The Blood Contract
Chapter 98: That wasn’t Random

Chapter 98: That wasn’t Random

When Marlowe and Serena returned to the dining room, they met only Darrell seated and eating.

"Where’s Adrian and Lucian?" Marlowe asked, her brows knitting tightly. She was sure neither Adrian nor Lucian had eaten before the little drama unfolded earlier, and the time she’d spent talking with Serena hadn’t been long enough for them to have finished their food and left. Something wasn’t right.

"They already left," Darrell answered with a full mouth, glancing up briefly before returning his gaze to his plate. He took a moment to chew, then added after swallowing, "Boss said something came up. They had to leave immediately."

Marlowe gave a slight nod, accepting the explanation without further questioning. She took her seat at the table, reaching for a fork. Beside her, Serena lowered herself into her seat quietly, acting like she didn’t care about the conversation. She stirred the food on her plate lazily, as if tasting it might offend her.

But inside her, her thoughts churned in confusion and unease. She couldn’t help but wonder if it had really been something urgent that made Lucian leave. Or was it anger that drove him away? Had he been so upset that he couldn’t sit at the same table with her?

Why was he angry? Shouldn’t she be the one fuming? She hadn’t done anything wrong. He had. Yet, he was the one storming off. That alone fueled the simmering annoyance inside her.

As silence settled in the dining room like a thick blanket, Serena forced herself to chew the food. But every bite felt heavy and joyless, as though the meal itself had become a reminder of the mess her feelings had become.

Still, in spite of everything, she found herself whispering a silent prayer.

’Let Vincent be okay,’ she thought, her brows drawing in as she closed her eyes for a brief second. Let him come out of that coma.

And Lucian... she sighed inwardly. She added his name too, grudgingly. She didn’t want Vincent hurt. That much was true. But if she were being completely honest with herself, she would be far more pissed if it were Lucian in a coma caused by Vincent.

The rest of the day crawled by. She tried to distract herself by diving into various activities. She spent some time swimming, letting the water cool her frustrations. Then she helped Marlowe in the lab, though her mind wasn’t completely there. Eventually, as evening approached, she found herself on the terrace, reclining in a chair, a cold drink in one hand and her phone in the other, scrolling through pictures absentmindedly.

But her heart refused to be still. Marlowe’s earlier words kept echoing in her head, acting like invisible chains binding her actions. Still, after much internal war and hesitation, Serena sat upright, her face set with resolve.

She couldn’t take it anymore. Her conscience wouldn’t let her rest.

She got to her feet, made her way briskly to her room, and pulled out her bag. Her fingers dug through it until she found the small card Vincent had given her at Oma’s Palace.

She stared at it for a second longer before pulling out her phone and dialing the number. She pressed the device to her ear, pacing slowly.

The phone rang and rang, but no one picked up.

With a small frown, she tried again. Then again. And once more. But each time, it ended the same—no answer.

Finally, with a sigh that felt like it came from her soul, she dropped the phone on the bed.

A knock sounded at the door, cutting through the silence like a knife and she moved to open it.

It was Darrell.

"Good evening, madam," he greeted, dipping his head slightly in his usual polite manner. "Boss said to tell you that the trip to the workshop will not be possible again today. He said he’ll be returning late, so he’s asked for it to be moved to tomorrow evening."

Serena frowned, her brows tightening. "Why will he be returning late? Did he not tell you why?"

"He said it’s work-related issues," Darrell answered, shaking his head gently. "He didn’t give any further explanation."

Serena gave a small nod, though her mind was racing. Darrell turned to leave after offering her another small bow.

But before he could take more than two steps, her voice stopped him.

"Are you going anywhere tonight?" she asked.

Her expression had changed. The earlier disappointment that marked her face was gone, replaced by something more decisive. Almost stubborn.

Darrell turned back, slightly puzzled but answered anyway. "No, madam. I have no plans to leave the house tonight."

"Good," Serena said, standing straighter. "Get the car ready. You’ll take me out by five."

