Marco’s POV
"Excuse me, Mr. Marcos," the guard said, his voice respectful but hurried. "I have a message for you. Your father is calling you. He requested your immediate presence."
My heart sank at the mention of my father. Our relationship had always been strained, and his sudden request filled me with a sense of unease. I exchanged a worried glance with Scarlett before turning back to the guard.
"Thank you for letting me know," I replied, trying to maintain composure. "I'll go see him right away."
Scarlett looked at me with concern, her eyes searching mine for answers. "Is everything alright?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry.
"I don't know," I admitted, a touch of anxiety seeping into my voice. "But I need to find out."
With a heavy heart, I excused myself from Scarlett's side, promising that I would return as soon as I could. She nodded, her expression a mix of understanding and concern. As I walked away, I couldn't help but wonder what awaited me in my father's presence.
The guard led me through the intricate corridors of the estate, each step echoing with anticipation. My mind raced with thoughts of the past, memories of distant conversations and unresolved conflicts. I braced myself for whatever awaited me, hoping that this encounter would bring clarity and closure.
Finally, we arrived at my father's study. The door creaked open, revealing the dimly lit room. My father sat behind his mahogany desk, his face worn with age and burden. He motioned for me to enter, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and something I couldn't quite decipher.
"Marco," he said, his voice gruff but tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "Sit down."
I took a seat, unable to shake off the tension that filled the room. My father leaned forward, clasping his hands together, and regarded me with a serious gaze.
"Son," he began, his voice weighed down by the weight of unspoken emotions. "I called you here because there is something important we need to discuss."
I braced myself, uncertain of what was to come. My father's words held an air of finality, as if they carried the weight of a lifetime of regret.
"I have made mistakes, Marco," he continued, his voice wavering slightly. "I have let my pride and ambitions drive a wedge between us. And for that, I am truly sorry."
I blinked, taken aback by his unexpected admission. The walls I had built around my heart began to crumble, replaced by a glimmer of hope that perhaps our relationship could be salvaged.
"I wanted to mend our broken bond before it was too late," my father said, his voice laced with regret. "I may not have been the father you needed, but I want to change that. I want to be a part of your life, Marco."
A mixture of emotions swirled within me—doubt, skepticism, but also a flicker of longing for a connection that had been absent for so long. Could it be possible that our fractured relationship could be repaired?
"Father," I replied, my voice thick with emotion. "I appreciate your words, and I want to believe in the possibility of a renewed bond between us. But actions speak louder than words. Can we truly rebuild what was lost?"
I looked into my father's eyes, searching for any signs of sincerity. His words carried a weight I hadn't expected, and while a part of me yearned for reconciliation, another part remained guarded.
"Father," I began cautiously, "I appreciate your desire to mend our relationship, but there's something I need to tell you."
He leaned back in his chair, an expectant look on his face. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the conversation that lay ahead.
"I got married," I confessed, the words hanging in the air. "I did it to please you, to meet your expectations. But it's not who I am, and it hasn't brought me the happiness I thought it would."
My father's face hardened, and disappointment flashed across his eyes. I could see the weight of his expectations, the plans he had crafted for my future, weighing heavily upon him.
"I see," he responded, his voice laced with a mix of resignation and frustration. "Marriage was merely a means to an end, then?"
I nodded, my heart heavy with the weight of my confession. "I thought that by conforming to your wishes, I could make amends, find some semblance of approval. But it was a mistake. I can't live my life solely to please you, Father. I need to find my own path, discover what truly brings me happiness."
Silence settled between us, the tension palpable in the air. My father seemed lost in his thoughts, grappling with the realization that his expectations had led me astray.
Finally, he spoke, his voice softer but filled with a sense of urgency. "Marco, I understand your desire for independence, for forging your own path. But there is something else I want from you."
I raised an eyebrow, curious yet apprehensive about what he would say next. "What is it, Father?"
"I want you to get ready to take over," he declared, his eyes locked with mine. "The responsibility of the family business rests upon your shoulders, and it's time for you to step up."
