Simon finished briefing Oliver in a low, controlled tone, adjusting details about lineage, protocols, alliances. When he was done, he moved quickly down the corridor, passing Isabella.
He paused beside her.
"Join us for breakfast," he said, voice smoother now. "Your brother is already on his way. Mother will dine in her chambers given her condition. Our physicians are with her. She'll recover."
Isabella gave a quiet nod of appreciation and crossed the hall toward Oliver.
Simon continued forward.
"Falcon."
Falcon stopped — but didn't turn.
"The chairman expects your presence at breakfast," Simon continued evenly. "You are, after all, soon to be his son-in-law."
A faint voice cut in from the archway ahead.
"Yes. You should join us."
Sebastian stepped into view.
Tall. Immaculately dressed. Smile practiced but thin.
"It would be… good," Sebastian added, "to have you at the table."
Falcon's head tilted slightly, eyes cool.
"I was under the impression," he said calmly, "that my presence was unwelcome."
Sebastian let out a short, controlled laugh. "That was before my brother acknowledged you publicly. The past is the past. There's no use clinging to old resentments."
Simon gestured toward the dining hall.
They began walking.
Falcon moved behind them, unhurried — but his gaze never left Sebastian's back.
Because Sebastian had never forgiven him.
And he had reason not to.
Five years ago, Sebastian's son, William, had nearly changed the course of the Montgomery dynasty.
Nearly.
Five Years Earlier
The storm that night had been violent.
Rain lashed against the estate windows. Thunder cracked across the sky like artillery fire. The kind of night where screams would drown in the wind.
Dinner had been tense.
Falcon had noticed it first — the subtle shift in William's breathing, the way his fingers tightened around his glass when the elder spoke. A flicker in his eyes. Not anger.
Resolve.
Murderous intent had a weight to it. Falcon recognized it instantly.
So he watched.
Dinner ended. The family dispersed. Lights dimmed.
William did not go to bed.
He moved through the corridors silently, already dressed in dark clothing. In his hand — a syringe.
The elder slept heavily that night.
Too heavily.
William stood over the bed, withdrawing the needle from the old man's arm. The sedative would keep him unconscious.
He reached inside his coat and pulled out a knife.
Thunder shook the windows.
"This is for my mother," he whispered, voice trembling but determined. "For my father. For everything you took."
His grip tightened.
He raised the blade.
The tip hovered inches above the elder's chest.
The door burst open.
Wood splintered against the wall.
William spun around.
Falcon stood in the doorway, rainwater dripping from his coat, eyes colder than the storm outside.
"William," Falcon said quietly.
Not angry.
Not loud.
Controlled.
"Drop the knife."
"Stay back!" William barked, backing toward the bed, blade still poised. "You have no idea what he's done! My mother died broken because of him. My father was stripped of everything because they thought this old man could rule better. He humiliated him. Destroyed him!"
His breathing grew erratic.
"Why should he live? Why should he keep taking from us?!"
The knife descended slightly — closer to the elder's heart.
"William."
The name cut through the storm.
William froze for half a second, eyes flicking toward Falcon.
Rain hammered against the tall windows. Thunder rolled across the sky, shaking the old estate walls. The elder lay unconscious in the bed, drugged, unaware of the blade hovering above his heart.
"If you do this," Falcon said calmly, stepping forward with measured control, "there's no returning from it."
William's grip tightened around the knife.
"This won't restore your father's position," Falcon continued. "It won't bring your mother back. It won't fix what's broken."
Another step closer.
"Put the knife down. Walk away. I give you my word — this never leaves this room."
William's expression twisted.
"No."
He swung the blade toward Falcon and let out a hollow laugh.
"I know you, Falcon. The chairman's loyal hound." His eyes burned. "You'd never let me go after this."
He raised the knife higher.
"I'd rather kill him… and die without regret."
He lunged.
Falcon moved instantly, grabbing William's wrist mid-strike. They struggled, boots sliding against polished marble. The blade wavered inches from the elder's chest.
"Think," Falcon hissed.
"Too late for that!" William shouted.
They twisted violently — and in the chaos, the knife drove sideways.
A sharp, sickening sound.
Falcon's body jerked.
The blade had pierced his side.
For a split second, both of them froze.
Falcon's eyes widened — not in fear, but in calculation. Warm blood spread beneath his coat. His grip weakened and he staggered back, dropping to one knee, breath leaving him in a harsh exhale.
William stepped away, chest heaving, staring at the blood blooming through Falcon's shirt.
"You see?" he said, voice shaking but triumphant. "You can't win."
He turned back toward the bed.
"I'll kill him first," he muttered. "Then you."
He raised the knife again.
Falcon forced himself up.
Pain shot through his side like fire, but he didn't hesitate. His hand closed around a heavy porcelain vase from the side table.
William brought the blade down —
The vase shattered against the side of William's skull.
The crack echoed louder than the thunder.
William stumbled forward, disoriented. Glass and porcelain fragments scattered across the floor. He collapsed,
unconscious.
Falcon swayed, clutching his wound, blood dripping between his fingers. He bent down and pried the knife from William's slack grip.
That's when he saw them.
The doorway.
Martha stood there, one hand covering her mouth. Lucas. Terrence. Alexander.
All frozen.
All staring.
Shock. Horror. Disbelief.
Before anyone could speak, William groaned.
His eyes fluttered open.
He grabbed a jagged shard from the broken vase and surged to his feet with a desperate roar.
"Falcon!" Lucas shouted. "Look out!"
Falcon turned — too late to step back, too injured to dodge cleanly.
William charged.
Falcon spun, knife still in his hand.
The blade met resistance.
A sharp impact.
A breath leaving a body.
Silence.
William's eyes went wide.
He looked down slowly.
The knife was buried deep in his abdomen.
Falcon's hand still gripped the handle.
"I—" Falcon exhaled sharply, shock flashing across his face. "William—"
Blood spilled down William's shirt.
Footsteps pounded down the corridor.
Sebastian appeared at the doorway.
And what he saw was his son standing impaled by Falcon's blade.
Time stopped.
William coughed — blood staining his lips. His gaze lifted and found his father.
For the first time that night, his expression softened.
"I'm sorry… Father."
The words barely formed before his knees buckled.
The knife slipped from Falcon's hand as William collapsed into Sebastian's arms.
Sebastian caught him, screaming his name — once, twice, over and over — voice breaking into something raw and unrecognizable. He cradled his son against his chest as blood soaked into his suit.
"William! Stay with me!"
Martha sobbed behind him. Alexander stood rigid. Terrence stared at Falcon like he was seeing a monster.
Simon rushed in moments later, taking in the scene in one sweeping glance.
"Call an ambulance!" Martha cried desperately. "Simon, call them!"
Simon was already dialing, voice controlled but urgent as he spoke into the phone.
Falcon stood there, unmoving.
Blood dripped from his fingers.
His own wound burned, but he didn't feel it.
He hadn't meant for this.
He hadn't come to kill.
But intent didn't matter.
William lay lifeless in his father's arms.
Sebastian looked up.
Their eyes met.
And in that moment, something irreversible was born.
Hatred.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Cold. Permanent. Personal.
Present Day
Falcon walked behind Sebastian toward the dining hall.
The same man who had cursed him. The same man who had called him a murderer in front of the entire family.
Now offering him breakfast.
Now inviting him to sit at the same table.
Falcon's gaze never left his back.
Because no matter how polished the smiles were…
Some storms never truly ended.