Brendan Mars
I reclined in my leather chair, the creak slicing through the stillness of the room as I gazed out the window at the sprawling city below. The Dominion's headquarters towered above the chaos—a fitting metaphor for the power we wielded. Yet this morning, it wasn't the weight of the outside world pressing down on me—it was the crucial conversation that needed to unfold within these walls.
Across from me sat Jonathan Frost, silent, his hands loosely clasped in his lap. We had been partners for decades, two cogs in the Dominion's intricate machine: public and private, leader and shadow. I was attuned to every nuance of Jonathan's expressions, the slightest shift in his posture.
"Ethan's late," I finally remarked, my voice calm yet firm. "Not like him."
Jonathan nodded slightly, acknowledging the observation but saying nothing. I knew better than to expect a response. We had been friends since childhood, heirs to a legacy older than either of us could fully comprehend. The Dominion was not merely an organization; it was heritage, tradition, destiny. For the eldest, the mantle of leadership was an immutable expectation. For the younger, the shadows called. I had inherited my position just as Ethan would one day inherit his. And Jonathan… Jonathan embraced the shadows.
I studied Jonathan, the quiet intensity in my old friend's eyes evoking memories of decades past. He had excelled in his role, navigating the moonlit corners others dared not approach, his hand guiding the Dominion's veiled machinations. But that delicate balance—neither of us had questioned it until recently.
"I spoke with Rowan this morning," I continued, breaking the silence again. "Ethan wasn't answering his phone. Apparently, our heir let loose last night and drank himself into a stupor. Surprising, isn't it?"
Jonathan's eyes narrowed, not out of shock but calculation. "Everyone stumbles at some point," he replied matter-of-factly. "Ethan is no exception."
I raised an eyebrow. "I suspect your little suggestion had something to do with it."
Jonathan hesitated, but the flicker of guilt that crossed his face was answer enough.
"You told him to marry." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk. "And now he's unravelling. Is this truly the right course of action?"
"It's necessary," Jonathan asserted, his tone firm yet subdued. "Ethan's role is not just about him; it's about the Dominion and securing its future. You know that as well as I do."
I sighed, sinking back into my chair, my gaze fixed on the untouched glass of whiskey on my desk. The Dominion always came first. That truth had been ingrained in us since birth. Sacrifice wasn't a choice; it was a necessity. It's just recently I started to wonder if this is really how we must continue. It maybe how the dominion always operated, and maybe it is what is needed for the dominion to stay in power, but that didn't make it any easier to accept.
"And speaking of ensuring the future," I said after a moment, my voice softer, more contemplative, "Luelle has been excelling." Luelle maybe my daughter, but she was born after Ethan, so Ethan will inherit my role, while Luelle will take over from Jonathan. it is messed up, but that is the rules.
I caught the spark in Jonathan's eyes—a blend of pride and something deeper. We both recognized the truth: Luelle had become everything the Dominion needed her to be—precise, effective, fearless.
Yet, it had come at a cost.
"She's effective," I said, choosing my words carefully. "But I wonder… is it too much?" The only sign of Jonathan's tension was the way his hands tightened slightly in his lap. "She was raised for this. Trained for this. She understands her role."
"Perhaps," I murmured, narrowing my eyes as my thoughts wandered.
I leaned back in my chair, letting the weight of the thought settle. Luelle was different. She wasn't like the others. There was something in the way she looked at Ethan—a haunted quality, as if her work wasn't just duty, but a burden she carried in silence.
The question dancing in my mind for a while now just slips out, "Why do we have to continue like this? Why must the Dominion be divided between leaders and shadows?"
Jonathan tilted his head slightly, waiting. He knew me well enough to let the thought breathe.
I let the question linger, my mind racing. "Ethan and Luelle… They're both remarkable, their strengths complementary. Why must one lead while the other remains unseen?"
"You're suggesting they co-lead?" Jonathan's tone was inscrutable.
"I'm proposing they partner," I replied coolly.
Jonathan's expression shifted, but I couldn't decipher it. I sensed the conflict simmering behind his eyes. In the Dominion, tradition was not questioned lightly.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze sharp and calculating. "You're going soft," he said finally. "The Dominion is built on tradition for a reason."
I nodded slowly, the notion settling uneasily in my mind. Tradition held significance, but so did evolution. Ethan and Luelle represented the future—perhaps the Dominion's next chapter didn't have to mirror its past.
Yet for now, more pressing matters awaited: Ethan's absence, his state of mind, and the conversation it prompted for both of us.
Ethan
I knocked twice on the heavy wooden door, my knuckles grazing the surface. The sound echoed faintly in the hallway, and I hesitated for a fraction of a second before turning the handle. Behind me, Rowan stood silently, a step back but close enough for me to feel his presence—a quiet reminder that I wasn't facing this alone.
"Come in." Brendan Mars's voice came through the door, steady and commanding, as it always was.
