London, June 1885

Damon wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, and only then did Sabrina notice how feverish he had grown in the short span of his dark revelations.

„Mr. Silver had a rather difficult time securing his early clientele," he sneered, speaking of himself in third person. „But fortified with the lessons learned at home, he soon mastered the art of navigating among the Americans—blending in, altering his accent, becoming a master of many masks."

He sighed then, as though something pained him deeply in that very moment.

„There was a craze for a certain author at the time—Bryant Alsher—and I found some of his phrases quite useful in my... line of work. They helped deter most women from seeking... penetrative intimacy—I sought virgins, mostly. It was easy money and made me feel less like a wretch."

Sabrina exchanged another glance with her husband, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her tea gown.

„I tried to keep my dealings as private as possible—given my lineage, discretion was imperative, but rumours, as they do, found their way to the wrong, perceptive ears. And my dear dowager patroness had a devil's bargain to propose—one I could not afford to turn down."

Damon's eyes found Sabrina's, black and unyielding.

„She paid my debts, provided clothing for my children, ensured what little staff I had left remained. And she promised more—so long as I did precisely as she bid me."

He exhaled, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips.

„I had never heard of you before then," he admitted. „Not until she brought your name to me. That was in late January."

Henry, his expression unreadable, asked, „And what, exactly, did my mother ask of you?"

Damon's gaze drifted, unfocused. He was slipping as his delirium from withdrawal progressed and, to Henry's dismay, he still hadn't got to the heart of Regina's machinations.

Still, the answer came.

„At first, she wished for me to sow discord between you and your dear wife—to drive a wedge, a rift, an annulment, perhaps. But when she saw you holding fast to your marriage, Your Grace... she changed tactics."

His lips parted, dry and cracked. His breath hitched.

„She asked me to give Her Grace a child," he murmured hoarsely. „To press either of you into divorce. I would serve as her witness to the infidelity—only to switch sides and become yours, Your Grace, should it prove more beneficial."

Sabrina inhaled sharply, a tremor running through her hands at his admission. He could easily have done that... and much worse.

Damon's face contorted in pain, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

„I resented her request," he admitted, voice raw. „I have three children already. I have always been careful not to increase their number. But that fucking hag, she... she blackmailed me."

Henry could only agree with the moniker Damon used for his mother.

The blackguard's fingers twitched violently, his body jerking with sudden, involuntary spasms. He whipped his head to the side, as if struck by an invisible hand—only to return it just as swiftly.

Sabrina instinctively recoiled, her eyes turning to Henry.

„What is happening to him?" she asked in a soft voice.

„Withdrawal." His tone was matter-of-fact, as if he had the courtesy to see a man in such a condition on a regular basis. „The body revolts when it is deprived of what it has come to depend on. If it upsets you, it would be better if you left."

She knew the best course to do would be to leave the study. It was, after all, in one's nature to turn away from suffering—to remove oneself from the discomfort of another's pain. And yet... she remained.

Perhaps it was morbid curiosity. Perhaps it was compassion, and perhaps there was something compelling, if not irresistible, about watching a man unravel into fibres before her very eyes, admitting each of his sins.

Perhaps it was the undeniable feeling that, step by step, they were all hurtling toward a final revelation—one that would bind every loose thread, no matter how dire.

„You could have said something," Sabrina murmured.

Damon let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. „Oh, tell me, darling mine—do you confess your deepest, most shameful secrets with ease, or am I mistaken?"

The jab certainly struck its mark, causing her to flinch and her gaze to fall to the floor.

Damon's voice then softened. „But perhaps," he mused, „this farce was not for nothing."

His lips curled into a mocking smile. „The diary," he murmured, amused at the look of disbelief on the ducal couple's faces. „I hadn't a clue that my youngest had found her mother's diary. And it led me to new possibilities of where she might finally be."

Silence that unfolded felt thick, almost suffocating.

„I found my wife."

„She's alive?" Henry's voice asked in a suspicious tone.

Damon gave a slow, deliberate nod. „I found her unscathed, near the Scottish border—living her best life with another man. A new marriage. A child even." His voice grew quieter, the devastation within it unmistakable.

„And when I confronted her—when I asked if she had done all of this to punish me for what I had done to her family..."

