Chapter twenty four
Tryan sat comfortably on the edge of the silk-covered bed, one leg crossed over the other, watching the scene unfold with quiet amusement. The soft golden light from the chandelier cast a warm glow across his face, highlighting the faint smirk playing on his lips. He had the air of someone used to being both teased and trusted — Tatiana's lifelong observer and, as always, her self-appointed critic.
Rylene sat in the vanity chair, her transformation complete — radiant and poised, like a model moments before a runway debut. Tatiana stood beside her, arms crossed confidently, waiting for her twin's verdict. The room was filled with the faint scent of perfume and the soft hum of background music.
Tryan tilted his head slightly, studying Rylene's reflection in the mirror. "Hmm," he began, dragging out the sound deliberately, just to make Tatiana roll her eyes. "You've outdone yourself this time, Tati. The contour is clean, the eyes are… sharp. I'll admit — you actually made her look expensive."
Tatiana smirked. "Actually? Don't act surprised, brother. You know I'm the artist in the family."
Rylene laughed softly, glancing at him through the mirror. "So, Judge Tryan, do I pass your inspection?"
He leaned forward, pretending to examine her face with exaggerated seriousness, as if he were inspecting a rare painting. "Pass?" he said finally, leaning back with a playful grin. "You don't just pass — you look like the kind of girl who'd make everyone else in the room nervous."
Tatiana let out a proud laugh, brushing her hair back. "Exactly what I was going for."
Tryan nodded approvingly. "Then it's perfect. You've officially achieved weaponized beauty."
The twins exchanged a knowing glance — that familiar mix of competition and affection only siblings could share — while Rylene sat between them, glowing not just from the makeup, but from the effortless energy of the moment.
Rylene yawned and her brain shut down, she fell asleep.
"Look at her. She is like a sleeping beauty," Tatiana giggled then said
"Ssshh, don't wake her up. Let's go and look for head maid Judy so that he can help her to the bed"
"You are right bro. Let's go"
Outside, the corridor was quiet until a man in a black suit walked by. He looked like the man at the auction who wore the mask. If Rylene saw him, he could have immediately recognized him.He was tall and composed, the kind of presence that seemed to command silence without trying. As he passed, he noticed the faint golden light spilling from a slightly ajar door. Curiosity — and something softer — made him pause.
He leaned closer, just enough to see inside. There she was — Rylene, asleep, the picture of grace amid her little world of beauty. For a long moment, he simply stood there, taking in the scene: the glittering vanity, the scent of rose and powder, the quiet rhythm of her breathing.
Then, gently, he pushed the door open and stepped in. His footsteps were soundless against the marble floor. Moving closer, he stopped beside her chair, his reflection joining hers in the mirror — dark suit against soft blush tones.
He bent down, careful not to wake her, and slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other around her shoulders. With effortless strength, he lifted her into his arms. Her head fell lightly against his chest, her perfume mingling with the scent of his cologne — a quiet blend of rose and cedarwood.
He carried her through the silent hallway to her room — a calm, elegant space draped in ivory and gold. Laying her gently on the bed, he brushed a strand of hair from her face. She stirred faintly but didn't wake. For a moment, he just stood there — looking at her as if memorizing the softness of the moment.
Then, he turned, pulling the door halfway closed, leaving it just as he'd found it — slightly ajar, the golden light from her bedside lamp spilling into the hall.
And with that, he disappeared down the corridor, the sound of his footsteps fading into the quiet night.
The twins and head maid Judy saw the man carrying Rylene.
"Head maid Judy, who is that man?" Tatiana asked curiously.
Tryan carefully looked at the man who was retreating away from them. He wanted to know about him.
"He is someone close to this family. Let's go and let Rylene sleep,"
Tryan had no other choice than retreating . He knew a losing battle when he saw one.
The trio left.
...
The room was dimly lit, heavy with silence and unspoken thoughts. A single chandelier hung above the long mahogany table, its golden light casting deep shadows across the polished surface. The air felt thick — not with heat, but with the quiet tension that comes when words are held back too long.
Rylene's father sat at the head of the table, posture rigid, one hand resting on a crystal glass that he hadn't touched. His sharp features were calm, but his eyes — cold and assessing — told another story. The faint ticking of a wall clock filled the pauses between breaths.
Across from him sat the man in the black suit, the same one who had carried Rylene earlier. Now, in the company of her father, his presence felt different — sharper, more restrained. The soft light glinted off the silver watch at his wrist and the cufflinks on his sleeves. His face was unreadable, his expression composed but guarded, every gesture deliberate.
Between them, the table held only a decanter of dark whiskey and two untouched glasses. The faint scent of aged liquor mixed with the leather of the high-backed chairs and the distant echo of rain tapping against the window.
"Do you know what it means," Rylene's father finally said, his voice low but edged, "to walk into my house unannounced — and touch what's mine?"
The man met his gaze calmly, unflinching. "With all due respect, Alex ," he replied evenly, "I didn't touch what's yours. I carried someone who needed care."
A pause. The clock ticked louder. The storm outside whispered against the glass.
Rylene's father leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable but his tone cold. "You've got nerve. I'll give you that."
The man didn't look away. "Sometimes nerve is all that stands between respect and misunderstanding."
The silence that followed was heavy — the kind that filled every corner of the room like smoke. The two men sat locked in quiet defiance, the tension palpable. Even the air seemed to hold its breath.
Somewhere beyond the door, the faint echo of footsteps — maybe Tatiana's — passed down the hall, unaware that behind those heavy wooden doors, two men were measuring each other with quiet precisio