Brendan Mars
Brendan Mars reclined in his leather chair, the creak slicing through the stillness of the room as he gazed out the window at the sprawling city below. The Dominion's headquarters towered above the chaos, a fitting metaphor for the power they wielded. Yet this morning, it wasn't the weight of the outside world pressing down on Brendan—it was the crucial conversation that needed to unfold within these walls.
Across from him sat Jonathan Frost, silent, his hands loosely clasped in his lap. They had been partners for decades, two cogs in the Dominion's intricate machine: public and private, leader and shadow. Brendan was attuned to every nuance of Jonathan's expressions, the slightest shift in his posture. Today, however, Jonathan bore the look of a man whose carefully laid plans were beginning to unravel.
"Ethan's late," Brendan finally remarked, his voice calm yet firm. "Not like him."
Jonathan nodded slightly, acknowledging the observation but saying nothing. Brendan knew better than to expect a response.
They had been friends since childhood, heirs to a legacy older than either 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.
Brendan had inherited his position just as Ethan would one day inherit his. And Jonathan… Jonathan embraced the shadows.
Now, Brendan studied Jonathan, the quiet intensity in his old friend's eyes evoking memories of decades past. Jonathan 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 had questioned it until recently.
"I spoke with Rowan this morning," Brendan 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."
Brendan 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," Brendan leaned forward, resting his 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."
Brendan sighed, sinking back into his chair, his gaze fixed on the untouched glass of whiskey on his desk. The Dominion always came first. That truth had been ingrained in them since birth. Sacrifice wasn't a choice; it was a necessity.
But that didn't make it any easier to accept.
"And speaking of ensuring the future," Brendan said after a moment, his voice softer, more contemplative, "Luelle has been excelling."
He noticed the spark in Jonathan's eyes—a blend of pride and something deeper. They 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," Brendan said, choosing his 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," Brendan murmured, narrowing his eyes as his thoughts wandered.
Luelle was different from the others. She wasn't like them. There was something in the way she looked at him—a haunted quality that suggested her work was more than just a duty; it was a burden she carried silently.
A question formed in Brendan's mind, and he voiced it abruptly, shattering the silence. "Why do we have to continue like this? Why must the Dominion be divided between leaders and shadows?"
Jonathan tilted his head slightly but remained silent, waiting.
Brendan let the question linger, his 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," Brendan replied coolly.
Jonathan's expression shifted, but Brendan couldn't decipher it. He sensed the conflict simmering behind his old friend's eyes. In the Dominion, tradition was not to be questioned lightly.
Jonathan didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze sharp and calculating. "You're not soft," he said finally. "But the Dominion is built on tradition for a reason."
Brendan nodded slowly, the notion settling uneasily in his mind. Tradition held significance, but so did evolution. Luelle and Ethan 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 them.
Ethan
Ethan knocked twice on the heavy wooden door, his knuckles grazing the surface. The sound echoed faintly in the hallway, and he hesitated for a fraction of a second before turning the handle. Behind him, Rowan stood silently, a step back but close enough for Ethan to feel his presence—a quiet reminder that he wasn't facing this alone.
"Come in." Brendan Mars's voice came through the door, as steady and commanding as ever.
Ethan pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room was exactly what he expected—quiet, calculated, oppressive. Brendan was by his desk, standing tall and rigid, his piercing gaze locking onto Ethan the moment he entered. Beside him sat Jonathan Frost, Ethan's father, whose silence was as heavy as the morning air.
The weight of their scrutiny hit Ethan immediately. Brendan and Jonathan didn't look angry. No, it was something worse. They looked disappointed.
Ethan squared his shoulders instinctively, as though bracing against a tide he couldn't hold back. He could feel Rowan lingering behind him, offering an unspoken solidarity that Ethan hadn't realized he needed.
"Sit down," Brendan said, his tone sharp yet controlled.
Ethan obeyed, stepping forward and settling into the chair across from the desk. The leather creaked softly beneath him as he sat, his movements stiff. His father's eyes followed him the entire time, heavy and relentless. Brendan gestured toward Rowan without looking. "You can wait outside."
Rowan hesitated. Ethan could feel it in the faint shift of his posture, the quiet reluctance that said everything Rowan didn't.
"It's fine," Ethan muttered under his breath, glancing briefly over his shoulder at his friend.
Rowan nodded once and left, closing the door behind him. Ethan's eyes remained fixed on the desk, but he couldn't help but feel a faint pang of frustration. Rowan's presence had been a small comfort—one that disappeared the moment the door shut.
"What happened last night?" Jonathan's voice sliced through the quiet, calm but carrying a weight that Ethan knew too well.
Ethan's jaw tightened. He should have expected this, but the question still hit like an accusation.
"What do you mean?" Ethan replied, forcing his voice to remain neutral.
"Your phone was off," Jonathan said evenly, leaning back slightly in his chair. His tone wasn't raised, but it was deliberate, probing. "Why?"
Ethan leaned back slightly, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. He could feel the expectations pressing against him, their judgment palpable.
"I wasn't unreachable," Ethan said, his tone edged with defiance. "You always know where I am. There are guards everywhere."
His words came out harsher than he intended, his frustration leaking through despite his efforts to contain it. He regretted them almost instantly as his father's brows furrowed slightly in response. Brendan raised a hand before Jonathan could reply.
"Tone it down, Ethan," Brendan said calmly, though the command in his voice was unmistakable.
Ethan exhaled, forcing himself to lower his tone. "I just needed time to myself. That's all."
Brendan studied him carefully, his eyes narrowing slightly. The silence stretched for a moment before Brendan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.
"Let's talk about the woman," Brendan said smoothly, his voice even.
Ethan stiffened, his posture straightening reflexively. "What woman?"
"The one you were seen with last night," Brendan clarified. "Who was she?"
Ethan hesitated, the fragmented memories of 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," Ethan admitted after a moment, his tone subdued but defensive.
Jonathan's chair creaked faintly as he shifted. "Did you sleep with her?"
The question hit Ethan like a slap, his hands tightening into fists. He sat up straighter, his frustration spilling over before he could stop himself.
"That is none of your business." His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension in the room.
Jonathan didn't flinch, his tone cooling. "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."
Ethan clenched his jaw, his pulse hammering as he fought to keep his temper under control.
The worst part wasn't the interrogation—it was the fact that Rowan was likely listening from just outside the door. Ethan knew his friend well enough to imagine the sympathy written all over his face. Rowan wasn't part of the Dominion in the same way; he had freedoms Ethan could only dream of. And that knowledge, combined with Rowan's silent understanding, only made this moment sting more.
Brendan's voice broke 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."
Ethan exhaled slowly, though the frustration lingered.
Brendan leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on Ethan. "There's an event coming up. A ball. You'll attend, of course."
Ethan nodded, his jaw still 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, though Ethan had expected them. His father's directive to find a wife hadn't been subtle, and Brendan's reinforcement only 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."
The reminder was a knife in Ethan's side. He knew the rules, knew the tradition, but hearing it spoken aloud—the finality of it—made his chest tighten.
Ethan's gaze flickered briefly to his father, whose expression hadn't changed. Jonathan simply watched, waiting for Ethan to comply as always.
Ethan exhaled, pushing down the frustration bubbling inside him, and nodded again. "Understood."
But beneath his outward compliance, Ethan's mind churned. The weight of the Dominion's expectations—the choices already made for him—had never felt more suffocating.