Chapter 2

Chapter Two

“Lord Beaumont,” Wilhelm called, his deep voice reverberating through the spacious room.

Each measured syllable seemed to chill the air.

His eyes darkened as they sought out the tall, pretentious man among his gaggle of companions, and watched as he laughed loudly and adjusted his spectacles.

Wilhelm crossed the room with steady, deliberate steps. His eyes never wavered from his target.

A hush fell over the assembled guests, and the pianist’s hands froze above the keys as everyone turned towards his voice. Wilhelm felt the stares of one thousand eyes on him as he walked.

He held back his amusement. They had forgotten him entirely.

He surveyed the scene with a sardonic smile on his lips. It had been years since he had last graced these hallowed halls.

He noticed the apprehension of those he passed. He was fully aware of the spectacle his presence was creating, and it was precisely what he had intended. He wanted each of them to witness his return to high society and spread the word of his resurgence.

Lord Beaumont turned, his face pale with recognition and his mouth open slightly in surprise. For a brief moment, he looked as though he had come face to face with a ghost. And, in truth, he had.

“Your Grace, I…” he stammered, quickly drawing himself up. “I was not informed that you had returned from your, uh, travels.”

“Nor were many.” Wilhelm’s lips curled into a smile that did not reach his eyes. “I have a penchant for surprises.”

“Indeed.” Beaumont coughed, glancing to the side, his spectacles twitching. “To what do we owe the… uh…pleasure?”

“I have come.” Wilhelm drew out each word, his voice dangerously soft. “For you.”

Beaumont froze with apprehension.

Wilhelm paused to let his words sink in, before continuing. “To speak with you, that is.”

Beaumont paled further, the faint humor in his eyes now completely extinguished. He forced out a laugh and adjusted his collar. “Speak with me? About what, precisely?”

Wilhelm stepped closer, his gaze hard. “I have come to reclaim what is mine.”

Beaumont gulped before replying, “How would I have anything to do with that?”

“You have everything to do with it.”

Beaumont furrowed his brow. “I confess, I am at a loss. I do not understand.”

“You will.” Wilhelm arched an eyebrow. “In a moment.”

Slowly, he reached into his waistcoat, drew out a document, and lifted it in his right hand.

A hush blanketed the ballroom, the air thick and still as every gaze shifted to the parchment.

The crisp paper felt cool and smooth beneath his fingertips. He rubbed the paper between his thumb and forefinger, savoring the texture. Never before had a piece of paper felt so heavy in his hand.

The onlookers held their breaths in anticipation of what was to come. The sound of a glass shattering echoed through the room, but no one stirred. They waited in suspended animation, their eyes fixed on Wilhelm’s hand.

Feigning disinterest, Beaumont pushed his spectacles up his nose with a slightly trembling hand. He peered down at the parchment in Wilhelm’s hand and inched closer to him.

Wilhelm deftly pulled it back with a slight, mocking smile.

“What is that?” Beaumont demanded as he raised his eyes to look at Wilhelm once again.

“A contract,” Wilhelm replied coolly, his eyes gleaming.

Beaumont frowned, the confusion plain on his face. “A contract?” he repeated. “For what? What game are you playing, Ravenshire?”

“This is no game, My Lord.” Wilhelm’s lips flattened into a hard line as he held Beaumont’s gaze. “It is business. Just business.” With a flourish, he unfolded the parchment, letting the crackle of the paper punctuate his words. “It appears I have acquired some rather choice properties—yours, to be precise.”

Triumph bloomed in Wilhelm’s chest. His pulse quickened, a fierce gleam lighting up his eyes as the corners of his mouth curved ever so slightly in immense satisfaction.

This had been a long-awaited victory, and it was finally within his reach. He wanted to draw out the moment and relish Beaumont’s reaction.

It was the result of years of planning, earned through sleepless nights, calculated risks, and sacrifice. His drive, fueled by a burning desire to destroy the men who had exiled him, pushed him not only to end them but to savor the moment they realized their defeat. He lived only to witness their fear as they recognized the power he now wielded over each of them.

Beaumont’s face contorted and paled as he struggled to form words. A ripple of murmurs swept through the ballroom and grew louder with each passing second.

Wilhelm’s sharp and calculating gaze swept over the crowd as a faint smile formed on his lips.

He was no longer the boy they had dismissed, and he wanted them all to know it.

This is just a glimpse of what is to come.

Beaumont now was publicly challenged, his authority dismantled by a mere piece of paper.