He swallowed hard, his lips trembling.

„She said she had always suspected my hand in her father's downfall. But no—that was not the reason she left."

His breath came in a shuddering exhale.

„She left because she could not connect to our youngest." Damon's fingers curled into fists. „She said... she said it felt as though our little girl was not hers. As if she were a damned stranger's child."

He let out a strangled, breathless laugh, one laced with agony. „And then... she told me she had simply fallen out of love with all of us."

Damon's entire body trembled, his eyes glassy, vacant, as if he had bled every last ounce of himself into that confession. It seemed his own words hit him like a death knell.

„How..." his voice broke, „how on earth am I to tell my children that their mother—the woman they love, the woman they miss and anticipate her return to this day—no longer loves them? That she pretends to be dead to them?"

Tears streamed freely down his face again.

Sabrina gasped, horror seizing her. „Damon, I—I am so sorry."

Henry's hand tightened around her waist. It was all too much, far too much.

Damon sat up abruptly, a wild, fevered light returning to his eyes as he licked his lips.

„Why the hell would you be sorry, dammit?!" he growled. „I wield my dark influence as naturally as you succumb to manipulation and naivety, darling. I preyed upon you, took advantage of you. Coveted you... obsessed over you. I am a rabid dog, dangerous to anyone foolish enough to trust me—I have bitten and poisoned every hand extended in aid thus far." His voice dropped, his gaze hollow. „And what is done with such creatures as I? You put a bullet between their eyes and rid the world of them, I daresay."

With a sharp flick of his wrist, he mimed pulling the trigger of a gun to his own head, then, with deliberate slowness, pointed a long, trembling finger at Henry.

„And this buffoon you call a husband still clings to some delusion that I might yet be saved. And so do you, for whatever reason." He let out a bitter, fractured laugh. „Really, how idiotic can you both be? Perhaps you truly do belong together—like a left and right buttock."

His lip curled in a sneer, though his face was damp with sweat. „Yet His Grace was the last person on earth I expected to materialise in that opium den and drag me out like some stray cur. And now... here we are. If you wished to punish me for everything I have done to you both, you could not have chosen a crueller fate than keeping me alive."

Before either Henry or Sabrina could react, Damon lunged.

His hands clawed desperately at Henry's arms, the duke swiftly stepping in front of his wife, who could only stare helplessly at the man she no longer recognised.

„Why would you trust me at all?!" Damon wheezed, his breath erratic, his limbs trembling. „What are you—lambs preparing for the slaughter? Have you no fucking sense of self-preservation?!"

Then, his body shuddered violently, and his face contorted in raw agony.

„Please... please—I need it," he pleaded, his voice high. „Just a little. Opium—any opiate will do. Or—or cocaine tonic. I'm sure, Your Grace, that a man of your means keeps such medicine in his possession?"

Henry's voice was flat, unyielding. „I do not."

A strangled cry tore from Damon's throat. His hands raked through his hair, pulling, gripping, as though he might tear it from his scalp.

„I will die—God, I will die! It's tearing me apart!" He turned wild eyes toward Sabrina, his body wracked with tremors. „How can you stand there and watch me suffer? Does it please you?! Do you truly have no mercy for me?!"

His voice broke. His whole body trembled. The delirium had entirely consumed him.

Beads of sweat dripped from his forehead, trickling down his flushed, fevered skin. Then, staggering backwards, his frame buckled, breaking at the waist—and with a sickening retch, he vomited onto the pristine floor.

It was the last straw for Henry to seize Sabrina's arm and pull her from the room. In the corridor, he beckoned for two burly servants, who stepped forward without hesitation. Once the doors shut firmly behind them, Sabrina's pale, wide, shaken gaze met her husband's.

„Could he—" she began, her voice strained.

„No." Henry's response was swift, his tone clipped. „He will not die. That was his addiction speaking, nothing more—he wanted us to cave and feed him the poison of his choice."

Truth be told, Henry had no such certainty. The scoundrel could very well succumb to the withdrawal, but the last thing Henry desired was for his wife to be distraught over the potential grave outcome of her former lover. Not when Henry himself had things to confess that day.