I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was exactly what I expected—quiet, calculated, oppressive. Brendan stood by his desk, tall and rigid, his piercing gaze locking onto me the moment I entered. Beside him sat Jonathan Frost, my father, his silence as heavy as the morning air.
The weight of their scrutiny hit me immediately. Brendan and my father didn't look angry. No, it was something worse. They looked disappointed.
I squared my shoulders instinctively, bracing against a tide I couldn't hope to hold back. I felt Rowan lingering behind me, his quiet presence offering an unspoken solidarity I hadn't realized I needed.
"Sit down," Brendan said, his tone sharp yet controlled.
I obeyed, stepping forward and settling into the chair across from the desk. The leather creaked softly beneath me as I sat, my movements stiff, deliberate. My father's eyes followed me the entire time, heavy and relentless. Brendan gestured toward Rowan without even looking. "You can wait outside."
Rowan hesitated; I could feel it—the faint shift in his posture, the quiet reluctance that said everything he wouldn't.
"It's fine," I muttered under my breath, glancing briefly over my shoulder at him.
Rowan nodded once and left, closing the door behind him. My gaze remained fixed on the desk, but I couldn't help the faint pang of frustration that shot through me. Rowan's presence had been a small comfort—and now it was gone the moment the door shut.
"What happened last night?" My father's voice cut through the quiet, calm but weighted, heavy with expectation.
My jaw tightened. I should have expected this, but the question still felt like an accusation.
"What do you mean?" I replied, forcing my tone to remain neutral.
"Your phone was off," Jonathan said evenly, leaning back slightly in his chair. His tone wasn't raised—it didn't need to be. It was deliberate, probing. "Why?"
I leaned back slightly, feeling my frustration bubble just beneath the surface. I could feel the pressure—the judgment—pressing against me from both of them.
"I wasn't unreachable," I said, my tone edged with defiance. "You always know where I am. There are guards everywhere."
The words came out harsher than I intended. I regretted them almost instantly as my father's brows furrowed in response. Brendan raised a hand, cutting off the sharp reply my father was undoubtedly forming.
"Tone it down, Ethan," Brendan said calmly, though the command in his voice was unmistakable.
I exhaled, forcing myself to lower my tone. "I just needed time to myself. That's all."
Brendan studied me carefully, his sharp gaze narrowing slightly. The silence stretched out between us for a moment before he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.
"Let's talk about the woman," Brendan said smoothly, his voice even.
I stiffened, my posture straightening reflexively. "What woman?"
"The one you were seen with last night," Brendan clarified. "Who was she?"
I hesitated, fragmented memories from the previous night resurfacing—the woman at the bar, her steady presence, the way she spoke without prying too deeply.
"I didn't get her name," I admitted after a moment, my tone subdued but defensive.
The faint creak of my father's chair cut through the tension as he shifted. "Did you sleep with her?"
The question hit me like a slap. My hands tightened into fists as I sat up straighter, my frustration spilling over before I could contain it.
"That is none of your business," I snapped, my voice sharp and cutting through the charged air in the room.
Jonathan didn't flinch, his tone cooling as though he anticipated my reaction. "It is my business if she's a threat. She could be a spy—someone planted to get close to you, to hurt you. You can't afford to be careless, Ethan."
I clenched my jaw, pulse hammering as I fought to keep my temper in check. The worst part wasn't the interrogation. It was knowing Rowan was likely listening from just outside the door. I knew him well enough to imagine the sympathy written all over his face. Rowan wasn't part of the Dominion the same way I was he had freedoms I could only dream of. And that knowledge, mixed with his silent understanding, made this moment sting more.
Brendan's voice broke through the tension, redirecting the conversation with deliberate ease. "We'll leave that matter for now. There's something else I need to discuss with you."
I exhaled slowly, though the frustration still clung to me.
Brendan leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on me. "There's an event coming up. A ball. You'll attend, of course."
I nodded, though my jaw remained tight.
"And," Brendan continued, his tone gaining weight, "we'll be inviting several eligible women—women vetted by the Dominion. You'll take time to meet them and decide who is best suited to be your future bride."
The words landed heavily. I'd expected them, of course. My father's directive to find a wife hadn't been subtle, and Brendan's reinforcement solidified the expectation.
"You know the tradition, Ethan," Brendan added, his tone sharper now. "The heir of the Dominion must be married by the time they turn thirty. You've hit that mark. There's no time left to waste."
It felt like a knife twisting in my side. I knew the rules. I knew the tradition. But hearing it spoken aloud—so final, so decisive—made my chest tighten.
My gaze flickered briefly toward my father. His expression hadn't changed. He simply watched, waiting for me to comply like he always did.
I exhaled, pushing down the frustration bubbling inside me, and nodded again. "Understood."
But beneath my outward compliance, my thoughts churned. The weight of the Dominion's expectations—the choices already made for me—had never felt more suffocating.