Power can be fickle like that.

“What… what is the meaning of this?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“It is quite simple,” Wilhelm answered, his green eyes glinting in the candlelight. “You, my dear Lord, had debts—large debts. Your creditors grew impatient. And I… well, I saw fit to relieve them of their burdens.” He paused. “Now, I own your debts and your estates.”

He extended the contract towards Beaumont, a subtle challenge in his gesture.

The older lord’s hands trembled as he snatched the parchment from Wilhelm’s outstretched fingers, his eyes frantically scanning the lines and widening with each word.

“You… you bought my debts?” Beaumont questioned incredulously as he bit his upper lip.

His gaze remained fixed on the missive, refusing to even shift in Wilhelm’s direction.

“Not only your debts,” Wilhelm continued, his voice low. “Your lands, your holdings—everything you mortgaged. What was once yours is now mine.” The hint of a smirk played on his lips as he leaned in. “How does it feel, Beaumont? I am curious—do tell me.”

The older man’s face twisted, shades of crimson blooming across his skin. His hand clenched the document with such force that it crumpled.

“You… dare do this to me?” he choked out, rage thickening his voice.

“Oh, I did far more than dare, My Lord,” Wilhelm said, his voice snapping like a whip. “I have returned with the means to reshape this society. Adjust, or you will be cast aside.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice to an icy whisper.

“Make your choice wisely, Beaumont, lest it be your undoing.”

A ripple of shock moved through the crowd, the guests exchanging wide-eyed glances, their gasps punctuating the tense silence.

Wilhelm’s gaze swept over them, assessing each pale face and each breathless spectator. He could feel their respect—their fear—hanging in the air. They could hate him if they wished. It mattered little, so long as they all understood that he had returned and he would not be ignored.

“You seem quite pleased with yourself, Ravenshire,” Beaumont remarked with a hint of disdain in his voice. “Do you truly believe that you have triumphed?”

“Indeed, I do.” Wilhelm gave him a mocking smile. “I find little pleasure being in the company of those who have done nothing to deserve what they possess.”

Beaumont’s face flushed with anger, his voice rising in indignation.

“You dare gloat in my presence?” he sputtered. “You dare to mock a man of my standing?”

“I am confident that, with time, you will see that my plans for these estates are far more progressive than yours have ever been,” Wilhelm continued, his voice almost playful. “While you squandered your resources on empty posturing, I have built alliances and made investments that will rejuvenate what you have neglected.”

The veins in Beaumont’s temples throbbed. “You… you…” he sputtered, unable to articulate the magnitude of his rage.

“I what?” Wilhelm demanded. “I suggest you familiarize yourself with the terms of the contract, My Lord. I believe you will find them quite enlightening.”

He allowed the silence to settle heavily around them and then snickered at Beaumont’s futile attempts to reclaim his composure. The man who stood before him had been reduced to a mere caricature of the respectful figure he had been only minutes ago, his eyes downcast and his hand tugging at his hair in agitation.

“I have heard enough,” he mumbled, his gaze fixed on Wilhelm’s shoes.

Wilhelm took a deep breath as the crowd hummed with shock and disbelief. “What was that, Beaumont? I could not hear you.”

“This is not over, Ravenshire,” Beaumont finally spat out, venom lacing each word. “You may think that you have bested me, but you have accomplished nothing. We will come for you. Mark my words, I will come for you, and you will deeply regret what you have done.”

Wilhelm laughed, a low, ominous sound that echoed through the room. “Then please do so, My Lord,” he replied, his voice brimming with mockery. “Bring your allies and rally your strengths. I assure you, I am fully prepared for whatever you have in mind.”

Wilhelm could sense their unease as they met his unwavering stare.

At that moment, he let his eyes speak for him. They foretold of a reckoning that had been a long time coming.

He smiled at the lot of them with a glacial twist of his lips—a silent challenge that dared them to question his authority.

Wilhelm held the crowd’s stare for a long moment to ensure that each one of them understood the repercussions of their actions. He had not merely returned to the Ton to settle a score—he had come back to rewrite history.

With a final flourish, he snatched the document from Beaumont’s hand, folded it, and tucked it back into his waistcoat.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, My Lord,” he said in a low, chilling whisper. “I believe you have much to contemplate.”

Without a backward glance, he turned on his heel, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow.

His footsteps echoed in the silence, a sound that seemed to linger long after he had left the ballroom and disappeared into the night.