Chapter 191: The DNA Test

Randell Belmont’s eyes caught the light with a faint, calculating gleam as his attention drifted toward the East Gate.

There, Lara stood, wholly absorbed in conversation with Amelia, as if the rest of the world had faded into irrelevance.

A few paces behind her, Ares lingered in silence—rigid, watchful, a living sentinel whose presence alone drew an invisible boundary around her.

“Why not?” the old man murmured, his voice low but resolute, carrying the quiet weight of decision. “I am no longer young. It would be… practical to have someone accompany me whenever I come here.”

Philip Hardy’s face lit up instantly, seizing the opportunity.

“That’s excellent news, Sir Randell. If it suits you, I can arrange accommodations—one of the premium modular residences. You won’t have to endure the constant travel.”

“He’s right, Randell,” Persius added smoothly, stepping in with an ease that bordered on familiarity. “Look at me. The commute doesn’t burden me in the slightest—because I’ve made sure it doesn’t.”

Randell’s gaze sharpened as it settled on Persius. For a fleeting moment, the noise of the surroundings dulled. He studied the man in silence, tracing the subtle lines of his face, the quiet confidence in his bearing.

The resemblance was there—faint, but undeniable.

He had long harbored a suspicion that the Nades and the Belmonts shared more than passing acquaintance—something deeper, something written in blood.

Yet he had never voiced it.

And still, there was something else.

A strange pull.

They had met before, at one of the grand gatherings hosted by the Zuvel family—those opulent affairs where alliances were whispered behind smiles.

Randell had since learned that Persius had once saved Liam and his father, a deed not easily forgotten among aristocratic circles.

The Zuvels and the Norses, bound by centuries of loyalty, ensured that their worlds often overlapped.

Perhaps that was why Persius felt… familiar.

“Very well,” Randell said at last, his tone casual, though the decision carried quiet finality. “I will trouble you with the arrangements, Philip.”

Philip hesitated, his enthusiasm faltering for just a moment. “But, Sir… your grandson has not given his approval.” His eyes flicked toward Ares, the glance subtle, almost cautious.

Randell dismissed the concern with a faint scoff. “That brat?” A trace of steel entered his voice. “Leave him to me. What we’re doing here matters far more than his objections.”

Slowly, Philip turned toward Ares—this time without pretense. A satisfied, almost triumphant smile spread across his face, as if a long-awaited piece had finally fallen into place.

…

Meanwhile, a thought struck Liam with sudden clarity—sharp enough to still his steps.

His father’s orders.

For a moment, everything else faded into the background. The murmur of voices, the shifting crowd near the East Gate, even the tension in the air—none of it mattered. His gaze locked onto Lara.

It had been a long time since he last saw her.

He did not have a chance to visit the Zuvel’s estate.

And now that she was finally within reach… he couldn’t afford to waste the opportunity.

He remained where he was, watching.

Waiting.

Lara and Amelia stood together, their conversation flowing with an ease that didn’t sit right with him. Liam’s brows drew together slightly. When had they become this close?

As far as he knew, they had only crossed paths once—during his father’s birthday banquet. A single meeting. Brief. Formal.

And yet…

The way they spoke now, the quiet rhythm between them, the unspoken cues—it was the kind of familiarity forged over years, not moments.

It didn’t make sense.

His attention shifted to Amelia, and for the first time, he truly looked at her.

Something had changed.

She stood straighter now, her back no longer curved in that timid stoop he used to find so distasteful.

There was a new firmness in her posture, a quiet confidence in the way she held herself. Even the way she moved—measured, composed—spoke of someone entirely different from the woman he remembered.

Refined.

Elegant.

Without meaning to, Liam found himself acknowledging it.

He preferred this version of her.

When the moment finally came—a small, fleeting opening—he moved.

Each step was deliberate, controlled, betraying none of the intent beneath.

As he approached, both women seemed to sense him.

But neither turned.

Not a glance. Not a word.

It was as if he didn’t exist.

Liam’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he masked it quickly.

“There’s something in your hair,” he said, his tone neutral, almost absent-minded.

Before Lara could react, his hand lifted—smooth, precise. His fingers brushed lightly against her head as he plucked away a dry, brittle leaf tangled in her hair.

Along with it—

A single strand.

Lara felt it.

A faint, fleeting sting against her scalp. She knew. But she said nothing.

Not a flicker of reaction crossed her face.

“It’s just a leaf,” Amelia remarked calmly, her voice carrying a subtle finality, as if sealing the moment before it could unravel.

Liam gave a small nod, already withdrawing. His purpose here was complete. There was no reason to linger.

His gaze landed on Amelia and stayed there for some time. Then without another word, he turned and left the East Gate behind.

The northeastern sector was quieter—sterile, almost detached from the rest of the island’s activity. The medical facility stood in stark contrast to the ancient tension surrounding the tombs, its clean lines and artificial lighting a reminder of a different kind of power.

Liam stepped inside without hesitation.

“Run a test on these,” he instructed, placing the samples on the workstation.

A strand of Lara’s hair.

And his own.

The label he had prepared read:

Jane Marcelo

Carlo Landor

The technician glanced at it briefly but asked no questions. Years of training—and perhaps instinct—told him when silence was the better choice.

“Understood.”

He accepted the samples and immediately began the process, his movements efficient, practiced.

“The results will be ready tomorrow,” he added in a clipped, professional tone.

Liam gave a short nod and left just as quickly as he arrived.

Left alone, the technician exhaled softly, rolling his shoulders as he turned back to his equipment.

He had been sent from the capital for a purpose that, so far, had amounted to nothing.

The tombs remained sealed.

Untouched.

All he had were photographs of their exteriors—endless angles of ancient stone and weathered carvings. Fascinating at first… but now?

Mind-numbingly dull.

Day after day, he had stared at them, analyzing, cataloging, waiting for something—anything—to change.

And nothing did.

Until now.

As the machine hummed to life, processing the newly arrived samples, a faint spark of interest flickered in his eyes.

Finally.

Something real to work on.

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