Claimed by the Prince of Darkness

Chapter 3: Conflict of interest

As Ruelle approached her house, anxiety twisted in her stomach at the sight of the open door. Uncertainty gnawed at her. She was not only late, but she had also failed to bring the expected money.

Nervous, she stepped inside and immediately spotted the debt collector lounging on the sofa, his feet propped carelessly on the coffee table. A surge of panic coursed through her, but it quickly gave way to relief when she saw her father.

"Elle is back home!" Caroline exclaimed, relief mingling with a nervous smile.

"Finally!" The debt collector clicked his tongue, and swung his legs off the table, rising as if he owned the space beneath the very roof that sheltered them. "Let's see how much money your measly sweaters brought in now, shall we? Bring the money forward."

Ruelle's fingers tightened around the gunny bag. When she hesitated, Mrs. Belmont furrowed her brow, her gaze shifting to the bag that looked fuller than expected. "Did you not visit the Cliffords?" she asked.

"I did..." Ruelle's voice trembled, fear crawling through her.

"Hm?" The debt collector's eyes raked over her, narrowing as they fell upon the gunny bag. "What is this?" Without waiting for a response, he snatched the bag from her grip and dumped its contents onto the floor.

Mrs. Belmont gasped, her hand clapping instinctively over her mouth as the drenched and dirty sweaters lay exposed. Caroline's mouth fell open, confused and shocked, struggling to comprehend how their efforts had unravelled so swiftly.

"What did you do, Ruelle?" Her father's voice sliced through the air, sharp and unforgiving like a bitter chill.

"I don't care what happened," the debt collector sighed in exasperation, clearly irritated by the familial drama. He turned to his henchmen with a dismissive wave. "Take everything from here and put it in the carriage. Take his daughters, too."

"NO!" Mrs. Belmont screamed, desperation reflecting in her wild eyes as she stepped protectively in front of Caroline.

"You are already planning to take everything valuable! Leave my family alone!" Mr. Belmont shouted in desperation. But the debt collector only laughed—a cold, humourless sound that reverberated through the room.

As the men began rifling through the meagre possessions, Ruelle felt the burden of guilt and responsibility pressing heavily on her shoulders. Her heart thudded wildly as despair washed over her. Just as the men prepared to step out with their meagre valuables, a tall figure blocked their path. His straight blond hair gleamed under the dim light, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

"If you are here to collect debt, stand in line and wait your turn until we are done," the debt collector said, clicking his tongue, irritation flickering in his dark eyes.

The stranger's gaze surveyed the worried faces around him before settling on Ruelle, and in that moment, time seemed to stand still. For him, everything faded, leaving only the flickering candlelight that danced over her innocence, glimmering with fear but also an undeniable spark in his heart.

Breaking his gaze from her, the stranger stepped inside, his movements fluid and deliberate. "I was wondering what the ruckus was all about." He turned to Mr. Belmont, offering a respectful bow, before turning to the debt collector. "And pray tell, how much does this gentleman owe you?"

"Six and a half silver coins," the debt collector replied, his tone dismissive and haughty. "What are you going to do knowing about it?"

"I have only two gold coins, but I am

a triumphant smile. "Fine. You'd better

in unison, the weight

ever so grateful for your help today when you didn't have to intervene," Mr. Belmont said, his voice low, infused with gratitude while

was merely by chance that I happened upon your house," the man replied, a slight smile curling his lips as he regarded Mrs. Belmont. "A person in need should always receive assistance. Isn't that what

did for us has saved us

more. His stature and demeanour spoke of groundswell dignity, a man who bore the weight of his lineage

husband, Harold Belmont. These are our daughters—Caroline and Ruelle,"

like a prince in shining armour, Mr. Henley!" Caroline blurted out, her innocence unabashed

a respectful bow, her voice steady

increased; intrigue danced in his stormy gaze. "I'm just glad everything is resolved

don't you take a seat, Mr. Henley?" Mrs. Belmont insisted, as she gestured

time." His glance met Ruelle's again, a spark of

only slightly. They were safe for at least the next week, all thanks to Ezekiel Henley's generous nature. How fortunate

clipped as if trying to reclaim authority in a

securing the lock with a determined click. The moment she turned back, the atmosphere shifted—a storm brewing

struck her cheek, warmth blooming into a sharp sting that spread like wildfire across her senses. For a moment,

unreal—the heat of his rage igniting the tension in the room. "We give you one job, and you manage to ruin it! Do you think the expensive wool was just handed to us

low, the weight of his disappointment pressing against her bones. "F—Father, the ground at the market was

fall?" Mrs. Belmont interjected in annoyance. "It's

her. It wasn't as if she had planned

enough, and you only make it worse!" Mrs. Belmont

of her anxiety. "I'm sorry, Mother. I didn't mean for it to happen. I tried my best to clean them all. I will have them

nothing but a disappointment. You always have been, and you continue to be, even now." His gaze bore into her.

up at him in stunned silence. The painful truth hung heavily in the air: her

stormed off to his bedroom, Mrs. Belmont hot on his heels like his shadow, leaving Ruelle surrounded by the echo of her

slipped down Ruelle's cheek. She hadn't meant to disappoint her father. Despite his years of disapproval, she still harboured hope that one day, he would embrace her with open arms. Yet time and time again, the bloom of her efforts seemed to wither beneath the weight of his judgement. If only she had been careful, this wouldn't

her voice. "Are you alright? Don't pay attention to Papa's

it wouldn't have hurt so much, but this was a pain woven into the fabric of her being, stitched

to form but slipping away. She looked down, avoiding Caroline's gaze. "I'm okay. Father has been under a lot of stress,

voice soft and warm. "I was so worried when you didn't return within

We just need to wash the mud stains and sell the sweaters. They'll