Her tone was clear—this was not a request. Darrell understood that immediately. Still, a small crease formed on his forehead.

"Where do you have in mind, madam?"

"I don’t have a specific place," Serena answered, stepping back into her room. "Just somewhere with good food. I feel like eating out tonight."

Darrell hesitated, but nodded. There was no point arguing. He’d learned that Serena, once determined, was like a force of nature. Trying to stop her would be like trying to stop the tide.

Back inside her room, Serena closed the door and headed straight to her wardrobe. She didn’t reach for just any outfit. No. She went straight for the dress she had originally picked out for her evening with Lucian.

She dressed slowly, deliberately. Every move, every brush of fabric against her skin was calculated. Her fingers ran carefully through her hair, brushing and styling with more attention than usual. She applied a touch of makeup, nothing too dramatic, just enough to highlight her features. Her lips, when she was done, curled into a small, ironic smile.

He may have canceled, but she was still going.

Let him stay out late for his "work issues." Let him stew in whatever emotions he was wallowing in. She refused to be the one moping around anymore.

She would enjoy her night, with or without him.

By the time the clock struck five, Serena emerged from her room looking exactly as she had imagined when she chose the outfit the night before.

Darrell was already waiting by the car, standing straight as ever, the door open for her.

She didn’t say a word as she slid into the back seat. He closed the door behind her and got in, starting the engine.

The car pulled out of the driveway and into the evening sun, carrying her away from the weight of silence and confusion.

***

The streets were nothing like they had left them.

It’d been hours since Lucian and Adrian rushed out of the house, and now, as they made their way back, the roads leading into the city’s upscale district were crammed with people. A loud throng of voices echoed through the air—angry chants, raised placards, and the flashing red-blue lights of patrol vehicles struggling to maintain control.

Adrian’s hands tightened on the wheel, eyes darting from one side of the congested road to the other.

"What’s this about?" Lucian asked, brows furrowed as he peered through the windshield. "There wasn’t a protest when we left."

Adrian didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he slowed the car as the traffic turned into a standstill. Protesters were now pouring into the middle of the road, waving banners and shouting into the air like they were possessed.

Lucian’s eyes narrowed as they drew closer to the crowd. Then he saw it.

A symbol. Small, inked boldly on the neck of a man in a hooded vest.

He froze.

That mark. He remembered it clearly. The same design that had been burned into the skin of one of the men who’d attacked Serena at the gala. The same people that had taken her blood and cut him with the poisoned dagger.

Lucian’s heartbeat quickened.

"Adrian," he said, voice low and controlled. "Look closely. Do you see those tattoos?"

Adrian followed his gaze. "Yeah... I see them."

"That’s them," Lucian muttered. "The same people from the gala."

It was as if the universe had heard him. The moment a few of the protesters caught a glimpse of his face through the windshield, a wave of recognition passed through the crowd.

Their chants faltered, and then came the shouting. A mob surged toward the vehicle, fists pounding against the hood and windows.

Lucian swore under his breath. "Go. Now!"

Adrian didn’t need to be told twice. He hit the accelerator and veered the car sharply, narrowly missing a man who had tried to leap onto the hood. Tires screeched against the asphalt as Adrian swerved through the congested road, weaving between other vehicles and dodging thrown objects—bottles, sticks, and stones—raining from all directions.

Lucian kept an eye on the rear-view mirror. They were being chased, several motorcycles weaving behind them in relentless pursuit.

But Adrian, with hands steady and eyes sharp, maneuvered through back alleys and narrow streets until they’d finally lost them.

Panting, Lucian sat back in his seat, face tense. "That wasn’t random," he said coldly.

"Yeah," Adrian replied. "I noticed."

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the driveway, but the air around the house felt unusually still.

As they stepped out, Marlowe came running to meet them.

Lucian’s chest was still heaving from the chase, but Marlowe’s words stopped him cold.

"I heard there is a protest going on. Serena and Darrell are not home yet, and I can’t reach either one of them."

Lucian blinked. "What?"

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