian pulled out his phone and hit the speed dial.

"Damien... I can't take the money," Julian said the moment the call connected. Damien's apology was enough; the debt was settled.

Damien's voice arrived with a faint, amused hum. "It's not for you. It's a gift for Kitten. You have zero authority to interfere."

Julian went silent. He knew that when the Sovereign made a decision, the world had no choice but to align.

He looked down at the courtyard. What had he been so angry about? Was it Kitten's bruise? Or was he actually mourning the loss of Damien's tenderness?

Perhaps it was both.

He had always viewed Damien as a deity—his only living kin in a world of wolves. Damien had spent twenty years guarding his younger brother from the Lancaster darkness in his own lethal, silent way. Julian had feared that if Damien couldn't show the same tenderness to the woman Julian loved, then the unspoken bond between them would finally break.

That was the real source of his grief. To lose a connection like theirs in a single night would be a terminal blow to the soul.

But Damien hadn't let him down. He was still the Sovereignty Julian could believe in.

Julian smiled, the clouds finally clearing from his expression.

"You still want that drink?" Julian asked. "I'm free."

The proverb says: To be brothers in the next life, one must not be born into a Royal House.

Julian thought that having met Damien, he was lucky enough to be the exception to that rule.