His words hit me like a blow. The weight of expectation had shifted from marriage to the burden of legacy. But deep within me, I knew that the path he envisioned was not my own.
"Father," I said firmly, my voice tinged with determination, "I respect the throne and the empire you've built. But it's not my passion. It's not where I find my fulfillment."
A mix of disappointment and frustration washed over my father's face, his eyes filled with a blend of regret and stubbornness. "Marco, you are the rightful heir. It's your duty to carry on what I've built."
I took a deep breath, steadying myself. "Father, I can't live my life according to your dreams alone. I need to find my own purpose, my own calling. The throne may be a part of our legacy, but it can't be the sole defining factor of my life."
My father's frustration reached a boiling point, and his voice rose with anger. "Marco, you must become the king of our empire! It is your duty, your responsibility!"
I couldn't hold back any longer. The pent-up emotions, the years of feeling suffocated by his expectations, erupted within me. "No, Father! I won't be a puppet in your game, a mere pawn to fulfill your ambitions!"
My words reverberated through the room, the tension thickening with each passing second. I could see the shock and disbelief etched on my father's face, but I refused to back down.
"I won't sacrifice my happiness, my dreams, for the sake of an empire that holds no meaning for me," I continued, my voice shaking with a newfound determination. "I want to forge my own path, to create something that resonates with who I truly am."
My father's eyes narrowed, his face contorted with a mix of anger and disappointment. "You're being foolish, Marco. The weight of our legacy rests upon your shoulders. You have a duty to uphold!"
I stood my ground, my voice filled with conviction. "My duty is to myself, Father. To live an authentic life, to find fulfillment and happiness on my own terms. I won't be shackled by the chains of tradition and expectation any longer."
And my Dad did the unexpected……
Marco’s POV My father's frustration reached its boiling point, his face contorted with anger and disappointment. In a fit of rage, he raised his hand and delivered a stinging slap across my face. The room fell silent, the echo of the impact lingering in the air. Shock and pain washed over me as I clutched my cheek, my eyes welling up with tears. The emotional turmoil I had been wrestling with suddenly transformed into a seething anger. The weight of his expectations, the years of feeling controlled, had finally reached its breaking point. "You dare strike me?" I hissed through gritted teeth, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt. "I won't be treated like a puppet any longer. I deserve respect, Father, as your son and as a human being." My father's expression wavered between remorse and defiance, but I was no longer willing to bear witness to his volatile emotions. Without another word, I turned on my heel and stormed out of the room, my heart pounding in my chest. As
Marco’s POV As Scarlett's words echoed in my mind, guilt and remorse washed over me like a relentless tide. I watched as she walked away, her figure slowly fading into the distance, and the weight of my deception settled upon my shoulders. I felt a mixture of sadness, regret, and an overwhelming desire to make things right. I had lied to Scarlett, kept her in the dark about the true nature of our marriage. I had failed to reveal the underlying motive behind our union – my father's political ambitions. The realization of my actions pierced through me like a thousand needles, each one reminding me of the pain I had caused her. As I stood there, lost in my thoughts, the grand estate surrounding me felt cold and empty. The opulence that once held allure now seemed hollow and meaningless. The love I had for Scarlett had been tainted by my own selfishness, and I was left grappling with the consequences of my choices. Regret consumed me, and I couldn't help but replay the moments that led
Scarlett’s POV I pulled away from Marco, my body still humming with desire, as the knock on the door interrupted our intimate moment. My heart raced, and a mix of annoyance and curiosity flickered in my eyes as I called out, "Who's there?" The muffled voice on the other side responded, "Your Highness, it's a messenger with urgent news. The King requests your presence immediately." A surge of frustration coursed through me. How could this be happening now? Just when Marco and I had found solace in each other's embrace, the outside world intruded upon our private sanctuary. But duty called, and I couldn't ignore the King's summons. Reluctantly, I disentangled myself from Marco's embrace, a sense of longing lingering in the air between us. With a quick, apologetic glance, I hastily adjusted my appearance, ensuring that no trace of our passionate encounter remained visible. "Please inform the King that I will be there shortly," I called out to the messenger, my voice laced with a hint