And it wasn't even close to luncheon. God knew how long it would take for the useless lecher to sober up—likely the entirety of the day and night, if not even longer.

Wretched, addicted prick, Henry cursed inwardly. No matter how many truths spilled from the blackguard's mouth, Henry would not take his words at face value, at least not until he had them confirmed by a trusting third party.

Somewhere deep within him, Henry suspected that Damon Gray would one day resurface, like a plague... or a devil avoiding an exorcism—but surely he could choose a better time and place for his grand return!

„Come," Henry murmured, taking Sabrina's hand and leading her into the drawing room.

The light had dimmed considerably within the house due to the thick, grey storm clouds gathering beyond the windows, promising to sweep London's dry streets in a much-needed summer downpour.

They settled upon the settee, and for a moment, neither spoke. It was Henry who broke the silence.

„Gray represents the kind of man I have spent my whole life striving not to become," he said at last, his voice measured. „A man who is too emotional, too reckless, too intense for his own good—until he orchestrates his own downfall."

Sabrina sniffed, her fingers curling against the fabric of her dress. Her gaze was grave as it met his.

„Henry, you are emotional and intense in your own way, no matter how much you deny it." She exhaled, steadying herself. „You... you sought to connect with me, even after I hurt you, though you were hardly calm and composed about it."

Henry held her gaze, his expression unreadable. „But I did disappoint you in the beginning, did I not?" he said at last, his voice quiet. „Your distrust that led to your refusals—that is my doing. I was the fool who believed that the more distance I placed between us—the more people I threw between us—the less I would care."

A humourless smirk played upon his lips.

„Idiot me."

Henry's gaze narrowed as Sabrina slipped from the settee onto the cold floor, where she remained on her knees before him.

„What the devil are you on about?"

„Is it not clear?" she murmured, swallowing hard. „I am going to beg for forgiveness."

„You do not ha—"

„On the contrary, Henry, I must." Her voice trembled, but her resolve did not waver. „I have wielded my hurt against you for a very long time. And now... it is time I place my trust in your words, fully. And it must be done now."

She gestured toward the study, where a tormented man was trapped in the depths of self-inflicted delirium.

„I do wish to help him," she admitted, „and I am grateful that you did not allow him to cease in existence. But I am neither blind nor deaf to the truth—he brought this suffering upon himself with his arrogance and entitlement." She inhaled sharply. „You will never be him, Henry. You are not a man lost in delusions, and for that, I am grateful beyond words."

Her confession took him by surprise, though her words sent a warmth through his chest, but the distress she seemed on the verge of undertaking was far less welcome.

Sabrina's voice quivered, but she held his gaze—those striking blue eyes she loved to gaze into.

„Let me tell you a story," she began, „about a little girl who fell ill—alongside her mother."

Henry stilled, his hands gripping the armrests.

„The mother did not survive," she continued, „but the girl did... albeit at a price."

A lump formed in Henry's throat as he watched tears gather in her coal-dark eyes. He leaned forward instinctively, aching to pull her into his arms, but before he could move, she raised a trembling hand, halting him.

„Please," she whispered. „Do not. I need to say this aloud."

His stomach twisted, but he obeyed in silence.

Sabrina drew a breath and continued, her voice fragile yet unwavering.

„The girl suffered a hearing loss—a quiet affliction, yet one that made her world infinitely more difficult. She became an object of pity, of ridicule, of strange glances that made her wary of trusting others. Her father—her pop—warned her that some people would only seek her for favor, especially destitute men in search of rich wives. And so, she learned to keep her heart and soul closely guarded."

She swallowed, pausing for a brief moment.

„But then there was a young, promising man named Samuel. Sam Miller."

Though Henry had no history with such a name, it instantly filled him with violent loathing, as if he sensed what was to come with her admission.

Sabrina forced herself to go on.

„This man, Sam, slowly found his way into the girl's heart. It took a long time, but he won her trust. They built a strong bond, an understanding. The girl became convinced that he was in love with her, because three years after their first meeting, they became engaged."

Henry wanted to howl in pain, just like the delirious blackguard in the study, and had to clench his jaw to stay rooted. In the end, she did not marry this man, which was itself a harbinger of pain as her confession unfolded.