Marco's POV Macro emerged from the grand palace gates, feeling the gentle touch of a cool breeze on his face. It provided a fleeting moment of relief amidst the turmoil that consumed him. His mind was heavy with thoughts about the perplexing exchange between Scarlett and his father, the King. Questions swirled in his head, leaving him bewildered. Why had his father summoned Scarlett instead of him? What could be the motives behind this unexpected decision? Lost in contemplation, Macro noticed a group of guards stationed near the entrance. Their alert and watchful expressions caught his attention. Curiosity sparked within him, and he approached them, hoping to find some insight or solace in their company. One of the guards recognized Macro and greeted him with a respectful nod. "Good evening, Prince Macro. Is there anything we can assist you with?" the guard asked. Macro looked at the guards, recognizing them as loyal members of the royal retinue. Seeking a momentary escape from his
Marco’s POV I could feel my pulse quicken as I awaited the guard's response, my mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The safety of my guards and the integrity of the package were of paramount importance. The guard, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and determination, quickly began to recount the events. "The ambush was swift, Your Highness," the guard explained, his voice tinged with a sense of urgency. "The Crimson Pack attacked with ruthless precision, catching us off guard. Despite our best efforts to defend the package, they managed to overpower us. Some of our guards sustained injuries, but we were able to repel the attackers and secure the area." My mind whirled with a mix of relief and frustration. Though the guards had successfully fought off the ambush, the fact that the package had been compromised was deeply troubling. The importance of its contents couldn't be understated, and the implications of its potential exposure sent a shiver down my spine. "Te
CHAPTER TWELVE Marco’s POV "But there is still one minor issue," a voice said from behind me. Startled, I turned around to find one of my advisors standing there, his expression grave yet determined. I motioned for him to continue, my curiosity piqued by his words. "What is it?" I asked, my voice steady but tinged with concern. The advisor hesitated for a moment before speaking, his gaze fixed on mine. "Your Highness, while it is crucial to recover the stolen weapons, we must also consider the risk of arousing suspicion if all of us were to leave the palace. Your father, the King, is astute and observant. He will surely notice our absence and inquire about our activities." His words hit me like a heavy blow. He was right. We couldn't afford to raise any alarm or draw unnecessary attention to our mission. My friend, Michael, stepped forward, his brows furrowed in deep thought. "Perhaps we could devise a plan that allows us to investigate and retrieve the weapons without leaving t
Marco’s POV I stormed through the corridors of the palace, anger pulsating through my veins like wildfire. How could my father assign Scarlett such a significant responsibility without even informing me? We were supposed to be a team, sharing our lives and supporting each other through thick and thin. The thought of Scarlett keeping such an important matter from me gnawed at me, fueling my frustration with each step I took. Finally, I reached my father's study and barged in without a second thought. He looked up from his desk, surprise flickering across his face at my unannounced intrusion. "Father," I spat out, my voice laced with resentment, "how could you give Scarlett this task without consulting me? Aren't I her husband, her partner? Shouldn't I be involved in matters concerning our kingdom?" He sighed heavily and motioned for me to sit down. "Marco, calm yourself," he said in a weary tone. "I understand your frustration, but there are reasons behind my decision." I clenched
Alpha Damian’s POVLost in the torment of my own self-doubt, I followed the guard through the labyrinthine corridors of the palace. Each step carried the weight of my troubled thoughts, but the urgent matter at hand demanded my immediate attention. The unresolved issues with Marco lingered in my mind, a constant reminder of the fractured bond between us.As we emerged into the palace courtyard, my steps faltered, and a heavy weight settled upon my chest. The scene that unfolded before me was one of stark contrast to the regal surroundings. Ten figures stood in disarray, their presence an embodiment of suffering and resilience. Their bodies bore the marks of a brutal ordeal, their skin marred with bruises and cuts. Tattered clothing clung to their worn frames, evidence of the treacherous journey they had undertaken.The weariness etched upon their faces mirrored the depth of their torment. Lines of exhaustion etched deeply, and their eyes, once bright with hope, now held a glimmer of b